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“Because, dolce,” he murmurs, brushing a piece of hair away from my face. “I think I understand why you love to dance on stage at a club, and not only for the ballet. I think it’s the same reason why you came so hard on my tongue when you heard footsteps outside the room in the studio, and why I felt you tighten around my cock when you heard the same outside your dressing room. Why you screamed so loudly for me when you came, even though you might have been heard.”
A shiver runs down my spine, heat blossoming through me, and Lorenzo leans down, his lips brushing against my ear. “You like to be watched. To show off. To be seen. You like the idea of being lusted after, even if you don’t consciously realize it. You like the thought of others knowing you’re being fucked. Of them hearing and seeing you come.”
When he pulls back, I know he can see how flushed my face is. I feel my knees tremble, a warmth flooding me. “So you brought me here? To be?—”
“To do whatever you want others to watch you do.” Lorenzo reaches out, his knuckles skimming over the back of my cheek. “If you like doing sexual things in public, mia dolce, we can do it here. Together. As much or as little as you would like. It excites me too, although not quite as much as I think it does you,” he adds with a smirk.
“But—if you don’t want others watching me?—”
“I feel differently about it if it’s you and I, together. If others are watching me pleasure you, or watching you do the same to me. If they’re turned on watching me fuck you, or watching you perform for my pleasure.”
A shudder ripples through me as he speaks, and Lorenzo laughs, a dark sound low in his throat. His hand slides down to the small of my back, pressing me against him, and I can feel that he’s hard.
“I know you liked nearly getting caught at the ballet studio, principessa,” he murmurs, his voice taking on that thick rasp of arousal. “I’ve fantasized about this ever since. We can take it slowly if you like—we don’t have to fuck here tonight. We can come back, as often as you want. And when you want to perform sexually for others, mia dolce, to have them watch you and wish that they could touch you, you can do it here, where they can see that I get to enjoy you as I do.”
“What about the ballet?” A sudden fear strikes me, but Lorenzo shakes his head quickly.
“That’s different,” he says immediately. “I would never take that away from you. But the stripping—this is my compromise,” he says quietly. “This is what I would like to offer you. You don’t need the money, I’ll see to that. But the performance, the need to express yourself sexually in that way—I understand it. I thought this might be a different way—a way we can both be happy with, and enjoy.”
A rush of happiness fills me, one that I never would have expected. I never thought anyone would understand me so well, and I lean up impulsively, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Let’s get a drink first,” I whisper softly. “This is more than I’ve ever done—a lot more than just stripping. But I like this idea. I like your compromise.”
Lorenzo smiles, his hand curving against my back. “A drink,” he says. “And we’ll see where the night takes us.”
The room is suffused with sex. Even at the club, it was never so blatant. There are men and women everywhere in various stages of undress, the sounds of pleasure filling the air, mingling with the soft beat of the music. Lorenzo leads me to the bar, and we sit down, the red dress spilling down between my thighs and leaving the soft flesh bare up to their apex as Lorenzo leans across and orders us both a drink. When he turns back to me and sees my legs, his gaze is heated.
“One way or another,” he murmurs, his fingers gliding down my thigh, “these are going to be wrapped around me tonight.”
A jolt of lust goes through me, and I feel heat and dampness between my thighs, a throbbing pulse taking up residence there. I glance over in the direction of one of the benches, where a nude woman is splayed out, a man between her legs licking her to an orgasm while another man thrusts into her mouth from above. “No one else touches me,” I say quietly, and Lorenzo nods.
“I’d never allow it.” There’s a dark gleam in his eyes that tells me that he means it. “And I’d never allow anyone else to touch me.”
“Good,” I murmur softly, reaching for the gin and tonic that Lorenzo ordered for me. Over the past weeks living at his apartment, I’ve had the opportunity to learn my tastes in things that I’ve never gotten to find out before. Liquors that I used to think I hated—like gin—I’ve found out I just didn’t like because I was drinking bottom-shelf quality. This tastes delicious—herbal with a bite of citrus, a fresh lime floating on top, and I see Lorenzo’s gaze flick to my lips when I raise the glass to my mouth.
The possibilities of the club seem almost overwhelming. I take another nervous sip of my drink, and Lorenzo reaches out, his fingers skimming over my thigh again.
“We don’t have to go further than you want to tonight,” he says quietly, taking a sip of his old fashioned. “We can just watch, if you want. Or watch for a little while, and then go upstairs to a private room.”
I nod, swallowing hard. I can already feel the steady pulse of desire, just from being so close to so much lust. Across the room, I hear the sound of a woman crying out in pleasure, and I glance past Lorenzo almost shyly. I flush as I see the woman on the bench, arching and moaning as the man between her thighs makes her come. A moment later, I see the man above her push his cock into her mouth once more, stifling her moans, and then pull out as he spurts cum across her breasts, hand flexing around his shaft as his head falls back. On the St. Andrews’ cross, the bound man is watching them with wide eyes, begging the woman teasing his cock to let him come. And I can see the room starting to fill up, others waiting their turns, coming to the bar, a feeling of anticipation filling the air.
“What are you thinking?” Lorenzo asks, his voice slightly rough with the sound that I’ve come to understand means he’s aroused. I glance towards him, taking another sip of my drink, and I can see that he’s turned on, too. The outline of his cock is pressing against his thigh, straining a little at his tailored suit trousers.
“That this is all making me want—something,” I whisper. “But I don’t know where to even start.”
A ghost of a smile touches Lorenzo’s lips. “Come here, then.” He touches his leg, gesturing to me. “Come sit on my lap, dolce.”
I bite my lip, and his gaze hardens, just a little. “Do you want me to order you to do it? Or do you prefer to do it of your own accord?”
“I don’t know.” My teeth sink into my lip a little harder. “We could try both.”
Lorenzo’s mouth twitches. “You haven’t been given much opportunity to find out what it is that you like, have you, dolce?” He frowns a little, and I shake my head. “Well, now we find out.” He places his palm flat on his leg. “Come sit in my lap, principessa. Do it now, or this room will see me punish you.”
My breath feels pulled from my lungs at the threat, but not in an unpleasant way. The throbbing pulse settles between my thighs, and I see Lorenzo smirk when I gasp, just a little. He raises an eyebrow, and I slowly get up from my seat, feeling a little as if I’m in a dream.
The moment I start to sit on his thigh, his arm goes around my waist, pulling me fully into his lap. We’re far from the only people at the bar now, other men and women around us in varying stages of conversation and touching one another. I feel my cheeks flush as Lorenzo tugs me firmly into his lap. There’s embarrassment there as I feel his hard cock press firmly against my ass, but it warms me with a pulsing glow of desire, the feeling of being displayed arousing me, the promise of being used with my permission making me shiver with anticipation.
“Good girl,” Lorenzo breathes softly into my ear. His hand slides up my thigh, and he lifts his drink to his lips with his other hand, as carelessly as if he weren’t slowly inching his fingers toward the top of my skirt. I feel the ache between my thighs intensify, and I turn my head, brushing my lips against the shell of his ear.
“Lorenzo—” I whisper his name, a hint of pleading in my voice, and I feel the vibration of his low chuckle, deep in his throat.
