Chapter 13 Milly
When I was done and the draw strings of the slinky bag was in my hands, I had a stiff drink at the bar for courage and stopped for a word to the concierge that she could cancel the approval on the card, I was ready.
I unlocked the door with the key card, the electronic latch clicking with authority. The lights were dimmed, and the room was silent.
Shit he left.
“Not a Ferrari in that bag is there?”
He sat at the table, in the dim light, a champagne glass in front of him, but full, it looked untouched.
Of course it was untouched.
"They were all out.”
“Not in Italy. I was so sure you were thorough and would call to check. What did you pick out?”
“Well, I figured if I was spending the night I needed something to sleep in.”
“Sweatpants and a t-shirt?”
“La Perla was out of sweat pants.”
“La Perla?” His voice caught, it was more of a strangled whisper.
He had heard of it.
Of course he had.
“I figured you could afford it. For a guy who only works 6 months a year, and has frugal hobbies like SCUBA diving. I figured it wouldn’t be a burden.”
“Very thoughtful,” he growled.
“They had some beautiful negligees, the silk so fine and airy like gossamer. It leaves nothing to the imagination. Decent people would be horrified. Thankfully there aren’t any about at 2 a.m. around here.”
I hear the intake of breath, the tension in his body and chest. "They had all kinds, the Princess Leia seemed popular, I guess because all men watch it when they’re 8 and it gets imprinted and seared into their brains. I don’t truly get the appeal, but that was one of the two I picked one up any ways.”
“The gold one? The slave girl?” He sounded like he was in the middle of running a marathon.
"That’s the one. Doesn’t look too comfortable to sleep in what with the chain around the neck, but I suppose there are all kinds of things I haven’t tried.”
“The other one?”
"We’ve been saying the word Ferrari way too much. I think we should cut down, but I found one that is red, the color of a certain car. The only problem is I have no idea how I put it on. It seems to be a bunch of ribbons, but I don’t think ribbons is the right word. Too sheer. I’d probably need some help for that one."
“Ribbons?”
“Criss-crossed in black and red, wound around the back. Like I said I probably need three people to help me put it on,” I traced the lines on my body, around my breasts, over my hips. “At least one other set of hands.”
“Milly,” the whisper was a growl.
“It’s a shame my phone has to be locked away, I’d like some pictures if I figured out how to put it on. I hope it has instructions, but I bet it’s like IKEA, the instructions are in Swedish and the people in the pictures look as confused as you do”
“Milly,” he grabbed me and pulled me into his lap, his forearms held me, and the pulsing hardness in his pants had my belly fluttering.
I was in over my head.
The way he pinned me to him told me I wasn’t in control anymore, if I ever was. His voice was pained as he said my name, chanted it and held me tighter, the air leaving me, and the scent of strawberries and champagne and male overpowering my senses. All the courage I had drank up, and marshaled against him slipped away as I let the bag drop to the floor and the red lingerie- my favorite one, and it sounded like his favorite too- spilled out of the bag on the white carpet.
He bent my head towards him, capturing my mouth in his, a rough kiss, claiming me, his tongue slipping past my lips, insisting, penetrating, and I wielded without protest, turning in his lap to face him and kiss him harder, encircling my arms around his neck, desperate for him to hold me closer, to be closer. For him to dominate me, to toss me around and make the promises he made earlier with his commanding voice and that he affirmed with every kiss from his soft lips, come true.