Conversation over dinner remains sparse, but easy. We dine in the restaurant of Mariano's hotel, a formality, leading to the moment we'll be alone. We are dutifully marking time until we get to know each other in another way. This is as clear as it is unspoken.
In his penthouse, Mariano pours me a glass of port wine then heads into the bedroom, leaving me alone with my yearning. I wander out to the balcony, sip the port and gaze out at the sprawling city. The sweet liquid slides down my throat and warms my insides. City lights twinkle like stars. An impulse to cry out of fear or excitement passes quickly. A surge of dangerous emotion simmers beneath my skin. It takes all my focus to remain calm and keep my body from shaking in anticipation of what is finally about to happen.
Mariano approaches from behind. He leans down to inhale the scent of my hair, and my neck. I shiver uncontrollably.
"You haven't been touched by a man in a long time," he says with his murderous accent. "Have you?"
I stare hard at the twinkling lights in an attempt to disengage from the moment, to maintain some semblance of control. I'm far from my life, but for Mariano, as if all else has vanished. He is all I know and I don't even know him.
He runs his fingertip down my arm; goose bumps trail his trace.
"Since before we met, I'm guessing," he continues.
I laugh, "I don't recall when we met."
"I remember as if it were happening right now," he turns my body to face him. "I remember every detail of you. You wore white that night, too."
He touches my cheek; runs his fingers down my neck; squeezes my throat just slightly. My stomach drops.
"How do you know," my heart beats in my throat, "that no man has touched me?"
"I can tell," he breathes into my ear. His lips brush my skin. "You've thought about us together," he whispers. "Haven't you?"
My mind flashes to the fantasy of myself pinned to the vanity. I remain silent.
"Follow me," he holds my hand and leads me into a marble bathroom.
As if he has pulled my fantasy right out of my mind, he tugs me down to a stool in front of a vanity. He strides to the tub, turns on the faucet, opens a bottle of rose milk and pours the liquid into the stream of steaming water. Perfect fragrance infuses the bathroom. He kneels in front of me, lays his head in my lap and sighs. I touch his hair. My heart pounds at the intimacy. He lifts his head, looks into my eyes. The tender look on his face scares me, like he's apologizing for what's to come.
He slips off my shoes, grips my slender feet in his strong hands and rubs them, deep. Sensation shoots through my body.
He slides my dress up my legs and runs his fingers over my panties. He feels the heat of my pussy pulsing for him.
"Take off your dress, slowly," he says simply. "But don't move from this spot. Stay right here."
I do as I'm told, twisting my body to unzip my dress. Meticulous in my movement, I draw the white satin over my head and drop it to the floor.
"Take down your hair," his stare is intense.
I slide the pin from my hair. Rich locks tumble over my bare breasts.
I hold my breath as Mariano kneels in front of me and spreads my legs apart. I've never been so terrified. I've never felt so alive. Every nerve in my body buzzes as he slides open a drawer in the dressing table. He draws out an exquisite straightedge razor. The handle is platinum with a rose-shaped ruby on top.
"I might faint," I gasp as he slices open my ivory panties.
Other than a faint stripe of onyx hair above my pussy, I'm nude.
"Beautiful," he spreads my legs wider. You blossom like a flower." He looks up at me, "I would never crush such a flower," his accent is strong now.
He bows his head between my legs and with the tip of his tongue he traces every crevice and every fold of my glistening pussy, sending my insides into tiny convulsions. He inhales my scent and sucks hungrily and I spill. My pussy thumps in his mouth. I lean back on the dressing table and release into him. He drinks from me, then lifts me from the stool and carries me to the tub. He brings his blade.
He lowers me into the tub. I whimper. The water scalds my skin just enough to feel painfully good. He unbuttons his shirt, drops it to the floor. He watches me take in his gorgeous physique, holding my breath, as he kicks off his shoes and rolls up his pants. He sits on the side of the tub. I reach out to touch his sturdy chest. He stops my hand mid-air, brings it to his mouth and kisses it. He takes a handful of rose petals from a dish and sprinkles them into the water. He fills a glass with milky water and washes my hair, my breasts, my back.
