"It's okay, amore."
He pulls me against him, one hand going to my head, cupping it and stroking gently.
"Breathe," he says, and his mouth is right by my ear, his breath warm and tickling. "I have you. Just breathe."
My breath comes in short pants, but they even out under his gentle reassurances.
"There's nothing to be afraid of."
His arm wraps around my waist.
"Trust me."
"Okay," I whisper, and my trust is implicit.
He guides me down the two smooth stone steps that lead down to the back patio where we had breakfast the morning after my first night here.
The air is cold on my bare skin, and I shiver.
"You will not be cold for long," he promises.
We cross the patio, and I feel the change in texture under my feet.
The rough stone is replaced by soft grass.
I inhale, and the scent of the garden fills my nose.
I cannot see him. I cannot see where we are or who is around. Someone could be out here patrolling, for all I know.
Someone could see me.
Exposed and helpless and completely trusting.
All I have is his voice.
His hand.
The belt around my wrists.
And the fact that he has never, not once, used my trust carelessly.
Not even when it was new and fragile.
I suck in a shaky breath as he guides me forward.
My breasts sway with each careful movement, my nipples tight and aching in the air. The blindfold turns everything into sensation. His hand at my waist. The brush of his trousers against my hip. The faint sound of a bird calling.
I don't know where we are going, but I let him lead me, trusting him to keep me safe.
We walk further into the garden.
My bare feet pad across the grass, and I feel the cool air against my skin, the heat of his body at my side, the strength in his grip.
"Almost there, amore."
He stops.
"Turn to the right."
