Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He reaches a hand to my cheek and gently strokes it. I want to reach for his hand and hold him here.
"Six months is a long time," he says. "But at the same time, it isn't long at all."
Yeah, I wonder where he's going with that…
I better change the subject.
"So, when are we going to this party?"
"We have two hours."
"Two hours is an even shorter time.”
"Did you have something you needed to do?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I can't tell if he's teasing or making fun of me or both.
"Yeah, like prepare for it? I'm supposed to be pretending to be your wife…"
He quickly sobers. "There's no pretending at this stage, Quinn."
Hoo, boy.
"You know what I mean," I say. "Listen, I don't know anything about you. You don't know anything about me. What if people start asking questions?"
"I'm a lot more concerned with whether or not you're going to sass me in public." Those big, sexy, manly hands of his flex on my hips.
"Say what?"
He narrows his eyes. “You're illustrating my point beautifully."
"Am I?"
"I wouldn't expect my wife to call me buddy or talk back, and neither would anybody who is watching."
Shit. That's right. People. People will be watching.
"Good point. I guess I’ll have to be on my best behavior.” I grimace and finally nod. “Okay, alright, I can do that. I used to be an actress and a dancer. In this particular case, my acting skills are going to come in handy.”
“Were you? Interesting. Now step out of your dress, please.”
What? Step out of my dress? Here?
I shiver when he reaches for my zipper and tugs it down. I’m standing on a balcony, practically naked.
With firm, deliberate movements, he leans me over and places my hands on the balcony railing. My ass is on display, and I’m fully aware of the fact that he’s going to spank me before his palm slams against my butt.
"Um, I don't remember telling you that you could spank me?"
"It was implied. And believe me when I tell you I’d like it if you put up a struggle.”
Gah!
Since I’m not looking at him, I can’t read his expression when he asks, "How much of this is an act?"
"How much of what is an act?" I ask, a little breathless. My ass tingles and I want more.
"Of what you’ve told me. You’re aroused. I can see it in the way you lick your lips and swallow.”
"Do you mean role-playing? I've done loads of sessions at the club, and I often play a role… It’s what I do, I role-play.”
“Ahh.” He gives me another sharp smack of his palm. “Consider this a reminder. When you sit tonight and your ass stings, remember what I told you.” I hiss in a breath when he gives me another sharp smack.
“Remember what it was like being on display out here.” He brushes the inside of my thigh and parts my legs. “How wet it made you when I spanked you. And remember that when I give you an instruction, I expect you to obey me. Is that clear?”
Yes, yes, oh Jesusssss, yes.
“Yes. Understood.”
“Part your legs and show me your cunt.”
I close my eyes tight and part my legs. I’m wearing a slim thong that barely covers me, and I’m confident my ass is bright pink.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he says in a hoarse voice. “Beautiful.”
And then I’m standing between his legs with his hands on my hips again. My ass tingles. It feels intimate, personal. I don't want to get so close to him that emotions get tangled, because when emotions get tangled, everything’s hopeless. I spent way too much of my life dealing with emotions that get me in trouble. So now I've chosen a better way.
I've managed to learn how to have sessions that have no strings attached. Now I face the greatest challenge of my life: how to stay married with no strings attached.
Easy. Heh.
“Can you give me the, um, shortened version of your history in case it comes up?”
He won’t tell me much about himself, I’m sure of it, but I don’t want to be caught off guard.
"I joined the Montavio brotherhood in Tuscany."
"You don't have much of an accent, though."
He nods. "I was born in America. We moved to Italy, my mother’s homeland, when I was thirteen years old. That's when my father met Sergio's grandfather. But we were only together there for a year before both of my parents died in an accident."
No.
He continues. "I was orphaned at fourteen. But I knew the streets by then. I knew how to take care of myself. And I knew my father had connections and friends and I could handle myself. Or so I thought."
He looks down, watching his hands as he slides them up to my waist. And I can almost see how he's filtering through his memories, as if trying to figure out which ones he can show me and which ones he can't.