Just Giovanni.
My King.
"You really are insane," he says quietly.
"So I've been told." I lift one shoulder in a shrug, then remember I'm supposed to be in position and quickly snap my gaze back down. "By you. Multiple times. Usually while threatening to fire me or lock me in your basement sex dungeon."
"You're already in my basement sex dungeon."
"Fair point."
He crosses the space between us with slow, measured steps. Each footfall echoes against the stone. When he stops, his polished leather shoes are inches from my knees.
"Look at me."
I raise my eyes, keeping my chin down, the way Jino taught me. It's a strange angle—submission without full surrender. Obedience with a hint of defiance still visible in the set of my jaw.
Giovanni's expression is unreadable as he studies my face. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, gentle enough to make me shiver.
"I watched the footage," he says.
There it is. The reason for his fury, laid bare.
"I know."
"You let him touch you."
"Yes."
"You begged him for more."
My pulse spikes, but I hold his gaze. "Yes."
His thumb presses harder against my lip, not quite painful but definitely possessive. "And you told him you'd convince me to give him full access to you. No restrictions. Complete control over your body and mind."
I swallow hard. "He... he said that was the only way he'd keep training me. The way you wanted."
"The wayIwanted?" Giovanni's voice drops to something dangerous. "Or the wayyouwanted?"
The question hits like a slap.
Because he's right. He's absolutely fucking right.
I didn't beg Jino for more because Giovanni ordered me to. I begged because some broken part of me needed what Jino was offering—structure without chaos, discipline without cruelty, pleasure without punishment.
The exact opposite of what Giovanni gives me.
"Both," I whisper.
The word hangs between us, heavy with implications I'm not sure either of us is ready to unpack.
Giovanni's hand slides from my mouth to cup my jaw, tilting my face up further. His grip is firm but not cruel. Possessive but not painful.
"You want him to fuck you."
It's not a question. But I answer anyway.
"I want..." God, how do I explain this? How do I articulate the fucked-up geometry of my desires? "I want what he can teach me. The way he makes everything make sense. The rules, the structure, the?—"
