He carries me to the bed and gently lays me down in the center of the sprawling mattress.
I watch him as he stands at the foot of the bed, watching me. His eyes are dark, unreadable in the dim light.
I'm suddenly aware of my nakedness, of the way I'm splayed out before him in just my heels.
And I'm suddenly, achingly aware of how clothed he still is.
"Take your clothes off," I say, my voice still husky from my orgasm.
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Patience, sweetheart."
He reaches up and loosens his bow tie. He then presses my wrists together and holds them in one hand while he uses the other to wrap the tie around my wrists and binds me.
The silk is smooth against my skin, and the knot isn't very tight.
But he's not done. He takes my bound wrists and lifts them over my head.
"You're mine, Olivia," he says, as he wraps the loose ends of the bow tie around a spindle on the headboard.
The words send a fresh wave of desire through me.
He tests the knot, then straightens up and looks down at me.
I tug against it, testing it, but it holds fast.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"Whatever I want," he says, the look on his face leaving no room for argument.
A thrill of fear, and excitement, runs through me. I’m completely at his mercy.
I have no choice but to lie here, wrists tied to the headboard, legs splayed on either side of him. Completely open to him.
He looks down at me, heat in his eyes as they take in every part of me. His eyes rake over me, a slow, deliberate perusal that feels like a physical touch.
He reaches out and trails a single finger down my body, from my throat to my navel. I shiver at the contact.
"You are so beautiful," he says, his voice a low rumble. "All spread out for me."
He kneels on the bed between my legs, and my body tenses in anticipation.
He rubs his palms over my thighs gently. His hands are big and warm, and I can feel the calluses on his palms, a rough counterpoint to the smoothness of my skin.
Then over my hips, and up my sides.
He takes his sweet time, touching me everywhere but where I need him most. My hips start to arch off the bed, a silent plea.
"So impatient," he chuckles, a low, knowing sound.
I'm about to say something, to beg him, but then his hands are on my breasts, cupping their weight, his thumbs circling my nipples, which are already hard and aching for his touch.
I gasp, my back arching off the bed, pushing my breasts deeper into his hands.
Roberto just watches me respond to his touch. He doesn't use his mouth or anything else.
Just his hands.
It's maddening.
