Let the flames of hell devour him.
* * *
All the comfort Siena had found in eating the carbonara died when they drove through the gates of Elio’s villa. Not even the lack of dogs to greet them helped.
His guard dogs were dangerous, but had nothing on what she was on the verge of putting herself through.
Her time was up.
Without any discussion, they climbed the stairs and entered his bedroom.
The hateful silver eyes found hers. “Do you want to shower first?”
She gave a terse shake of her head. Any delay in having to strip naked for him was a delay she would cling to.
He shrugged nonchalantly and pulled his t-shirt off.
She looked away. She didn’t want to see the body she was supposed to seduce.
The bathroom door closed.
She tried to expel a breath, but panic had gripped her tightly in its tentacles, and she headed into the dressing room, trying to shake it off as she chose a nightshirt, trying to collect herself, but all she could hear was the shower running. Elio was standing naked beneath it, cleaning himself for her seduction.
She supposed she should be grateful that he valued hygiene. She remembered her mother dragging Rico by the ear into the shower because he stank so much. In fairness to Rico, he’d only been twelve.
God, how was she going to do this, she wondered as she paced the bedroom. She’d felt the size of Elio’s penis, and though she had nothing to compare it to, she knew it was big. Very big. Too big for her, a thought that set off a fresh wave of panic.
The shower stopped running.
Gripping her arms tightly, she forced herself to breathe deeply. Shemustkeep herself collected if she was going to fake knowing what she was doing…
Shedidknow what she was doing, she suddenly thought. She’d watched enough movies with sex scenes in them.
But those had been sex scenes in romances where the sex was tender and loving; far removed from what Elio required of her or what he would show her.
The bathroom door opened.
He strolled out smelling of toothpaste and his gorgeous shower gel.
Unable to even glance at him, she darted past him, clinging tightly to the nightshirt she knew would be on her body for only minutes before she had to strip it off for his delectation.
* * *
Elio lay in the centre of the bed. His head was propped on a pile of pillows, but his gaze was on the ceiling. A mixture of emotions was coursing through him.
He’d been with many women in his life. Too many to count. He wasn’t an unashamed playboy like Siena’s brother Tommaso had been or Gino Vicario, the man her cousin had fallen in love with, but he’d had more than his share of hook-ups.
For Elio, sex had always been transactional, an exchange of orgasms, a necessary bodily function. He’d never lied to any of the women he bedded, always made it clear it was just sex that he required. If they wanted more, that was fine; there were plenty of other men out there they could try and form a relationship with. There were plenty of other women out there happy to share a few hours of release. He saw no reason to hang around after the act. He supposed that’s where he’d got his reputation from. If it was considered bad manners to get dressed and leave after sex, then, in his view, it should be considered a liberty to have sex with someone knowing it was literally just sex, and then bitch about them afterwards for enjoying the sex and leaving straight after without bothering with pointless small talk.
There would be no leaving after having sex with Siena.
There was more anticipation firing through his veins than for all his previous sexual couplings combined. More thananticipation. Emotions too dark and turgid to name were alive in him.
It felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this, and now this was here.
She was the only woman he’d ever fantasised about. Dreamed about.
The bathroom door handle turned.
