“A reward?” I ask as my fingers card through his flaxen hair. “What sort of reward would you like, sweetheart?”
“I want to suck you off in front of your friends. I want to swallow your load and have everyone know that I am the only submissive permitted to savor your seed.”
My impulse is to give him an enthusiasticyesand maybe a pre-dinner blowjob to take the edge off, but I recall Valentin’s lesson on patience, how delayed gratification is sometimes the best motivator of all.
“That can be arranged, but only if you are very,verygood.”
“I’ll be good for you, Sir. I promise.”
Giovanni is seatedat my side, this dazzling beauty who is the light of my life. It astonishes me still that such a thoughtful, intelligent young man belongs to me. Between courses I can’t help but let my hands wander. I caress his bare back, my fingertips drifting over the smooth planes of his shoulders and down the spinal cord that bends and twists so beautifully in my rope. And when we’re making love.
He is pretending not to be affected by these sensual touches as he makes conversation with a submissive across the table, a non-binary individual named Andrea, who is a student at a nearby institute for design. The sub has complimented Giovanni’s “dress” and asked to take a picture later, as inspiration for their own work. I’m flattered and charmed by the praise. Their mistress, a woman named Patrizia, notices Giovanni’s accent and asks him where he’s from.
“New York City,” he says.
“And what brought you to Italia?”
“I came here with my Master, who is Sir’s older brother. You may have met him last spring at our home in Ischia?”
Patrizia nods and I briefly recall that treasured time, right before Valentin’s health declined so dramatically and Giovanni took up the mantle of his care while I retreated into managing my brother’s affairs and practicing my ropework.
“I was so sorry to hear of his passing,” Patrizia says. “That disease is a truly harrowing one.”
I resist the urge to speak for him, even as my thumb continues to rub his nape in slow circles.
“We do not like to dwell on that time,” he says stiffly. “We find it too distressing to contemplate.”
“Of course. I’m sorry I brought it up. I only wish to offer my condolences.” She glances in my direction, and I give a slight nod.
“Tell us more about your studies, Andrea,” I say to reroute the conversation. “Studying design in one of the world’s fashion capitals must be very exciting for you.”
We pick up the thread of their former conversation. Eventually, the tension in Giovanni’s shoulders releases and my hand wraps around his neck, squeezing lightly.
“Molto bene, piccolo mio,” I whisper in his ear. “You are Sir’s very good boy.”
After dinnerwe adjourn to thelounge,where Santino serves after-dinner drinks. My cheeks are warm from laughter and good company, my belly full and happy as I sip the bittersweet liqueur. At Santino’s urging, Giovanni has taken up a place beside him at the fancy piano, and the two are taking turns playing softly while a few people observe nearby. Leandro is at my side, flirting with a handsome young man visiting from Barcelona. Others are trading gossip or perhaps making more amorous advances. Patrizia is fondling Andrea on one of the couches, rubbing the point of one nipple where it pokes through the light fabric of their blouse. Another couple is kissing decadently with their hands parting the folds in their clothing.
“Your boy is very talented on the piano,” Leandro says when his young man goes to fetch them another drink. “A musiciananda philosopher?”
“A lover of languages too,” I say with pride.
“Does he play professionally?”
“He plays on the island, at a couple restaurants and at church. Sometimes he’ll bring out his cello and play for the tourists passing by, though he hasn’t picked up his instruments since my brother passed. This is the first I’ve heard him play since then.”
“A sign that he is healing?”
“I hope so. It hasn’t been easy for him. They were very close.”
“And how are you handling it, Silvio?”
“What do you mean?”
“It must be hard for you too. Having to be so strong for him. Your brother was like a father to you, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was. I haven’t really given myself time to grieve. I’ve been too focused on taking care of Giovanni.”
“He is a beautiful distraction.”
