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Every word bubbles out of me as a silly giggle. I fall forward in my seat and fumble for my wineglass. Why I’m trying to drink more of the wine, I have no idea. It’s like there’s a disconnect between my mind and body.
Only the high thrumming through me matters. My body reacts on its every chemical whim.
“Don’t spill it on yourself,” Giancarlo says gently, easing the glass out of my unsteady hands. He sets it down and then grips my chin, making me meet his eyes. He spends a few seconds studying my face, his focus dipping to my slightly parted lips. “You really are beautiful. I can see why my brother was smitten.”
Giovanni.
GIOVANNI!
Alarm bells ring in my head. Desperation claws away from the inside, begging my body to react. To push him away. Scream out.Anything.
But I don’t. I sit still, obediently in his hold, peering up into his dark, obsidian eyes. His thumb travels the curve of my jawline and then raises to my mouth. He smudges my lipstick, thumbing my plump bottom lip.
A hazy memory of Giovanni plays in my mind. The first night I’d met him—he’d toyed with me, even smudged my lipstick with his thumb.
Giancarlo will never be Giovanni.
Never. NEVER!
“No,” I groan aloud. I jerk in place, turning my head to the side. “Please…no…”
“No, what, princess?”
It’s such a simple question, yet it feels like sooo much work to answer. I melt into the chair as I return my gaze to the night’s sky.
The stars haven’t stopped twinkling for me. I wish I were one of them.
Somagical…
“Just stop fighting it,” Giancarlo says. He caresses my cheek, gaining my attention. Now his touch is soft and considerate.
But I’m not fooled. I’ve seen what his hands can do. The strength of them.
My pussy throbs, a bundle of nerves suddenly desperate for relief. The feeling overtakes me, leaving me in unashamed want. I must wear it on my face, heavy eyelids and parted lips and all. Giancarlo notices and raises a brow in interest.
He steps back for a full view of me. “Princess, touch yourself.”
A strangled moan emits from my throat. Half protest, half desire. My hand falls to my thigh. The hem of my dress feels a lot shorter than I remember.
“Do it,” he urges, a sinister gleam in his dark gaze. “Lift your dress. Show me yourself.”
I shut my eyes and try to break free from the fog. The world feels like it’s spinning a lot faster when everything around me goes black. If anything, it makes things worse; the floaty, spinning sensation brings me to an even more intense high.
“Show me your pussy,” comes Giancarlo’s voice through the vast blackness. “Pull your dress up, princess. Spread your legs. Spread that pussy.”
When I don’t move, he comes closer. I’m so out of it, I don’t realize he has until I feel his touch. Hehelpsme. He grabs my hand and guides my fingers to the hem of my dress, pushing it up. My body slides into a deeper slouch on the chair. He eases my legs apart so I can do what he’s asked.
Touch myself.
A moan leaves me, soft and quiet. Braindead lust.
“I want to see all of you.”
His voice sounds deep and warm, almost scarily intimate. He’s bunched my dress about my waist. His fingers hook along the waistband of my panties and he slides them down my hips and thighs, past the heels of my feet.
His touch returns when he grabs my knees and pries my legs even further apart.
“I never thought you’d let me see this side of you, princess. Touch yourself,” he orders.
