Page 23 of Giovanni
I lower my chin, staring intently into her eyes when I say it to ensure we are on the same page. She glances away, her mouth tightening, and I tilt my head in inquiry.
“What’s wrong, Kacie?”
My voice is laced with concern. It’s vital that she feels comfortable and understood, especially before we proceed any further.
There’s a complexity in her expression, emotions that she seems to be sorting through. My words or perhaps the moment’s intensity have stirred something in her. I wait patiently, giving her the space to articulate her thoughts.
I’m reminded of the delicate balance in our budding relationship. There’s a professional boundary as her trainer. But as a man, I’m increasingly drawn to her. There’s a desire to connect on a deeper level. Navigating this terrain requires sensitivity and an awareness that what I see in her—strength, beauty, and worth—might be a journey she’s still embarking on for herself.
“Is it bad that I like it when you say that?”
Her question catches me slightly off guard, her voice tinged with vulnerability. I pause for a moment, thinking. It’s a glimpse into how she perceives our interactions. A hint at the dynamics in play.
“Not at all,” I respond gently, wanting to reassure her when her gaze returns to mine. “It’s perfectly okay.”
“If we’re to explore a relationship beyond our professional training, then it’s important that you’re comfortable with how I communicate. Privately, of course,” I add, wanting her to know her feelings are valid. While she’s still taking everything in, I relay my final point, “And those words are said with affection, meant to be fun and encouraging.”
She gives me the sweetest smile possible.
“And I can tell you, good boy?”
I release a hearty laugh, hers echoing with mine and bringing levity to the conversation.
“Absolutely, you can. Fair is fair, right? I doubt it will have the same effect, though.”
Praise kink is something I deliver, not receive. However, if that makes her feel more comfortable and is something she wants to try, then by all means, why not? We’ll be testing many different things in the bedroom, what’s one more?
8
KACIE
My flirting skills are rusty and terrible from a severe lack of use. It’s apparent how awkward I feel trying to keep up with his frisky personality. His confidence and quick wit are refreshing but leave me not knowing how to respond. I like that he senses my uneasiness and counters it with humor. I did see a serious side to him professionally. His commitment to health and fitness is evident in his body and lifestyle, yet I much prefer his easygoing side.
As for calling him a good boy? I doubt I ever will. It’s a retort with no merit. Not something I want to back up, but more of me testing the waters to ensure we’re still on equal footing despite all this seeming as if I’m the student and he’s the teacher. If we were in a courtroom, I’d be the senior, more experienced person, something I live day in and day out. The fact that I get to reset go all the way back to zero and be a newbie at something is exciting.
I want to lean into it as an escape from the expert prosecutor I need to be to my clients, the victims, and all parties in the courtroom. Giovanni’s willingness to provide professional expertise and a personal escape is exactly what I need. Wherethe roles are versed, he’s in charge, and I’m not, which is something my overactive brain and eager body are ready for.
“We’ll have to see,” I counter with a slight lift to my shoulder.
If he’s expecting me to make the first move, that will not happen. It’s his place, his bed, his world. I feel out of place, but I’m not letting that stop me.
His fingertips caress my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps until he tugs at my shirt sleeve. My breath catches. This is what I have been waiting for, fantasizing about when lying in bed at night, my fingers swirling my clit. To say I’m nervous is an understatement. It’s been so long since I had sex, even longer with a fantastic-looking guy like this.
“I’m nervous,” I admit, the words slipping out in a hushed tone, revealing the flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
His head lowers, bringing those intense chocolate eyes level with mine. The gold specks in his irises catch the light, shining with a warmth and understanding that eases my anxiety.
“Me too.” His voice is a soft echo of my apprehension. “Come on.”
My hands slip from his body while his glides down my arm, interweaving our fingers. His grip tightens over mine when he turns off the stove and moves the pots to the cool back burners. Once everything is secure, he leads me down a dark hallway to his bedroom.
A soft light illuminates the room with a click of a button, casting a warm, ambient glow that softens the space. Like the rest of his loft, his bedroom is stylish yet inviting, with a large bed taking center stage, its linens crisp and neatly arranged.
Giovanni’s grip on my hand is reassuring as he guides me further into the room. Nervousness runs from my stomach into my throat, but his gentle manner makes it more manageable. He turns to face me, a question in his eyes, a silent check-in to ensure I’m okay with this progression.
“Are you sure?”
His voice is barely above a whisper, an earnest desire to respect my boundaries. I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of certainty amidst the whirl of anticipation.
