Page 89 of Caruso

He jerks his head my way, and the sadness in his eyes is replaced with dark power, and every part of me clenches because he wasn’t wrong. He is a dominant.

“It’s better if I show you.”

“What, now?”

“Why not?”

He turns and nods toward the table.

“Take any seat and place your arms behind the back of it.”

A shiver of expectation passes through me as I do as he says, facing the mountain view that I can’t seem to get enough of.

He whips his belt from his jeans and fastens it around my wrists, and I cast my mind back to when Giorgio did the same.

He grasps a napkin and ties it around my eyes, and my heart beats so quickly I swear I can hear it echoing off the mountain range.

“Open your mouth.”

His voice is low, deep and husky and sends a shiver down my spine, caressing the lust inside me that is building by the second.

He drops a delicious bite of smoked salmon into my mouth and orders, “Chew it slowly. I want to witness every turn of your lips and bob of your throat.”

I do as he says, my senses heightened as I savor the flavor of something I never caught sight of.

He feeds me many delicacies that are out of this world, sometimes with his fingers, other times with his mouth.

The fact I can’t touch or see stimulates my other senses and makes it even more enjoyable.

“Sip this wine.”

I neglect to inform him I can’t stand the stuff but do as he says; it’s the name of the game, anyway.

The flavor of deep, spicy berries coat my taste buds, and I groan my appreciation, adopting a sudden love of them.

His fingers filter through my hair ashe pushes a pastry into my mouth, his lips kissing my neck as I attempt to swallow the food. It’s so sensual I am struggling to concentrate on one thing at a time, and as he feeds me with one hand, his other hand plays with my body like a musician practicing his craft.

The meal is spent in silence; only smell, touch and taste are allowed. I am delirious on good food, fine wine and desire, and I never realized a meal could be so decadent.

When we reach dessert, his hand drifts under my t-shirt as he feeds me the sweetest fruit and rubs my hardened nipple that strains for his touch.

A small moan is enough to tell him I’m loving every minute of this, and he whispers, “Sometimes the best meals continue in the bedroom.”

I nod, desperate to get there, and yet he doesn’t untie me, merely pulls my arms over the top of the chair, the blindfold still obscuring my view. He leads me across the room, informing me of any hazards, and as I am led up the stairs, I am positively quivering with expectation.

I know we are in his room due to the masculine scent as we head inside. It reeks of him, and I take a deep breath, allowing it to drift through my senses like a powerful love potion.

His voice is gruff, almost defying me to challenge him as he growls, “Kneel.”

My heart hammers as I do as he says, and he standsbefore me, so close I could lean forward and make contact with his legs.

“Do you trust me, princess?”

I think for a moment and then nod. “I do trust you To–”

His hand grips my chin, and he tilts my face up to him and growls, “Sir. You call me Sir as a sign of respect.”

I swallow hard. “Sir.”