Page 12 of Casanova LLC

He shook his head and his face recomposed. “The preference sheet is usually for people who want a safe place to experiment. Push some personal boundaries. I sent it to you because I wanted to make sure you had that option, if you wanted. But your answers on the first page are as I expected. You seek reintroduction. Not reinvention.”

Was that true? I mean, I knew I didn’t want butt plugs. But it was disconcerting to me that I didn’t seem to know what I did want.

He continued, blithely, “No need to fill out the rest. I get it. The general tenor.”

Which felt like a challenge, so I crossed my legs, and flipped to the next section: “No, let’s continue. Sensitive Areas. I have a spot behind my knee that is very ticklish. Should I write that down?”

“Sure,” he rumbled on a chuckle, “but the question is meant to highlight particular erogenous zones.”

I peered at him. “Well, that’s…I mean, those are obvious.”

“I assume nothing. I’ve been surprised before. More than once.”

“No surprises here, I’m afraid.” I sat back. “In fact, if you found one, I’d be more surprised than you.” I brought the glass to my mouth again if only to stop it from talking.

“Where do you especially like to be touched?”

He’d gone off the sheet. His tone was friendly. Disarming. This was just him, Alessandro, asking me, Claire, a question. Which made it more difficult to answer.

Was there a place I wouldn’t like to be touched by him? Just the thought of him touching me literally anywhere had me uncrossing and crossing my legs again. “Uh. The usual suspects, I suppose.” I straightened the hem of my dress. My fingers brushed my thigh and caused a butterfly wing to flutter in my stomach. “My neck. I have a sensitive neck.” I spoke this like some odd declaration.

He reached over—“Here?”—and feathered the exact spot, right under the hinge of my jaw. How did he know that? The butterfly took flight and my entire body shivered from the inside out. The kind of full-body convulsion that prompted the saying, someone just walked over your grave. Mortifyingly, the papers shook loose from my fingers and fell to my lap. “Yep. There.”

He slipped his hand between the pages and my dress, scooping them up. Another too-brief touch. My parched body gulped down the contact. He casually sat back and began reading. “This one might actually be helpful. ‘Any triggers?’ Things I shouldn’t do? Shouldn’t say?”

“Yeah, so, I didn’t—I didn’t get how that was different from Hard Limits?”

“These could be places you don’t like to be touched. Or words you don’t like. A pet name from a past partner, perhaps?”

“Oh. No. Richard never really?—”

“How do you feel about dirty talk?”

“Dirty talk?” I’d heard him, I just wanted to repeat it.

Three years ago, we’d redone all the bathrooms in the penthouse. Richard had been out of town a lot for business, so I’d managed the renovation. Before I signed, the contractor had dispassionately run down the list of improvements we were making. Each product he would be using. Precise type of pipe, marble, tile, hardware. He went over the contract point by point with me.

This conversation was reminiscent of that. Except now I was the thing about to be renovated.

“What, you mean with the ‘good girl’ stuff? Or is it ‘bad girl’? Can never remember,” I joked. Or tried to. But I got nothing other than that benign smile. I tried to answer his question earnestly. “I’m sure it has its…its…its place. Depending. Another one of those matter-of-degree situations. I guess.”

“Right. A world of difference between being called a filthy little bitch and whispering when I’m inside you, ‘I could live forever in your tight fucking?—’”

“Right right right.”

He picked up the pen from the table, cocked it. But then he seemed to remember something. “Not on the preference sheet, but interested in an orgy?”

“An orgy?”

“A swingers Carnival ball. Happens to be that weekend. Costumes, masks, tits and dicks, you know?—”

“I’m gonna go with no.”

He nodded and went back to the paper. “Let’s see…any particular fantasies you’d like to explore?”

“Like what?”

“Ohhh…cop. Boss. Teacher. Or student. Babysitter. Priest. Voyeur?—”

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