Page 46 of A Gold Medal in Love

I throw my head back and cackle in delight, secretly dissecting how fun it’s been to make this ice queen melt and open up for me.

We walk up to the neoclassical building, which is the focal point of the square, gazing upon the Teatro alla Scala, and I keep my cringe to myself—not regarding the building itself, but what is contained within.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Imani hesitates as we make our way to the side entrance with our tickets virtually in hand on my phone.

“Why, Cupcake, how sweet of you to ask,” I grin, evading the question and instead choosing to address her consideration instead.

Imani stops in her tracks and tugs on my hand, making me stop with her and turn to face her. “I’m serious. You hate shit like this. I know you’re only doing it for me, and that’s not fair.”

I grin at her. “Sure it is. I dragged you to a church, remember?”

Imani glares at me. “That ended up being for me, actually. If you recall.”

Bringing my other hand up to her face, I brush my knuckles against her flawless cheek and gaze into the deep pool of her eyes. “No, I don’t recollect it going that way, Cupcake. You gave yourself to me, and it was an unfathomable gift.”

Her eyes are dinner plates in her heart-shaped face. “So this is for me? For repayment?”

“Our relationship is not a transaction. Also, no. This is for me, too.” I tell her, as I move my hand down to encircle her throat.

“You’re a sports gay,” Imani scoffs. “I’m the one who likes the opera, the ballet, and the theatre.”

“You don’t think I can be cultured?” I raise an eyebrow and lean down to get in her space. “This is for me, but I won’t be watching the opera—I’ll be watching you.”

Imani smirks. “Of course. I’ll be doing your favorite thing—crying. Are you going to lick them off of me in a crowded room, too?”

Squeezing her throat in warning, I purr, “Fuck around and find out, Cupcake.”

Yes, let’s go back to silly, fun, sexy. That was getting way too vulnerable, and I don’t really like what my ADHD ass just processed out loud, unable to come to the conclusion in my messy head.

We make our way inside the opera house, settling into our plush seats as we take in our surroundings. The theatre is gorgeous, opulent red velvet everywhere, accented by gold gilding in relief on cream walls, finished off by a monstrously gorgeous chandelier.

“Do you know this one?” I inquire, sneaking my hand under her dress to rest on her silky thigh, needing to feel her skin on mine.

Imani opens her program. “I don’t even know how to pronounce it, truthfully.” She turns the pamphlet to me.Götterdämmerung,it reads.

“Do you know what it’s about?” I move on.

“Let’s just go,” she huffs, shoving my hand away and standing up.

“If you don’t sit down right this instant,” I growl—not because I’m frustrated with her consistently trying to “save me” from this, but because I can tell she needs a heavier hand right now.

Imani looks down at me, hesitation in her eyes.

I say nothing, just pat her seat in entreaty.

She sits, but I keep my hand there so I can squeeze her ass when it hits the upholstery.

“Sir!” Imani giggles as I dig my fingers in enough to satisfy her masochism and my need for her.

Moving my hand back to her thigh, I lean in to kiss her on her throat. I follow the sweetness with a harsh bite, which makes her gasp in delight. “Behave yourself, or I will interrupt this performance with one of my own.”

“Yes, Sir,” Imani demurs.

“Thank you. Now tell me what I can expect from an afternoon at the opera,” I demand of her.

As her explanation gets more and more animated, I simply gaze at her in adoration and begin to daydream.

The truth is that lately, I do everything for the stunning creature next to me. I meant all the words I just uttered. Is this what a service top feels like? Yes, I crave Imani on her knees for me, but it’s only so I can see the pleasure of it in her eyes.