He shrugs. ‘Passion is an irrational thing.’
‘Passion? But that suggests emotions, feelings.’
‘Not necessarily. It can be a basic human urge. That’s a totally different thing.’
‘So you think it’s possible to have sex with someone without having feelings for them?’
He sits round in his chair, his knee brushing mine and sending an electric thrill of sensation through my whole body. ‘I think it’s perfectly possible. Otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to my part of the bargain. What I think you’re talking about is something different. More than just the physical need for sex. When people cheat there are always other feelings at play. Insecurity about what they have or low self-worth. Or perhaps a fear they’re missing out on something they’ll regret not experiencing in years to come. I think, for others, the rush of sex with someone new after years of fucking their partner the same, predictable way can be like taking an addictive drug. That’s just pure laziness, of course. There’s no reason for sex to get boring. You have to work hard at being creative.’
‘Are you creative?’ I ask, though I think I already know the answer to that.
‘You bet your sweet ass I am,’ he confirms with an underwear-melting smile.
‘I knew you’d say that,’ I mumble, my throat tight with nerves.
‘Are you suggesting I’m predictable?’ he teases.
I can’t help but grin, which breaks the tension.
He grins back and for a moment I’m lost in the dizzying intimacy of the moment.
I clear my throat. ‘Have you ever felt that sort of passion for someone?’
For a second he glances away, up towards the ceiling. ‘No.’ Sitting back in his chair, he moves his leg away from mine and fixes me with a serious expression.
‘You know, now might be a good time to talk about your expectations for the next week. I want to make sure we’re both on the same page.’
Instinctively I tense at the sudden change in conversational direction.
‘Okay.’ I swallow hard. ‘Well, I want you to do everything to me. Show me everything,’ I say with feigned confidence. I don’t want him thinking for a second that I can’t handle this. I need to get it done so I can move on with my life and stop living under the shadow of my naivety.
‘Everything?’ He raises both eyebrows.
‘Yes, I want to know all there is to know. Get it all ticked off.’
‘Do you have a list you’d like to work from?’ The smile he flashes me is teasing.
I roll my eyes at him. ‘Very funny.’
‘But, seriously, any hard limits I should know about?’ he asks, his expression turning serious again.
I think about it for a moment. ‘I don’t want you to strangle or suffocate me, and I don’t like the idea of being spanked.’
‘Shame.’ His grin lights up his eyes. ‘Pain can actually be very pleasurable. It can give you really intense orgasms when you do it right.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll have to reserve judgement on that. But definitely no whipping.’
‘Okay, fine. No whipping.’
I can tell from the look on his face that he’s finding my sexual naivety amusing and it’s irritating me.
‘It’s all right for you to sit there smirking, but I have no idea about these things,’ I mutter. ‘I’m learning from scratch so you’re going to have to give me a break.’ I’m shaking with both adrenaline and frustration. It’s really unlike me to stand up for myself like this, but I know I need to do it if I’m going to maintain any vestige of control over this situation.
He puts up a hand in apology. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being an asshole. I promise not to tease you any more. Not about your lack of experience anyway.’ His eyes glitter with mischief. ‘There are plenty of other ways to tease you that I think you’re going to like a lot.’
I squirm in my seat as more heat surges between my legs and my knickers grow damp. At this rate I’m going to slide right off this chair in a pool of lust. And he’s not even touched me yet.
* * *
We make it to the apartment in the early evening, doing the journey from Peretola airport to the centre of Florence in another powerful open-top sports car, whose roaring engine makes it impossible to conduct any conversation.
Our home for the next week is on the top floor of a grand apartment block right next to the Ponte Vecchio. Our windows look out over the quirky bridge with its jumble of jewellery shops clinging like limpets to each side with the help of precarious-looking wooden struts, and on across the wide Arno river to the deep russet-red-roofed buildings beyond. It’s a magnificent city and I stand for a moment, drinking in the sheer unique elegance of the place.
‘Let me show you your room,’ Sandro says, beckoning me to follow him with one crooked finger.
I’m relieved to find he doesn’t expect us to share and give a delighted smile as I look around the beautiful airy room with its Art Deco furniture and enormous, cushion-strewn bed.
‘It’s wonderful,’ I say breathily. This room also has a view of the river and I push the wooden shutters open as far as they’ll go to drink it in some more.
Turning back, I see he’s moved to stand right next to the large bed and is watching me with an intensely thoughtful expression on his face. My pulse immediately picks up and my breath catches in my throat.
Is he going to start my first lesson right now?
The idea both thrills and terrifies me.
I move closer to him on shaky legs, telling myself not to be nervous, that he’ll take good care of me like he promised. Based on all my dealings with him so far, it’s obvious he’s absolutely the gentleman I’d hoped he’d be.
Even so, my heart is racing and my palms are sweaty.
He continues to look at me as I get closer, his fingers beating a silent rhythm against his thighs.
‘S-so, do you want to get started right away?’ I ask, nerves making my voice tremble.
A frown crosses his brow, then vanishes behind a smile. ‘So eager.’
‘Well, I’ve not come all the way to Italy just to sightsee,’ I joke, but it comes out sounding a bit defensive.
He shakes his head and walks over to meet me in the middle of the room. Reaching out his hand, he pushes my fringe out of my eyes and I just stand there blinking stupidly at him.
The air crackles between us, as if the tension is charging it with electricity.
‘You know, anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac,’ he murmurs, sweeping his thumb over my cheek so softly I wonder whether he’s actually touched me or if the mere promise of it has set all my nerve endings on fire. My whole body is one big throb of need and I stare up into his beautiful eyes, losing myself in the perfection of them.
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