Page 67 of The Fixer
From this end, it’s clear, not opaque, and I cansee the other attendees perfectly: the white-shirted waiters moving through the crowds, carrying trays of drinks, the strobe lights, everything.
Okay then. This is really happening. I’m really doing this.
Leo turns me to him. His gaze sweeps over me, slow and thorough, and by the time he’s done, I’m hot all over. “We can control the opacity of the glass,” he says. “You decide how much you want the people outside to see.”
I can either tiptoe into this experience, or I can forget about everyone else and enjoy myself. Option B, please. “No,” I respond. “I don’t want to decide.” I jump off the high wire, absolutely secure in the knowledge that Leo will be there to catch me. “You control it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. You’re in charge.” I give him a look through my eyelashes. “Would you like me on my knees, Signor Cesari?”
He growls in his throat. “Ah, principessa. You drive me wild.” He backs me into the room until my butt hits the glass. “You say stop at any point, and this game ends. Understand?” I nod, and he leans forward, his arms on either side of me, caging me in.He bends his head to my neck, his lips making me shiver. “Are you wearing panties?”
What kind of question is that? “Of course.”
“Show me,” he orders, his warm breath tickling my ear. He takes a step back, but his eyes stay on me. “Lift up your skirt and show me.”
Oh. My. God. Everyone on the dance floor is going to see my ass. I have my back to the window, yes, but in a way, not being able to see their reaction is almost worse.
And yet. . . My insides clench with need, and my nipples are tight, aching buds of arousal.
I suck in a breath and bend, lifting the layers of tulle up. My panties are black lace, the fabric sheer and the cut skimpy. Leo studies them for a long moment, his expression maddeningly neutral. “Take them off and give them to me.”
I gulp. This isn’t for the faint of heart. My heartbeat races as I move to obey. I wriggle out of the panties and hand the scrap of lace to Leo, letting go of my hem once I’m done. He puts them into his pocket without comment and frowns. “Did I give you permission to let go of your skirt?”
A current of electricity jolts through me. I once told Valentina that Casanova wasn’t my thing. I didn’t understand the appeal of a man barkingorders at me and expecting me to obey. But I do now. As long as we’re in this room, I don’t have to make a single decision—Leo will make them for me. I don’t have to think—he’ll handle it. It should be confining, but it isn’t. It feels freeing.
“No, Signor Cesari, you did not.” I lift the skirt back up and drop my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He positions the chair in the middle of the room and settles himself in it. “Kneel,” he orders. “Facing me. Spread your legs wide. I want to see you.”
Cheeks flushed, I sink to my knees, this time taking care not to lose my grip on my skirt. He smiles in approval. “Very nice,” he purrs. “Such a good girl. Do you like this, principessa? Do you like knowing that everyone in the club is transfixed by the sight of you? If I push a finger into your pretty little cunt, would I find you wet?”
At the reminder that people are watching, fresh heat fills my core. “I have no idea,” I murmur.
“Liar,” he accuses. “Do you know what happens to liars, Rosa?”
“No.”
“They get punished.” He pats his lap. “I was planning to take it easy on you, but I’ve changed my mind. Come here, principessa.”
He pulls me down on his lap, my back to hischest, making me face the window. I’m acutely aware that everyone on the other side of the club can see my naked pussy. Somehow, I don’t care. My attention isn’t on the strangers outside—it’s on Leo.
“Spread your legs wide,” he orders implacably. “I want everyone to see who you belong to.” He shoves his finger in me, and my muscles clamp down around him. “Whose pussy is this?”
Need explodes through me. “Yours, Signor Cesari,” I pant.
He pulls his finger out and holds it in front of my lips. “You weren’t sure if you were wet?” he asks, his voice rough. “Here’s the proof. Taste yourself.”
My face feels like it’s on fire. My body, too. I part my lips and suck his finger greedily. This is so wicked, and I’m loving every moment. “Leo,” I whimper. “I want. . .”
He’s hard. I can feel the thick bulge of his erection against my ass, and I grind down on it, desperate for more. I want him to bend me over the bench and fuck me, just like the leather-clad woman in the strap-on was doing with her partner. I want him to ram into me so hard I scream. I want it tohurt.I want to replace the heartache of the last few days with this cleaner, sharper pain.
“Yes, principessa,” he growls, his fingers grippingmy hips. “Tell me what you want.” His hands move up my body. He tugs my bodice down, freeing my breasts from their corseted prison, and he slides his thumbs over my swollen, aching nipples. I moan, stirring restlessly on his lap, and he pinches them hard. “Sit still.”
You try sitting still,I want to retort, but being a smart-ass doesn’t seem in the spirit of the game, so I hold my tongue and stay as motionless as I can as Leo tugs and tweaks my engorged nubs. It’s an impossible task. Pleasure rampages through my body, while on the other side of the glass window, people dance, heedless of the storm building up inside me. Somehow, the forbidden nature of what I’m doing makes everything even hotter. What do they see in between flashes of strobe light? I’m sitting here on Leo’s lap, legs splayed open, grinding against his cock. Can they see how much I need to come? Can they see how close I am?
Leo dips two fingers into my soaked pussy. “Ask for permission, principessa,” he says harshly, his breath hot against my ear. “If you want to orgasm, I want you to beg.”