“If that’s whatyouwant, cucciolo. I’d let him watch me pleasure you. Maybe he’ll learn something.”
You snorted at that, and we didn’t speak of it again until two weeks later, when we were finishing dinner on the balcony and you told me Bruno was coming over in a few hours.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah, he wants to…you know.”
“Watch a movie?” I teased and you glowered at me. “Ah, yes, I remember now.” I’d thought about it more than once since you’d mentioned it to me. I’d informed Xavier of your desire as well in order to gain his consent. I supposed this meant you’d worked up the nerve to follow through.
“I guess I’d better go wash up,” you said.
“Would you like my assistance?”
“No, I got it,” you said with a sharp edge to your voice. It was a tone you rarely took with me. There was something bothering you, and you weren’t being very forthcoming about it.
“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
Your expression was stormy as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I just don’t want something like this to come between us,” you said severely.
I studied your face. At times you were an open book, but not then.
“Darling, why would it?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I guess it wouldn’t,” you said, frustrated, and stalked away.
While you were in the shower, I tried to pinpoint the source of your anxiety. Perhaps, because you’d only ever had one lover, you feared my affections for you might somehow be diminished if I was willing to allow a third person to observe or even participate in our lovemaking. But then, why had you brought it up as a possibility? Did you expect me to refuse you? To divine your desires? If that was the case, you were mistaken. My powers had their limits, and I’d told you before telepathy wasn’t one of them. Perhaps this would be a learning experience for you.
After the dishes were put away, I reclined in what I’d come to consider my chair and the source of so many carnal delights. You came out of the bathroom wearing only your sweatpants, your curls still damp from the shower.
“You are stunning,” I said and let my eyes roam over your alluring frame. A true masterpiece, a sculptor could not improve upon your form.
You scowled at me, then went to the liquor cabinet and poured yourself a shot of whiskey. That elixir was usually reserved for sore throats and fevers.
“Feeling under the weather?” I asked innocently.
“Liquid courage.” You glanced over your shoulder, eying me with suspicion. I did not care for that look.
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
“A little.”
“Would you like my help to calm yourself?”
“No.” You straightened your shoulders. I wasn’t sure what you were trying to prove in refusing me.
“Are there some boundaries you’d like to establish?” I asked mildly, trying to coax you as one might a skittish colt.
Your answer came readily. “I don’t want you touching him.”
So, you were a bit jealous. I beckoned you over. At first you only perched on the edge of my throne, so I patted my lap. “Come sitright here,” I purred with just a hint of seduction, and you obliged me, still with that adorable little scowl on your face.
“I have no desire to touch your friend,” I said and stroked your bare shoulder reassuringly.
“Good,” you said stubbornly. Your pout was just as alluring as your smile, that plump lower lip so tantalizingly ripe.
“But I do wish to impress him with my sexual prowess, so I don’t want you holding back or disobeying me because you’re feeling shy. You invited him here as our guest, and we’re going to give him a performance he won’t soon forget. Without the pouting or foot stomping.”
That seemed to settle you, and with only a few more soft caresses, your body relaxed as well.
