Page 110 of Casanova LLC

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It was the sound of her glass being set down that brought me back. She had finished her wine. “Do you want more?”I asked automatically.

She shook her head, already moving to the bed platform. She took her small purse off, set it on a chair. She climbed the stair, turned around, and sat on the edge of the mattress, where she’d first touched herself in front of me. Was there any place she could be that wouldn’t conjure memories of what had already been?

She bent over and I got a view of that bra again—another memory—and she undid the straps of her shoes. I should be doing that for her. But I was greedy. I wanted to watch her. Burn the images into my mind. For later.

I sipped at my wine, but my taste buds were not responding. They were elsewhere. Partnered with all my other senses as she toed her shoes off, put her hands behind her on the mattress—thrusting out her chest—and looked at me.

I set my barely touched glass down and approached her. “Good evening, ma’am, welcome to The Olive Garden. Would you like to hear our specials?”

She bit back a smile. I returned it, staring down at her. Tickle before you squeeze.

“What do you want, Claire?”

Her smile went closed-lipped. She didn’t answer.

I tried again. “Where do you want to start?”

She looked away.

We could do this silently, I thought. That could be fun. I might enjoy that. God knew I’d talked enough. Maybe that would be helpful, actually. Her body could talk and I could just listen to it. We could slake ourselves in the quiet of our human sounds.

But her silence didn’t feel like an invitation; it felt like she was considering bailing. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“I think we’ve done enough talking.”

The tightness in her voice stopped me. I went down to my knees in front of hers. I plucked her fingers up, which had been nervously toying with the bedspread, and held them. “This is safe. This is us.” I clenched my jaw. “This is my job.” I wasn’t sure who I was reminding, her or me. “When you filled out the preference sheet, you had to think about what you wanted. Now, I want you to voice your wants.” She swallowed and I watched the ivory column of her throat bob. I had an irrational desire to bite it. I ran a finger lightly over her hand.

“I want you to touch me.”

“Where?”

“Wherever you want.”

“Where would you like me to start? Here?” I tapped her knee with the hand that wasn’t already engaged with her fingers. She shook her head.

“Maybe higher.”

I removed my hand from her knee and placed it on her cheek. I slid my fingers under her chin and gently raised her head, so we looked each other directly in the eye. “High enough?” I said with a whisper of a smile.

“Maybe lower,” she murmured with a sensual giggle.

I freed her chin and ran the backs of my fingers down that throat, let the knuckles pass down over her collarbone. Lower. Her breath hitched. I flipped my hand over and gently squeezed her breast. So perfect. Perfection matched only by the soft moan that escaped her. “There?”

“I want—” She panted. “I want…you to undress me. Just my blouse. And bra. I want my skirt on when you take me the first time.”

My reaction was immediate. I could envision it all and I wanted it. I ached for it. And she’d said, when you take me the first time. Implying…well. My fingers went to the buttons on her blouse. “There’s nothing more attractive than a woman who knows what she wants.”

When I reached the tied knot at the bottom, I put my hand on her chest and pushed gently. She took the hint, leaning back onto her elbows, giving me room to work. “Did you bring this outfit for me?”

Her gaze stayed on my untying fingers. “I didn’t think you’d remember it.”

“How could you think that?”

“I mean. It’s a blouse and skirt. It’s not particularly memorable.”

“If this outfit wasn’t for me…” I undid the last button. “Why?”

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