His smile deepens and that’s beautiful too. ‘Here,’ he says, picking up another box and handing it to me. ‘These go with it.’
I open it and there are some high-heeled red silk sandals, with red soles, and I love those too. My throat closes. ‘How did you know these would be so perfect?’ I ask. ‘And that I’d love them?’
‘I didn’t know,’ he admits. ‘I just thought of that night in Singapore, when we met, and how beautiful you were in red.’
It’s simple praise, but I glow all the same. I can’t help it. I love it when he calls me beautiful.
I open more boxes and bags, loving how each one isn’t the kind of gift I’d get from Ulysses. Those were gifts to his sister, but none of these are sisterly in the slightest. They’re not for the girl I never had a chance of being or the broken teenager reverting to childhood for safety. They’re gifts for a woman. Silky underwear in a rainbow of colours, sexy bras, negligees and knickers. A couple of other gowns, one of emerald silk, with a high leg slit, and another of black, with a plunging neckline. Skimpy bikinis that barely cover anything. And that’s not all. There are form-fitting dresses, practical jeans and tees, and soft cashmere sweaters. There are also other shoes, both sexy high heels and sneakers, and then boxes and boxes of make-up and toiletries, all high-end and all extremely expensive.
I love them all. They’re pretty, all to my taste, pregnancy-friendly, and I just know they’re all going to fit. And indeed, when he asks me to model them for him, they do fit, and superbly.
I waft around in the emerald-green gown, turning in front of him as he sits on the couch, his dark eyes burning.
‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs. ‘Dragonfly, you stop my heart.’
I give him a curtsey. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’
And this time it’s my heart stopping as he smiles. ‘Do you like them all, then?’ he asks. ‘Are there any you want me to return?’
As with everything he says, he means it, and I know too that it wouldn’t bother him if there were some I didn’t like. But I do like them,allof them, and I want him to know that. So I stop wafting and come to a stop in front of him.
‘I love them,’ I say honestly. ‘I love all of them.’ Then I go on, because I want him to know this, too. ‘My brother’s presents were all things for a little girl, a teenager, or a sister. Not a woman.’ I shift one leg to the side, allowing the green silk of the gown to slide away, the slit in the dress extending up to my hip. ‘This, for example, is very definitely for a woman.’
Rafael’s dark gaze drops to my thigh and his expression turns hungry. ‘Good,’ he says, then glances up at me again. ‘Because that’s what you are. A sexy, beautiful, strong woman.’
I’m not used to being looked at the way he’s looking at me, but I like it. It makes me feel all of those things that he told me I am, sexy and beautiful and most of all strong. Because I want to be strong, especially after spending so many years feeling so weak.
Suddenly, I want to give him something too—I don’t want to be the only one who receives—except I have nothing to give him.
His gaze sharpens as if he can read my every thought. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’ve given me all these beautiful things. But I don’t have anything to give you,’ I say slowly.
‘I don’t need anything.’ His gaze darkens, intensifies. ‘I have everything I need right here.’
He means me, I know it, and abruptly, I know what to give him.
‘Tell me,’ I say, holding his gaze. ‘Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Anything you want, anything at all. It’ll be my Christmas gift to you.’
He stares at me, the black flames in his eyes rising higher. ‘Dragonfly…’
I don’t move and I don’t look away. ‘I want to, Rafael. Please. Ulysses never asked anything of me, because he thought I was too broken, too fragile. But…you said I was strong and I want to be treated as if I am.’ I take a step closer to where he’s sitting on the couch, the green silk billowing around my legs. ‘So. Tell me. What do you want for Christmas, Rafael Santangelo?’
The darkness in his eyes shifts then blazes. ‘Put on some of that scarlet lipstick,’ he murmurs, gesturing to the small gold box sitting by the couch.
I’m a little puzzled by the request, but I obey. There’s a tiny mirror that comes with the lipstick tube, so I’m able to apply it without issue. The colour is fire-engine red and it makes my mouth look full and pouty.
‘Good,’ he says approvingly as I put the lipstick down. ‘Now, take off your underwear, but keep the gown on.’
I reach beneath the hem and slide my knickers down my legs and then step out of them. His gaze follows every movement and once my underwear is off, he orders, ‘Kneel.’ And points to the spot on the rug in front of where he’s sitting.
My heart beats faster, because I know what he wants now, and I’m desperate to give it to him, so I kneel in front of him.
‘Undo my jeans,’ he demands.
My fingers shake as I do his bidding, desire and anticipation making my mouth go dry. He’s hard behind the denim and I can feel the pressure building between my own thighs in anticipation.
‘Take my cock out.’ His voice is deeper, almost a purr. ‘Then take it in your mouth. I want to see those red lips wrapped around it.’
