Giana
“Wake up, Giana,” he murmurs in my ear, and a small smile curls my lips. The heat of his breath fans over my cheek, causing my skin to dot with goose bumps. Rolling over, I open my eyes to find Eli staring down at me.
“Am I late?” I ask, my voice croaky with sleep and heavy with emotion. He shakes his head, but the way he’s regarding me tells me there’s something he’s hiding. “What’s wrong, Eli?” Scooting up, I wait for it. I expect him to tell me to leave, to take my shit and go. Like every other man in my life, the disappointment has been something I’ve dealt with.
“I made breakfast, I’d like you to come downstairs. We need to talk before heading into the office.” He leans in, the clean scent of his aftershave is spicy and masculine. Reminding me of why all those years ago I found solace in his arms.
“I’ll be right down.”
“I want you clean shaven, smooth and warm. I’ve laid out an outfit for you in the closet. And remember the garter belt.” He smirks, pushes off the bed, and heads out of the bedroom. We slept in the guest room last night after my confession and after we had sex. My gaze darts around, taking in the soft feminine furnishings that certainly don’t suit him.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, I pad over to the en suite bathroom and step inside. It’s immaculate. The white Italian tiles are patterned with a light shadow of blue. Almost as if I’m standing in the clouds, with the sky all around me. There’s a his and hers basin, as well as a corner tub with jets that remind me of a Jacuzzi.
The shower could probably fit three or four people, causing me to wonder if he ever did that with other toys. Jealousy has always been my weakness, but this is something different. I’m in love with this man and the thought of him with anyone else sets my blood boiling.
Stepping into the shower, I turn on the taps and allow the cool water to wake me up from the sleepy state of my brain. My body trembles from the cold, but as the spray heats, I warm immediately. Closing my eyes, I recall the memories that kept me going through the five years without Eli.
I was seventeen when we met. He made me come on his hand before my eighteenth birthday. For months, we were just friends. Talking everyday about things that didn’t matter. He gave me life, he offered me the attention that no one else ever gave me. And I reveled in it. I watched him mourn. I saw him cry. As a young girl, you don’t ever expect to see an adult crying, but he did. I was his rock as much as he was mine, but mostly, I think I was his solace as he was mine. There was a connection even then. Before I knew what it was, I loved him.
At that age, all I knew was pain, heartache, and the horror of being used. Men abused me, boys took what they could, even when I didn’t want to give it.
“Hi.” He stalks into the room. There’s a limp in his gait.
“Did you hurt yourself?” I quiz him, lifting my chin in gesture to his leg.
Through narrowed eyes, he stares at me for a moment. The cigarette between my lips gets pulled away. He tells me I shouldn’t do it. Every day, each week he comes back here and he warns me that it’s bad for me.
I don’t listen. Why should I listen to a man I don’t know? “Why do you do it?” He asks with frustration dripping from every word.
Shrugging, I smile up at him. “Because nobody else cares.”
“I do.”
Those two small words are foreign to me. I’ve never heard someone say them. It’s one of those things I’ve always been in tune with. If someone says they care, they’re lying.
It’s how grown-ups make us do what they want. Force. It’s part of life.
“Come, we’re going for a walk.”
“I don’t like being alone with men, but why am I okay with you?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me, merely shrugs as if I just told him about the weather.
The grounds are quiet. He always comes at night, not when it’s completely dark, but those moments between the sun setting on the horizon and the moon finally making itself known. Casting a silvery light on everything below, I glance up and stare at the sliver that greets us tonight.
“They said I could go home soon.”
It’s a lie. He knows it is. “Look.” He points in front of us. It’s a small greenhouse on the edge of the garden. “Let’s go and have a look.” I follow him out to the glass building. He opens the door, allowing me to step inside. It’s humid, making my chest feel almost heavy.
The plants are beautiful, flowers of every color shimmer under the dim light. I’m lost in thought when I feel him behind me. His warmth. The spicy scent of his cologne. He smells like a man, like a good man.
“You’re not scared of me. Are you?”
“No,” I respond honestly. His hands on my hips don’t make me cringe. Instead they make my body tingle. Especially between my legs. He trails his fingertips lightly up my arms, causing me to shudder. His lips are warm and soft on my neck. The soft suckling of his mouth has my blood heating.
“I’m going to make you come on my fingers.” Fear skitters down my skin. I want to say no. To protest, but it doesn’t make a difference. He’s a man, he’ll take it anyway. “Tell me no. If you don’t want it then say it.”
“Men take. Even when I say no.”
He spins me around in his grip, his normally golden eyes darken considerably, even though we’re in the dimly lit building. “I will never, ever force myself on you. Do you understand me? If you say no, then I’ll stop. I just… I want you, Riley. You’re beautiful and I want to get lost in you.”
His words are too emotional, so I spin around, my back to his chest. “Then make me come.”
Tentatively, his hands roam my body. “Hold my hands, I want you to use me for your pleasure.” His words cause me to gasp, but I place my hands on his and we explore my frame together. When I finally take one hand and lead him to where I need it, where my body quivers and pulses, his fingers dip into the material. Pressing against my mound. The delight shoots through me.
My head drops back on his shoulder and a moan, whimper, then a keening mewl falls from me. It is pleasure. I’ve never felt such intensity. An ache that grips me in its fierce hold, keeping me on the edge. I shift our hands up and then down, under the material of my shorts to find the wetness between my thighs.
“Jesus Christ, you’re soaked,” he growls. Actually fucking growls like an animal, and I push one thick digit into my hole. Into the tightness of my body. “Fuck my hand, baby. I want you to come all over my fingers. Come for me, Toy.”
It was the first time he called me that, and I cry out as my orgasm tears through me. Sending me over the edge of bliss. My hips slow, his mouth is still on my neck as he whispers.
“You’re exquisite.”
“Thank you,” my voice is a raspy whisper. He pulls his fingers from my core and brings them to his mouth. I watch transfixed as he licks the wetness from his fingers.
“And you’re delicious.” His tongue darts out, tasting every drop of the glistening juices from his fingers. It’s both erotic and filthy, but it makes me smile.
“Next time, it’s my turn.” I try to saunter past him, but his hand reaches out, tugging me against him.
“Next time, I’m tasting it right from the source.”
Opening my eyes, I realize the water is ice cold. “Was that a good memory?” The deep rumble comes from the doorway after I’ve shut off the taps.
When I step out of the shower, he hands me a white fluffy towel that’s big enough to wrap around my body twice. “It was actually. Do you remember the greenhouse?”
“How could I forget? It was the first time I tasted that sweet cunt. You drenched my fingers with your delicious juices.” Pulling me against him, he leans in to plant a soft kiss on my lips. “Come on, we need to hurry. You took too long in the shower.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I realize my question has desperation and trepidation all over it. I don’t want to say goodbye to him, but deep down, I know if I fuck this up he’ll walk away. I need to keep my secret. Even though I’ve been wanting to tell him since the day he first touched me, I know I can’t.
I can’t lose him. I’ll never survive.