“Are you brave enough to take your first punishment this evening, River Fox? I’ll accept my own punishment alongside you. Are you game?”
Now, my first thought is to tell him to fuck all the way off and argue some more about him using my full name. But I’m intrigued, and I rarely back down from a challenge.
“What are the terms?”
His mouth transforms into a predatory grin, mirth dancing in his eyes as he nods once, seemingly impressed with my answer. Stepping back from me, he reaches into his pants pocket. I’d figured he was pleased to see me, but it seems he actually does have a box or something in there.
My eyes widen in surprise as he pulls out a bright pink fucking love-egg-dildo-thing, holding it up for me to get a better look, like I’ve never seen one before.
“You will wear this to, at, and on the way home from the restaurant.” I go to interrupt, but he stops me by placing a hand over my mouth.
Rude.
He removes his hand from my mouth, and I’m in complete shock. I mean, the man wants me to wear a remote-controlled dildo and clit stimulator. I should be kicking him the fuck out of my apartment, but there’s something inside of me that wants to do what he’s asking. Or telling.
“If I agree to this, then my terms are that you not touch me for the rest of the evening. No skin contact at all. Which means no more covering up my fucking mouth with your paw of a hand.”
“Language. I let the first few slide because we’re in your space, but, River, don’t test me.” This time, his growl sends those delicious tingles right between my legs. Goddamnit.
“First of all, it’s Rose. Second of all, you let it slide? Are you kidding me, right now? No man tells me what I can and cannot say. Especially in my free time. Now, we can discuss this at dinner, because frankly, you’re making me claustrophobic in my own apartment, and you’ve outstayed your welcome. Not that you had one in the first place. And lastly, do you agree to the terms or not?”
“Good girl.” The look on his face is one of pure hunger, and I realize I didn’t swear once during my little rant at him.
“Fucking fuck.” Like a child on a playground, I stick my tongue out at him and fold my arms across my chest again, waiting for him to bite at my bratty behavior.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he steps forward, and whispers the tips of his fingers from my forehead, down my cheek and to my chin. Not once does he touch me, but he’s so close, I can feel the heat coming from every move.
“Si, I agree.” He hands me the—thankfully sealed—box, and turns to leave. Halfway out, he looks over his shoulder and pierces me with his steel-gray eyes. “Downstairs, two minutes, Dolcezza.” And then he’s gone, closing the door quietly behind him. Who would’ve thought the big brute could be so gentle?
* * *
Marco was silent in the car on the way here, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, and the vibrations from the rumbling engine felt pretty damn good. The smirk he had on his face during the fifteen-minute ride remains as we enter the restaurant. He’s stayed true to his word so far and hasn’t touched me, I’m just wondering when he’s planning on activating the love-egg thing I have inside my pussy.
The smartly dressed waiter shows us to a table in the corner by the windows with a great view of the giant Pepsi-Cola sign by the river. I’ve never actually been here before, and now I’m wondering why, since it’s so close to my apartment. The general atmosphere is warm and cozy, but also romantic and classy.
Mental note: Come back here when I’m not with a giant asshole.
Once we arrive at the table, Marco surprises me by moving past the waiter to pull out my chair, gesturing for me to sit. Before he takes his own seat, he leans down and smells my neck. He’s so close I can feel the heat coming off him in waves, but he still doesn’t physically touch me.
“This is the last time you will wear this wig, Dolcezza.” The words are whispered into my ear, before he moves to the chair opposite me. It sends a shiver down my spine that I’m trying desperately to suppress, I won’t let him see how he’s affecting me.
The waiter—who just stood by, awkwardly watching our whole interaction—hands over the wine menu, and before I can decline, Marco does it for me.
“Due sparkling waters, per favore.”
I remain silent, it seems Mr. Mancini has done his homework on me. Drinking with clients or potential clients isn’t something I tend to do very often.
Just how much does this guy know about me?
Having already made my mind up that I’m not taking this job, my own research this afternoon was minimal, so I feel at a slight disadvantage for the first time with this man.
“Si, I’ll be back with your drinks and to take your food order.”
With the waiter gone, I lean forward on my elbows, giving Mr. Asshole a great view of my cleavage.
“What color would you prefer I wear?” Raising my eyebrow in challenge, I twirl a strand of my brown wig around my finger and watch for his reaction.