Page 66 of The Fixer
Sex with Leo at Casanova. My cheeks heat. I’m definitely intrigued, and he can hear it. A suddenwave of lust hits me, temporarily washing away the doubts of the previous week. “I’m a definite maybe.”
His eyes flare with heat. “Good,” he murmurs. “I have to meet with Guerra at ten. It’s eight now. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”
That’ll give us a little over an hour there. And the sooner I get dressed, the more time we’ll have. “Absolutely.”
I decidethat a little black dress is probably appropriate sex club attire. Who am I kidding? I have no idea what to wear, but I’m not going to sweat it. I trust Leo to warn me if I’m wearing something that makes me stick out like a sore thumb.
I own three little black dresses. I pull out one I made it five years ago when I was experimenting with my style. The leather bodice is strapless and corseted, and the skirt is three layers of black tulle dotted with black sequins. I try it on, and it still fits. Resisting the urge to call my mother and gloat, I get to work on my makeup. I forego my usual caramel brown and reach for a blood-red lipstick. I applythree layers of mascara and work in a glittering bronze eyeshadow. By the time I’m done, I’ve used twenty-five of my thirty minutes. I decide to leave my hair down, quickly slip my feet into a pair of black high heels—Leo’s going to get another opportunity to mock my shoes—and head to the living room.
Leo’s already there, waiting for me. I take in what he’s wearing, and my breath catches. His suit is black linen and fits perfectly, but that’s not what draws my attention.
Underneath his jacket, he’s wearing the shirt I made for him.
I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat. I can’t cry—tears would wreck my carefully applied eye makeup. “Nice shirt,” I say instead, keeping my voice light. “I don’t mean to brag, but it fits you perfectly.” I walk into the room, feeling the weight of his gaze on me. “What do you think?”
He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes hot and dark. “Every man in Casanova is going to want to fuck you,” he growls.
“Will they?” It doesn’t matter. There’s only one man I want, and that’s the one standing in front of me. “I’m flattered.”
“They will.” He pulls a small box out of his jacket pocket and opens it. Inside, nestled on the blackvelvet, is a pink teardrop diamond surrounded by two rows of tiny white diamonds. “They can look all they want, but they can’t touch.” I lift my hair out of the way, and he fastens the necklace around my neck. “You’remine.”
When he touches me, I feel breathless. My heart gallops in my chest, and my knees go wobbly. “I believe your precise words were, ‘I’m a possessive asshole,’” I quip. “And this possessive thing works both ways, orsacchiotto mio. Nobody gets to touch you either.”
He gives me a strange look. “You haven’t called me that in days,” he says after a long pause. “I’ve missed it.” Then, before I can react, he holds out his hand to me. “Shall we?”
Leoand I sign in at the reception desk. A woman dressed in a white shirt and black slacks goes over the club rules and takes our phones from us. “No recording devices inside the club,” she says. For additional security, we pass through a metal scanner, and then we’re inside.
It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the lighting. At first blush, Casanova doesn’t look very different from an upscale nightclub. The atmosphere is moody and adult. Golden chandeliers drip down from a tall, black and gold painted ceiling. A bar lines one end of the space, with mirrored tiles on the wall behind it. Comfortable seating areas with plush couches dot the right of the room. Music plays through hidden speakers, loud enough to encourage dancing yet low enough to allow conversation. A handful of couples have taken the invitation and are on the dance floor, randomly lit by flashing strobe lights.
And then the lights flash against the wall, and my mouth falls open. A couple is doing it in a glass-fronted room. The woman’s back is pushed against the wall, her skirt bunched up at her waist, while the man kneels between her legs, eating her out.
Right there, where everyone can see. Some people look, their eyes lingering. Others act like this is no big deal and barely give them a second glance.
Oh. My. God.
A shiver rolls down my spine. I can’t tear my eyes away. The strobe light illuminates them in flashes, and my imagination fills in the rest. The way he’s kneeling reminds me of the first time Leo and Imade love. It reminds me of how Leo demanded that I put my fingers on my clit and show him how I liked to be pleasured. Then his tongue followed. . .
Three people occupy the next room. A woman in a leather harness wearing a strap-on dildo fucks a blindfolded man bent over a bench. As I watch, the third person—another man—approaches the man over the bench and pushes his cock in his mouth. My eyes widen. This is very much outside my experience, but rather than being shocked, I’m becoming very,veryturned on.
Leo notices. “Do you want to watch, principessa?” he growls into my ear. “Or do you wantto bewatched?”
My breath catches.
“Liam’s new invention,” Leo continues. “Glass-fronted private rooms. You can adjust the opacity from inside.” His hand moves to the small of my back. “I made us a reservation.”
He’s looking at me like he’s expecting me to balk, but a sudden recklessness fills me. “I’m in.”
“And here I thought you’d be shocked.” He laughs under his breath. “You always surprise me, principessa. Let’s go play.”
We have to head back out to the reception area and then through a corridor to the right to reach theprivate rooms. I follow Leo on shaky legs. I’m aroused and also nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before, not even close. Plus, it’s been a couple of days since Leo and I have made love, which doesn’t sound like a lot, especially if you consider the fact that I was a virgin until a few weeks ago, but it feels like an eon.
At the door, Leo’s eyes search my face. “Second thoughts?”
My pulse is racing. I take a deep breath and steady myself. What am I afraid of, anyway? Leo would never push me further than I’m ready to go. He’d never, ever toss me into the deep end of the pool. I’m freaking out because this is a sex club, but really, I’m thinking about this all wrong. I get to have hot sex with my gorgeous soon-to-be husband. And if the people in the club see occasional flashes of it, so what?
“None,” I respond, sweeping into the room ahead of him.
He laughs again and follows me inside. It’s a small space, barely four feet wide and ten feet long. The decor is sparse—just a narrow bench and a wooden chair. And, of course, the glass wall in front of me.