“Oh.” Like in the kitchen. “Green is go. So, I suppose Red. Red is stop?”
“Good. Color?”
“Green, definitely green,” I whisper breathlessly.
His hands slide higher under my skirt, finding the edge of my stockings. “Because I need you, Chloe. Need to be inside you. To make you mine in every way. But I need to know you are with me. That this is what you want too.”
“I want it,” I assure him. “I want you. I’m just — I’ve never —”
I can’t make myself say it.
“Never what?” He asks as his hands still.
“Been with anyone.” The confession comes out small, embarrassed.
He goes very still above me. “Chloe —”
“I want this, Basili. I want you.” I take a shaky breath. “Take away my fear, replace it with something good. Something I choose for myself, please.”
“We can wait, tesoro.” He pulls back slightly.
“No, Basili, please. I need you as much as you need me,” I whine.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Green. Very, very green.”
He studies my face a moment longer, and I see the exact moment he comes back to me. “Hands above your head.”
The command sends a shiver through me. I reach above my head, clasping my hands together.
He takes my wrists gently, securing them with his tie. Not painfully, just enough to make sure they stay.
“Now, you can’t help,” he murmurs, kissing his way down my neck to the rise of my collarbone. “Can’t do anything besides feel. Let me do all the work, tesoro. Let me take care of you.”
He reaches behind my back for the zipper, drawing it down slowly. The dress loosens, and he uses the extra room to draw it down just enough to expose my breasts. Contact with the cool air instantly peaks my nipples as he does so.
I’m exposed. Vulnerable.
“Bellissima,” he breathes, taking one into his mouth and lapping at it gently before moving to the other and repeating the motion, then rising to kiss me again. “So fucking beautiful.”
His mouth explores my throat, kissing and nipping his way down to my collarbone. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they ache.
“Basili, please,” I beg.
“Please, what?”
“More. Please. I need more.”
His hand slides down my stomach, careful of the still-healing wound, and beneath my skirt back to the band of my stockings. He pulls them down in one swift, flawless motion, and I gasp when his fingers find me, already wet and ready.
He groans at the contact, eyes rolling happily. “So eager. So responsive. So perfect.”
When he slides the first finger in, my back arches in automatic response, and I moan instantly. He’s slow and careful, stroking gently.
“Color?” He asks, his voice strained.
“Green. God, green.”
