CHAPTER EIGHT
“If it’s overdone, I’ll order something in,” Cristiano said. “It would be here in no time at all. Also, if you were lying about liking onions, this is your last chance to speak up.”
I smiled at him over the candles in the middle of the table then humorously wondered to myself how a man like Cristiano received his Chinese food delivery. Did it get dropped off via helicopter on a landing pad right above our heads, thus cutting out time spent in traffic and ensuring the egg rolls got here in no time at all?
“It’s great,” I promised him. “Really. And I love onions... and snap peas... and chicken... and whatever this is.”
I stabbed the vegetable in question with my fork and lifted it for him to see.
“Ah. Bamboo shoots.”
“Yes. Bamboo... love it.”
Indeed, the stir-fry was perfectly done, the peppers and onions still having just the slightest crisp left in them. Apparently, putting the stove on low and making time for the hottest bondage romp in the history of the world was the long-sought-after addition to the recipe for perfect veggie stir-fry.
A shiver traveled through me as I remembered the details of what happened in the kitchen. As the tremor hit my core, a deep desire rose in me. I wanted to experience the things Cristiano had made me feel again. The helplessness. The exposure. I felt raw and revealed underneath his hands. I felt... out of control. It was something I never even knew I wanted to feel, and once it happened, the intensity of it blew me away. Not in a million years would I have expected it, but one taste of what it felt like to surrender every bit of myself and I was addicted.
Cristiano cut his food into small pieces, the fork and knife poised gracefully in his hands. If I hadn’t known about his past I would have thought he’d been brought up in a well-to-do family, one highly concerned with manners and etiquette. Although I could imagine a little boy in Hampton Road, as well as in a random foster home, I couldn’t see how that child had grown to become the man in front of me. Just how much struggle did he go through before he began to make a concerted effort to change things around for himself? Or had he always been self-willed, always known that he wanted to be and have the very best?
Surely, if anyone had ever deserved the term ‘self-made’ it was Cristiano Leventis.
He looked up from his plate and caught my eye. “You look flushed.”
“Do I?”
“Perhaps it’s the after effects of what I just did to you.”
This time, heat really did fill me. “I liked it,” I huskily whispered, partially shy to even admit it.
“Good.” He put a bite of food in his mouth, his eyes still on me.
“I was just thinking... about you.” I paused, doing my best to tactfully approach the subject. “Just wondering about when you decided to go to business school... and why.”
One of his eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t look displeased. His eyes drifted away towards the wall, giving the impression that he was thinking back to a time many years ago and trying his hardest to pull forth some details of life then.
“There wasn’t an exact moment. All I knew my whole childhood was that I didn’t want to be like so many of the people around me. So... defeated. Desperate... feeling like they had no control over things, which they did.”
“You mean their own lives?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
I pierced a hunk of broccoli with my fork and thumped in against the plate. Realizing I was playing with my food, I ate the vegetable.
“Not everyone,” Cristiano said. “Not everyone was like that. Just a lot of people.”
“At the orphanage?”
“No. The orphanage was the best part of my life. Leaving it was the worst.”
It felt like an arrow pierced my heart. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
His face darkened, and his eyebrows bunched. For a moment, it seemed as if he would open his mouth and dismiss the whole issue, tell me it “didn’t matter” or he was “over it.”
A few quiet breaths passed. His face relaxed, and his eyes drifted back to me.
“It was hard,” he murmured. “But just like not all people from my childhood lived lives of quiet desperation, not every foster home I stayed in fit the bill of the stereotypical foster care nightmare. I knew good people... and some not. But if my childhood taught me anything, it was that no one was going to take charge of my life for me. It was no one else’s job to make sure I was all right. It was mine and mine alone.”
I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “You’re never alone.”
Cristiano blinked rapidly and looked at me, his face the softest it had been all night. It occurred to me that my gesture might be upsetting him. Perhaps he was merely reflecting for his own benefit and had made a blunder by revealing so much to me. I still didn’t know a great deal about him, but I knew that no one who had been through difficult experiences wanted to think of themselves as the poster child for tragedy. His wounds weren’t on display for my entertainment.
Also, I wasn’t a therapist. And I was probably a dumbass for telling him he was “never alone.” Clearly, he had been just that for a great deal of his life.
I started to pull my hand away, but his fingers tightened on it.
“It’s nice to have you here,” he murmured. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It’s... really nice.”
Relief washed over me. I squeezed his hand. “It is,” I agreed.
So then why did I feel so bad?
I didn’t want to answer that. Didn’t want to think about the fact that while Cristiano was revealing himself to me, I was still keeping myself at bay.
You can’t. You just can’t tell everyone everything.
I knew that. And I was doing a decent job of justifying it... but it was getting hard. There was something new in Cristiano’s eyes, something that told me he really meant what he said.
And did he trust me?
I didn’t want to be another one of those people who let him down. Nausea rose in my chest, and I quickly looked for something distracting to talk about.
“What was the best foster home you lived in?”
His smile came immediately. “It was with this older couple, Jeb and Donna White. They were old enough to be my grandparents, but they had me call them aunt and uncle. I stayed with them for about six months when I was twelve.” A soft look settled on his features. “They were amazing. They taught me how to garden, and they got me a bike.”
“They do sound great. How come you couldn’t stay with them longer than that?”
“Donna had a heart attack, and she passed away one day while I was at school. Jeb was older than her by at least fifteen years. She’d been the one who did most of the work around the house. She took care of both me and him. After the funeral, he had to go to a nursing home. His younger brother put him there, insisted that Jeb was too old to take care of even himself, let alone me. And he wasn’t, I know that now. The man was pushing eighty.”
I stared at Cristiano, hardly able to believe the story. From where I stood, it bordered on horrific.
“Were you able to go and see him?” I asked, praying the answer would be yes.
Cristiano shook his head the slightest bit. “I was placed in a home back in Chicago. Jeb was moved to a nursing home in another part of the state. By the time I became old enough to get myself there to visit him, he had passed away.”
A piece of my heart broke off. “I...”
“It’s all right.”
I shook my head, a stone size lump growing in my throat, threatening my ability to even breathe, let alone talk.
“Really, Blaire. It’s all right. I had it better than some kids.”
I simply looked at him. His statement was true, but it did nothing to lessen my pain.
“At least I had Jeb and Donna. They made a real difference in my life. The amount of time we spent together didn’t matter. It was the quality. They loved me. They loved me like I was their own, and that made me realize that I was lovable.”
I took in a shaky breath. No way was I going to cry. “That’s beautiful,” I choked, looking down at where our hands sat clasped. As absorbed in his story as I was, I’d nearly forgotten we were still touching.
“Yes,” he gently agreed. “I visit their gravestones every once in a while. They’re buried next to each other south of Chicago, in the town I lived with them.”
“Cristiano, they would be so proud of you.”
This time, his smile lit up the room. “They would... thank you.” His back straightened, and his tone became a tad more serious. “Tell me more about you.”
I took in a deep breath, nervous about the turn in the conversation.
Cristiano shook his head and withdrew his hand so he could go back to eating. “That sounds so general. I apologize. Tell me about your friends. Who do you hang out with the most?”
“Well, there’s Evie. I guess she’s my best friend. We’re together a lot. And there are a few people from the army that are in the area.” I thought more about it. “I guess that’s it. Well, unless you count my mom. We talk on the phone so much she’s definitely an honorary friend.”
“You spend a lot of time alone,” he commented. “Is that true?”
I cut up a pepper slice and thought about it. “I don’t know. No, I don’t think I do.”
“But friends are compartmentalized.”
I looked at him with interest, wondering what it was that gave him the confidence to so easily peg me. “What makes you say that?”
“The people I’ve known who were in the military have a lot of structure in their lives. They seem to like order.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I guess that’s true. I mean, I do have my routines. I’m not very happy when I skip working out or when I watch more TV than I usually let myself.”
“Right. You’re self-disciplined.”
“I’m trying not to be,” I quickly replied. “I don’t like how hard I am on myself when I miss a run.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Most people only dream of being so self-disciplined. It’s an admirable trait.”
“I know. I guess I’m kind of tired of it. I’m ready to be... something new.”
“And that’s the lighthearted part of you.”
“Yeah... I guess it is.” I took a drink of water from a glass way too fancy to be holding anything but thousand-dollar alcohol. “I spent so long in an environment where so many decisions were made for me. I want to be...” I trailed off, really not sure how to finish that sentence.
“I understand.”
I looked at him in relief. “Good.”
Cristiano stood suddenly, pushing his chair back. “Come dance with me.”
I stared up at his extended palm. “What?”
“Dance with me,” he repeated.
“There’s no music,” I dumbly responded, taking his hand anyway and letting him lead me around the table. We stepped through the dining room’s arched doorway and into the most impressive spot in the penthouse so far — a corner room with a grand piano, stereo system, and fireplace. Two plush couches crowded around a coffee table, but other than that, the space was empty, the room dedicated mostly to the city view stretching out in two directions.
Soft lighting came from the floor lamp in one of the corners, but other than that, it was just the lights of Chicago illuminating our way across the floor. Cristiano picked up a little remote from the top of the stereo and clicked the system on. Soft jazz music floated out of the speakers, the notes wrapping around our bodies and pushing us closer together.
Cristiano took my hand in his, the firm and now familiar grip settling lightly over my palm. His other hand went to the small of my back, and we started to move, albeit extremely awkwardly on my part.
“I can’t really dance,” I mumbled.
He cocked his head. “That wasn’t part of your training?”
I laughed and tried to think of a joke, but nothing came to mind. I was too self-conscious about the stumbling of my two left feet, especially with Cristiano’s deft moves so close to mine.
“You don’t really have to know how to dance,” he said. “You just need to have confidence. Act like you know what you’re doing. That should be easy enough for you. You’re pretty confident.”
“Me? Seriously?”
“Well, if you’re not, you hide it well.”
“Is that what you do? Just act like you have confidence?”
“It’s what I’ve been doing my whole life.” He grinned. “How do you think I got to where I am today?”
“I figured it was your good looks.”
His mouth twitched upwards. “Come to think of it... I never thought this was connected, but I have given a lot of blowjobs under desks.”
I laughed out loud, the sound a huge bark. I had no idea Cristiano could be so funny.
“So you’re good?” I countered, trying my best to act serious. We were swaying to the piano, the classy song a humorous contrast to our crass conversation.
He shrugged. “Who knows? Those days are behind me.”
“Good. I was starting to get jealous.”
His hand tightened on my lower back, and his thumb moved gently around, rubbing a little circle into the fabric of my dress. When he spoke, there was no trace of a joking attitude. “You have nothing to worry about.”
A swell of elation rose in my chest then bubbled over, spilling out into the rest of my being. You have nothing to worry about. Was he trying to tell me that I had no competition? That I was the only person he had eyes for? I started to open my mouth but hesitated. There seemed to be nothing to say. There was only an immense joy. Nothing else could make the moment any more perfect than it already was.
I shouldn’t feel this good. I can’t feel this good.
And yet I was doing just that.
Cristiano pulled me a little closer, and I went willingly, dropping my head against his shoulder. My body melted into his, my feet following his own. Soon I became a mirror of him, moving across the floorboards almost like an extension of the man.
Time went on, expanding and shrinking. It was impossible to say how long we danced, but at some point, I realized my feet were actually getting sore, my toes cramping a bit in the ends of my high heels. Cristiano ran his hands up and over my shoulders, lightly massaging them.
Before I knew it was coming, a yawn escaped my mouth.
“Wow,” I murmured. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I should be going.”
Truth be told, I would have stayed if he wanted me to. I just didn’t know what he wanted. Everything about his actions and words were sweet and welcoming, but it was a weeknight. Perhaps he had work to do in the morning and didn’t need someone staying over and getting in his way when all he wanted to do was take a shower and chug some protein shake or something.
“You can’t go,” he responded, stepping back a little to look down at me. “It’s so late.”
I pushed back some of the hair that had fallen in my face while dancing. “I guess. But I’ll be fine. I’m still awake enough to drive, and traffic will be light.”
He touched the strand of hair I’d tucked behind my ear, looking down at it in an almost wistful kind of way. “Light or not, it’s not safe. I don’t want you driving back so late. Or walking up to your apartment so late. The city isn’t kind at this hour. Please stay.”
I smiled slightly, flattered that he was thinking of my safety, but also slightly hurt that he didn’t want me to stay just for the sake of having me there.
“And,” he slowly said. “Selfishly speaking, I want you to stay.”
I bit back the wide grin. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll stay.”
Taking my hand, he led me out of the room and down the hallway.
“What about the plates?” I asked.
“Are you still hungry?”
“No. But I can help clean up.”
“The housekeeper will get it tomorrow. She comes every morning at eight.”
“Oh.” Of course.
Thick chocolate drapes covered the windows in Cristiano’s bedroom, and a queen-size bed sat in the middle of the room. Other than that, it was sparsely decorated, containing nothing more than a chair, matching bedside tables, and some lamps.
“I just sleep in here,” Cristiano said as if reading my mind. “That’s why it’s not very exciting. I work and read in my study before bed.”
“Oh.”
Oh. Could I say anything else?
I was mesmerized, watching as each new square foot of Cristiano’s home helped to reveal more of the man. The whole room was immaculate, more like a hotel room than a bedroom. I yawned without meaning to and quickly covered my mouth.
Cristiano walked past me and opened the double doors to the closet. “I have pajamas you can sleep in. And there’s an unopened toothbrush somewhere. I’ll find it for you.”
I cringed behind his back. After all the effort I’d put into being sexy for the night, it seemed a crime to trade my dress and high heels for flannel pajama pants.
He glanced slyly over his shoulder, one palm still on a doorknob. “Or you could wear nothing.”
I smiled. “Nothing sounds good.”
He took a step towards me, studying my face in the dim light. I teetered forward to meet him the rest of the way. At the same time, our arms wrapped around each other. Cristiano’s face ducked towards mine, and I lifted my chin to welcome his kiss. The fatigue in my limbs lightened, and though I could still tell it was there, it was less intense. My head cleared, the grogginess evaporating.
Cristiano’s hands made circles up and down my thighs, pulling my dress up with them. I held him tighter, never breaking my kiss as I moved backwards in the general direction of the bed. Cristiano steered me to the right a bit, and we collapsed onto the mattress, him above me.
The kiss still going on, his fingers adventured down the length of my leg then back up, paving a trail of hot fire. The light touch made me shiver in anticipation. Though we had only been physical a couple times, I already knew that with Cristiano, surprises were just part of the package. Would what he had in store for me next be even more intense than what had happened in the kitchen? My thighs tightened in anxiety at the same time wetness trickled down the inside of one of them.
Cristiano smiled against my lips, pleased at my body’s response to him.
Instead of spanking me, or pulling a strange toy I’d never seen before out from under the bed like I expected, Cristiano just kept caressing my curves, moving up and over my thighs and across my stomach.
I relaxed further, my muscles melting into the bed. He began to pull the top of my dress down, exposing my shoulders. My bra straps slipped off with the dress, and he reached underneath me to undo the clasp.
I continued to allow myself to be fully undressed, the heels included. With a satisfied look on his face, Cristiano straightened up to remove his own clothes. The first sight of him fully naked in real lighting made my next breath catch in my throat. His chest and stomach were as smooth and hairless as my hands had promised they were, and each muscle seemed to be rolling in on top of another one. I lifted myself up onto my elbows and gazed at his cock. It called to me, inviting me to take the length of it in my throat. I had no time to act the fantasy out though. Cristiano climbed back on top of me, one hand bracing himself against the bed and the other hand coming up to delicately trail down the side of my face.
His touch was as light as a flower petal, causing me infinitely more pleasure than the normal pressure any other man had ever applied. The edge of his finger traced across my breasts, circling around one nipple, before going down the center of my belly.
Cristiano hovered above me, gazing down at me with every muscle in his face tight and determined. His finger danced across my swollen clit, causing me to push it up towards his hand. Not pausing, he slid it slowly up and down my folds, slipping against the wetness there. I groaned and almost begged for him to go inside of me, but I bit my lip. Being forced to wait, although painful, was almost as pleasurable as his girth inside of me itself.
Moving his hand out of the way, he edged himself forward. His sheathed cock hovered between my thighs, achingly close to my skin. I shimmied down the mattress in an attempt to get closer to it. A gurgle of pleasure left Cristiano. Clearly, he liked seeing me squirm.
Slowly, so slowly, his cock moved towards me. It pushed against my opening, and I sighed in relief. But Cristiano still didn’t give me what I wanted. He ran the tip of his shaft up and down my opening, teasing but never going inside.
I bit my bottom lip and groaned in frustration, letting my head fall to the side. Cristiano chuckled softly.
And then he was spreading me, his width pushing into me at a slow and delicious pace.
Lowering himself, Cristiano rested on his left forearm. His right hand came to cradle the back of my head, and his lips pressed into mine. Our swollen mouths met, raw but still full of vigor.
Cristiano pressed deeper into me, putting a bit more strength into the action. I gasped in surprise when he changed pace and began slamming over and over, an orgasm already building and threatening to barrel through me.
He wrapped his arms around me, kissing me tight as I shook against him. Once my tremors subsided, we continued to kiss. On and on, our lips and tongues tangled together. Even as sleep began to take me. Even as I began nodding off, began forgetting where we were, we still kissed.