Brutal desire a dark maf.., p.29
Brutal Desire: A Dark Mafia Standalone Romance, page 29
Happy. I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this. The three of us fall into a rhythm almost without meaning to. Lorenzo refuses to let me pay him for anything, suggesting I save my half-salary from the ballet instead, and I can’t find a reason to force the issue. Staying with him, there’s nothing I can pay for short of leaving cash out where he can find it—there aren’t any bills that I can pay. For the first couple of weeks, he has groceries delivered. Then, in the third week, he casually pushes his phone towards me with the app open, telling me to choose what I want. His driver takes Niki and me to Niki’s therapy appointments, which I find out he’s covered in full on automatic draft when I try to pay for the next one we go to. And when I point out that this is very close to the arrangement that I tried to offer him in the first place, Lorenzo goes very quiet.
“If that’s how you feel,” he tells me, “then I will sleep down the hall and not touch you. This isn’t a bargain between us, Mila, or some kind of contract. I love you, and I want to take care of you. It begins and ends there.”
The truth is that I don’t know how to let someone take care of me. I never have. But I know he means it, and it’s the last time we have the conversation.
Instead, I try to learn how to enjoy it. To let myself, and Niki, be taken care of. I can see him slowly blossoming in the new environment—he still doesn’t speak, but by the time the first month has gone by, he starts writing messages to Lorenzo and me on a pad of paper. It’s the first time I’ve had a real conversation with my brother since the accident, and I burst into tears at the dinner table, reading it.
That night, I tell Lorenzo what happened. I tell him about the car crash, that they were coming to pick me up, and that Niki hasn’t spoken again since they pried him out. Lorenzo holds me while I cry, until I fall asleep on his chest. And in the morning, I wake up feeling lighter.
Darcy comes to visit, and while I can see it takes some time for her to forgive my secrecy, things ease between us as the weeks go on. When a month turns into two, and my cast is switched out for a soft boot, she comes over to help me with my physical therapy exercises. For a while, she’s tense around Lorenzo, but in time that eases, too.
Two and a half months after the accident, Lorenzo comes to bed to find me sitting there, staring off into the distance. He sits down on the edge of the bed, pausing as he looks at me.
“I can tell something is on your mind,” he says quietly. “You can tell me anything, you know.”
“I know.” I bite my lip. The past two and a half months have felt like a dream—like a beautiful, perfect dream, and I’m afraid that what I’m going to say will change that. That it will shatter the peace we have, and make it so that we can’t keep going on the way we are. But I also know I can’t keep it to myself.
“The doctor said I can start dancing again, lightly, in two weeks. I have to take it slowly, but I can start going back to practice. In another month, I could probably go back to work.” I let out a breath, looking at Lorenzo’s face, and he turns to look at me.
“How do you feel about that?” he asks quietly, and I sink my teeth deeper into my lower lip.
“I can’t wait to be back at the ballet. I feel like I’m climbing out of my skin, wanting to dance again. And the rest of it—” I look at him warily. “I don’t want to go back to the Rosebud. I don’t think I could, after what happened there. But I thought another club, somewhere nicer—”
Lorenzo’s expression tightens, and I feel my stomach sink.
“You want me to stop stripping, don’t you?”
“I—” He starts to speak, but I break in, talking so quickly that my words begin to trip over each other.
“I love both kinds of dancing. I miss them both. I know it might upset you, but it’s not just the money, there’s this feeling—” I look at him, trying to make him understand. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just know if I quit, there’s something I’m going to miss.”
Lorenzo reaches out, his fingers brushing over the back of my hand. “I understand,” he says quietly. “But I can’t lie to you—I hate the idea of you dancing for other men. The things I thought of when I saw you dance at the club, that I wanted to do to you—I can’t stand the idea of that while we’re together, no matter how nice the club.
My stomach sinks again. “But you said you understand—”
“I do.” He looks at me carefully. “I have a different idea. I’d like for it to be a surprise. If you’ll trust me—”
The sentence hangs between us. He looks at me patiently, his green gaze fixed on mine, and I nod.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
—
Friday night, I find a red dress on the bed and a pair of nude ballet flats next to it. It’s a gorgeous dress—thin spaghetti straps, a v-neckline that goes well past my breasts, the skirt slit up to my hips on both sides. There’s a note next to it, in Lorenzo’s spidery handwriting.
Darcy is coming over tonight to watch Niki. Wear this for me. Nothing under it. Be ready by eight.
I read the note twice, a burst of excitement heating my stomach—and nervousness, too. It’s undoubtedly the surprise that Lorenzo mentioned, and I have no idea what he might have in mind. I have to trust him, exactly as I said I did—and I do.
At seven, I get ready, slipping the dress on with nothing beneath it. I leave my hair loose, long, and silky down my back, and put on simple makeup—a thin cat eye, rosy lipstick. Lorenzo is waiting in the living room when I come out, and Darcy whistles when she sees me.
“Where are the two of you going?” she asks, glancing at Lorenzo and appraising his suit trousers and button-down, and he smirks.
“It’s a surprise,” is all he says, and then he takes my arm, leading me down to the waiting car.
“I liked the idea of you in heels,” he says, opening the car door. “But I didn’t think your ankle could handle it quite yet.”
“That was a good call.” I feel touched by the fact that he thought of it. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Not a word.” He gives me that same smirk, and then closes the door, the car pulling away from the curb.
The building he takes us to is a nondescript stone building a bit past downtown, with a heavy black door at the front that has no knob. I feel a swoop of nervousness in my stomach, my arm through Lorenzo’s, and I look up at him. “What is this?”
“Do you trust me?” he asks again, and I nod.
“I do.”
“Then follow me. You’ll understand soon.”
He knocks heavily on the door, in a quick pattern, and a moment later, it opens. The woman on the other side is stunningly beautiful, dressed in an outfit that is little more than an assortment of black leather straps, and high heels. Her dark hair is piled on her head, her makeup heavy but still artful, and she gestures towards what I see now is a glossy black door at the end of the hall in front of us. “Enjoy,” she says, and Lorenzo leads me forward.
We step through the black door into a large room, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I begin to understand.
The room is huge. The floor is smooth stone, and I see a bar at the far end, the top of it lacquered like the door that we just walked through. The lighting is soft and rosy, and I see a spiral staircase leading up to a floor above us. But it’s everything else in the room that makes me unsure where to look.
There’s a number of apparatus scattered throughout the room—things I recognize theoretically, though I’ve never used them myself. There’s a St. Andrew’s cross, spanking benches, manacles at one end of the room. In the center of the room, there’s a dais, and I see that while it’s empty for now, Lorenzo’s gaze immediately goes to it, and then back to me.
I can’t stop looking around. The room is half filled with people for now, though I expect it will get busier as the night goes on. A woman is face-down on one of the spanking benches, moaning as a man stands behind her, lazily lashing her ass and thighs with a flogger. A man is cuffed to the St. Andrew’s cross, a woman and another man in front of him teasing his erect, bound cock by turns. There’s more of the same happening throughout the room, and I feel a throb of heat between my thighs as I look around, a slow realization dawning on me of why I think Lorenzo has brought me here.
I turn towards him, feeling a little unsteady. “Why are we here?” I ask softly, and his hand goes to my waist, pulling me closer.
“Because, dolce,” he murmurs, brushing a piece of hair away from my face. “I think I understand why you love to dance on stage at a club, and not only for the ballet. I think it’s the same reason why you came so hard on my tongue when you heard footsteps outside the room in the studio, and why I felt you tighten around my cock when you heard the same outside your dressing room. Why you screamed so loudly for me when you came, even though you might have been heard.”
A shiver runs down my spine, heat blossoming through me, and Lorenzo leans down, his lips brushing against my ear. “You like to be watched. To show off. To be seen. You like the idea of being lusted after, even if you don’t consciously realize it. You like the thought of others knowing you’re being fucked. Of them hearing and seeing you come.”
When he pulls back, I know he can see how flushed my face is. I feel my knees tremble, a warmth flooding me. “So you brought me here? To be—”
“To do whatever you want others to watch you do.” Lorenzo reaches out, his knuckles skimming over the back of my cheek. “If you like doing sexual things in public, mia dolce, we can do it here. Together. As much or as little as you would like. It excites me too, although not quite as much as I think it does you,” he adds with a smirk.
“But—if you don’t want others watching me—”
“I feel differently about it if it’s you and I, together. If others are watching me pleasure you, or watching you do the same to me. If they’re turned on watching me fuck you, or watching you perform for my pleasure.”
A shudder ripples through me as he speaks, and Lorenzo laughs, a dark sound low in his throat. His hand slides down to the small of my back, pressing me against him, and I can feel that he’s hard.
“I know you liked nearly getting caught at the ballet studio, principessa,” he murmurs, his voice taking on that thick rasp of arousal. “I’ve fantasized about this ever since. We can take it slowly if you like—we don’t have to fuck here tonight. We can come back, as often as you want. And when you want to perform sexually for others, mia dolce, to have them watch you and wish that they could touch you, you can do it here, where they can see that I get to enjoy you as I do.”
“What about the ballet?” A sudden fear strikes me, but Lorenzo shakes his head quickly.
“That’s different,” he says immediately. “I would never take that away from you. But the stripping—this is my compromise,” he says quietly. “This is what I would like to offer you. You don’t need the money, I’ll see to that. But the performance, the need to express yourself sexually in that way—I understand it. I thought this might be a different way—a way we can both be happy with, and enjoy.”
A rush of happiness fills me, one that I never would have expected. I never thought anyone would understand me so well, and I lean up impulsively, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Let’s get a drink first,” I whisper softly. “This is more than I’ve ever done—a lot more than just stripping. But I like this idea. I like your compromise.”
Lorenzo smiles, his hand curving against my back. “A drink,” he says. “And we’ll see where the night takes us.”
The room is suffused with sex. Even at the club, it was never so blatant. There are men and women everywhere in various stages of undress, the sounds of pleasure filling the air, mingling with the soft beat of the music. Lorenzo leads me to the bar, and we sit down, the red dress spilling down between my thighs and leaving the soft flesh bare up to their apex as Lorenzo leans across and orders us both a drink. When he turns back to me and sees my legs, his gaze is heated.
“One way or another,” he murmurs, his fingers gliding down my thigh, “these are going to be wrapped around me tonight.”
A jolt of lust goes through me, and I feel heat and dampness between my thighs, a throbbing pulse taking up residence there. I glance over in the direction of one of the benches, where a nude woman is splayed out, a man between her legs licking her to an orgasm while another man thrusts into her mouth from above. “No one else touches me,” I say quietly, and Lorenzo nods.
“I’d never allow it.” There’s a dark gleam in his eyes that tells me that he means it. “And I’d never allow anyone else to touch me.”
“Good,” I murmur softly, reaching for the gin and tonic that Lorenzo ordered for me. Over the past weeks living at his apartment, I’ve had the opportunity to learn my tastes in things that I’ve never gotten to find out before. Liquors that I used to think I hated—like gin—I’ve found out I just didn’t like because I was drinking bottom-shelf quality. This tastes delicious—herbal with a bite of citrus, a fresh lime floating on top, and I see Lorenzo’s gaze flick to my lips when I raise the glass to my mouth.
The possibilities of the club seem almost overwhelming. I take another nervous sip of my drink, and Lorenzo reaches out, his fingers skimming over my thigh again.
“We don’t have to go further than you want to tonight,” he says quietly, taking a sip of his old fashioned. “We can just watch, if you want. Or watch for a little while, and then go upstairs to a private room.”
I nod, swallowing hard. I can already feel the steady pulse of desire, just from being so close to so much lust. Across the room, I hear the sound of a woman crying out in pleasure, and I glance past Lorenzo almost shyly. I flush as I see the woman on the bench, arching and moaning as the man between her thighs makes her come. A moment later, I see the man above her push his cock into her mouth once more, stifling her moans, and then pull out as he spurts cum across her breasts, hand flexing around his shaft as his head falls back. On the St. Andrews’ cross, the bound man is watching them with wide eyes, begging the woman teasing his cock to let him come. And I can see the room starting to fill up, others waiting their turns, coming to the bar, a feeling of anticipation filling the air.
“What are you thinking?” Lorenzo asks, his voice slightly rough with the sound that I’ve come to understand means he’s aroused. I glance towards him, taking another sip of my drink, and I can see that he’s turned on, too. The outline of his cock is pressing against his thigh, straining a little at his tailored suit trousers.
“That this is all making me want—something,” I whisper. “But I don’t know where to even start.”
A ghost of a smile touches Lorenzo’s lips. “Come here, then.” He touches his leg, gesturing to me. “Come sit on my lap, dolce.”
I bite my lip, and his gaze hardens, just a little. “Do you want me to order you to do it? Or do you prefer to do it of your own accord?”
“I don’t know.” My teeth sink into my lip a little harder. “We could try both.”
Lorenzo’s mouth twitches. “You haven’t been given much opportunity to find out what it is that you like, have you, dolce?” He frowns a little, and I shake my head. “Well, now we find out.” He places his palm flat on his leg. “Come sit in my lap, principessa. Do it now, or this room will see me punish you.”
My breath feels pulled from my lungs at the threat, but not in an unpleasant way. The throbbing pulse settles between my thighs, and I see Lorenzo smirk when I gasp, just a little. He raises an eyebrow, and I slowly get up from my seat, feeling a little as if I’m in a dream.
The moment I start to sit on his thigh, his arm goes around my waist, pulling me fully into his lap. We’re far from the only people at the bar now, other men and women around us in varying stages of conversation and touching one another. I feel my cheeks flush as Lorenzo tugs me firmly into his lap. There’s embarrassment there as I feel his hard cock press firmly against my ass, but it warms me with a pulsing glow of desire, the feeling of being displayed arousing me, the promise of being used with my permission making me shiver with anticipation.
“Good girl,” Lorenzo breathes softly into my ear. His hand slides up my thigh, and he lifts his drink to his lips with his other hand, as carelessly as if he weren’t slowly inching his fingers toward the top of my skirt. I feel the ache between my thighs intensify, and I turn my head, brushing my lips against the shell of his ear.
“Lorenzo—” I whisper his name, a hint of pleading in my voice, and I feel the vibration of his low chuckle, deep in his throat.
“Is this what you want?” His fingers dip under the slit in my skirt, gliding up to the crease of my inner thigh. I wore nothing under my dress, as he asked, and he groans.
“Such a good girl. You obey me so well, dolce. Will you wait to come until I tell you that you may?”
His fingers are so close to where I need them. The steady throb of need in my clit feels like a heartbeat, and I can feel the slick moisture between my legs, almost too much to bear. I nod breathlessly, despite how badly I want to come right now, already—because the idea of waiting for permission turns me on.
Lorenzo seems to realize that. He takes another sip of his drink, his fingers twitching higher, sliding up the delicate seam of my folds. I gasp at the touch, squirming a little on his lap, and I feel him throb underneath me.
“So wet for me already.” He turns his head, brushing his lips just behind my ear. “You’re going to come just like this, aren’t you? On my lap while everyone watches.”
My hips arch into his hand instantly, and he chuckles. His arm across my thigh tightens, holding me firmly in his lap against his cock as his fingers part my folds. His fingertips slide through the slick wetness, up to my clit, circling lightly as I gasp.
