“This is getting good!” she shrieks happily, tapping her shot glass to mine. “The wedding night?”
“Um…” Am I drunk enough to tell her? “We were out for a walk,” I said, cleaning it up a bit, “going through the rows of vines and everything smelled so good and earthy and it was so beautiful and…”
“What?” Kelli’s clutching her shot glass to her chest like the hand of a lover. “Tell me!”
“We um…” I’m dying of embarrassment but my mouth keeps moving. “We did it. Right there. In the dirt. And it was insane and feral and everything I never thought I would want and all I can think about is doing it like that again.”
She screams, hugging me. “That is so fucking hot! I’m dying! Good on ya, honey!”
We laugh and talk for a few more minutes until Gianni returns with Mattia and a little spritzer bottle, handing it to Kelli.
I yelp when she sprays my chest with it. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s black light hour!” she shouts happily, and I laugh, heading onto the floor with her as the strobe lights switch to black lighting and splotches of glowing color bloom on the dancers.
I’m vaguely aware of Mattia and Gianni circling Kelli and me, keeping anyone from getting too close, for a few perfect moments, it’s just us, dancing like we’re back in Europe and we’re free.
“Woah, mate, you’re about to flash the dance floor,” Kelli pulls at my skirt, which has worked its way up and to the left. “Will you look at that? Did you know your tattoo glows in the dark?”
“It does?” I crane my neck, trying to see it. I’ve been meaning to set up an appointment with a laser specialist to get this thing off my skin, but everything else seems to get in the way. “Well, I hate it, so it’s going as soon as I have time to get it taken off.”
“It’s really kind of cool when you see it in the black light,” she persists, taking a picture of it before I straighten my dress so it’s no longer visible. The vision of Schmidt telling me how perfect it was, that my body was a “beautiful, blank canvas” because I didn’t have any other tattoos is making me shaky and ill. No longer in the mood to dance, I head off the floor with Mattia, leaving Gianni to handle Kelli.
Marietta whisks by me again with a wave and a distracted smile. I really need to remind Dario to give her a bonus for her work tonight.
Stepping onto the VIP platform where we set up camp, I see Dario watching the crowd, his arms spread out over the back of the leather seat. He looks up at me, his amber eyes glowing gold in the black light, like a panther in the night.
“There you are,” he purrs. Are you ready to come with me?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
In which Cora is Deconstructed.
Dario…
All night, I’ve shaken hands like I’m running for president, laughed, listened to inane, powerful idiots, and the entire time, all I wanted to do is throw my wife over my shoulder and drag her onto Floor Four, which is the codename for the sex club.
The VIP section is empty when I return, and I groan. My dick is hard enough to stab somebody, and I need Cora now before this turns into a medical emergency. Settling myself on the leather couch, I tilt my head back, thinking about the evening. Deconstructed is on its way to being an even bigger success than its namesake in Italy, or our New York City sex club, which gives me a childish sense of satisfaction since that’s Giovanni’s territory.
When I look up, my bride is standing there, flushed from dancing, and I want todebauchher. Take her apart in a thousand different ways. When she backs up a step, I know what she sees in my eyes.
“There you are,” I said. “Are you ready to come with me?”
“I think so.”
I can barely hear her over the music, but when I hold out my hand, she takes it. Her breathing is shallow in the VIP elevator, and she watches the numbers climb.
“Are you all right,Bellissima?”I lean down to whisper in her ear. “You can say no at any time and I will honor it.”
Cora looks up at me, those pale green eyes so trusting. “I know.”
Taking her sweaty hand in mine, I pull her past the hostess station, where two beautiful girls wearing minuscule dresses nod their heads in unison. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Toscano.”
My wife’s looking around carefully, trying not to gawk. There are performances tonight on all the raised platforms, a chance for the new members to enjoy some erotic entertainment as they’re exploring the new club.
Slowing down as her head swivels, I notice that she’s watching a bound sub writhing under her Dom’s flogger. The sub’s skin is glistening, her eyes closed and mouth open as she moans. Standing behind Cora, I take her hips, pushing my hard cock into the small of her back.
“Are you remembering when I did that to you, baby? The device the sub is bound to is called a Saint Andrew’s Cross. She can’t move away from the lash. Her body is telling her to avoid pain, but her mind knows she needs it.” The Dom runs the handle of his flogger between the woman’s legs, showing her the slick glistening on the leather.
