Page 59 of Immoral

Gianni kisses my neck and wraps his arm around my waist. He's in his boxers. His hard flesh against my body is like coming home. I've missed the feeling of him for so long. No matter who I dated, no one ever made me feel like I fit with them. It was like a curse he bestowed upon me.

He ties the belt and then holds the collar in front of me, murmuring, "You have no idea how much I love looking at you in this."

My butterflies spread their wings. I still have a hard time understanding how I could be okay with the collar, yet the moment he told me I was to wear it, my entire body lit up. Even worse, the determination I had to only submit to him last night seems to be gone. It's like he opened Pandora's box, showing me how much better we are together now than in the past, and the need to have him focused on me the entire evening is so intense, I can barely contain my inner cravings.

He secures the collar around my neck. I reach up and trace it. He traps my hand with his, sliding his fingers under the metal so there's no room left.

The tension around my neck makes me borderline dizzy. My pussy throbs. I lean farther into Gianni, fully relaxing, and close my eyes.

His lips hit my ear. "Time to eat, tesoro. It's going to be a long night for you. And anything you remember about being here in the past, get out of your mind."

I open my eyes and tilt my head in question.

Smugness curls on his lips as he studies my face. I assume he's counting, and after a while he states, "Anything I've ever done with you is going to look like nothing compared to what will happen tonight."

I swallow hard against his knuckles, taking in a small amount of air, which is all I can inhale due to my current physical state. Gianni and I have done everything. He's kept me for hours restrained, begging, and controlling my orgasms. I can't fathom how anything could be more intense.

Last night was,I remind myself. I shudder at the thought, wondering how it's even possible. A part of me still hates him. I'm unsure how to let it go and trust him again. But I can't deny a small part of me still loves him, even though I convinced myself I had gotten him out of my system.

The thought of unconditionally loving Gianni the way I used to scares me. I vowed to never be vulnerable to him again. Yet here I am, pining for his touch.

Or maybe it isn't love. Perhaps I'm confusing our chemistry with emotions I swore off.

Yes, that has to be it. This is only physical, and I only need to remember that Gianni Marino isn't capable of returning my love. So I'm never offering it to him again.

His cocky expression intensifies. I reprimand myself for how much I love his arrogance. It's what got me in trouble over the years. It's his signature look that says he knows what I need and he's the only one who can give it to me.

I wish I could deny his assumption and prove him wrong. But no other man ever scratched the itch I always felt whenever sex was over. No matter how much attention they gave me, or how good they were in bed, there was always something lacking. Now that Gianni's planted himself back into my life, I can't pretend that the urge I'm feeling doesn't have everything to do with him—and us, together.

He grips the collar tighter and kisses me, slowly sliding his tongue in my mouth, not deepening it, so I'm left wanting more. The cockiness on his face increases. "Let's go eat."

I don't argue. I know better than to refuse food. If Gianni says I'm going to need my energy, then there's no questioning it. I would be a fool not to obey him.

He leads me to the sitting room. Several silver-covered platters, Saran Wrapped plates filled with salad, and a cloth-covered basket of bread cover the table. He pulls out my chair, and I sit. He takes the seat next to mine then pulls the covers off.

Calamari, a small olive tray, high-end cheeses, and Italian meats sit in the middle. Our plates boast fresh ravioli, salmon with a caper cream sauce, and artichokes.

I stare at the food and laugh.

Gianni arches his eyebrows. "What's so funny?"

I motion to the food. "I forgot how your house might as well be a five-star restaurant."

He shrugs. "We do have a Michelin chef. And now that means you do, too, Mrs. Marino."

My stomach flips. It's strange to think about living in the Marino estate as Mrs. Gianni Marino. I dreamed of it for so long then came to the conclusion it was never happening.

He leans closer and drags his knuckles over my thigh. Tingles race up my leg. I refrain from squirming in my seat. Gianni places his face next to mine. Pools of dark waves dance in his eyes from the candlelight. He says, "All of my luxuries are now yours. Whatever you want, I'll give you."

My chest tightens, contrasting with my butterflies. I blurt out, "I don't need anything. I have my own stuff."

Amusement crosses his expression. He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. "Yes. I'm aware. The movers will unpack your things tomorrow."

Another small laugh escapes me. "Of course they will."

That damn ego of his I've always been a fool for grows bigger. His voice matches it as he confirms my statement. "Yes. Of course."

I elbow him in the ribs.

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