Chapter 8 Innocence; A Foreign Language

• Giovanni
• I dip my head down and lick her and hear her sharp intake of breath as she goes dead still.
• I do it again, circling her clit, then taking it into my mouth.
• "Please!" she cries out and when I suck that hard, little nub, it's moments before her back arches and she lets out a long moan. Her eyes are closed, face tense, hands fisted in their restraints and she's coming. She's coming hard and fuck, she tastes good. She tastes amazing.
• I don't go down on women. I haven't in too long to even remember their taste.
• But her. I can't get enough of her and when I ease my grip on her thighs, she bends her knees on my shoulders, squeezes and whimpers.
• I suck harder, drawing out her orgasm, wanting another.
• "Oh God. Please stop!" She's panting and her thighs are squeezing and she's coming again, bucking with her release even as she begs me to stop.
• I taste her, relish her every breath, every whimper. I only let up when she falls limp on the bed.
• I kneel up between her legs, look at the gaping pink of her dripping cunt, then at her face. She's relaxed and soft, her eyes like the color of sand on the softest beach.
• "I like your taste," I tell her.
• "Please take these off. I'll do what you say. Please take them off."
• "Not yet."
• I lift her hips, turn her over. She tries to immediately turn back, but I stop her.
• She makes that sound again, that wounded, panicked sound.
• "I'm not going to hurt you, Sienna," I tell her.
• She buries her face in the bed.
• "You're safe."
• "I'm sorry I slapped you. I won't do it again. Just take them off."
• "Look at me."
• She shakes her head.
• "Look at me and I'll take them off."
• It takes her a long minute, but she turns her head and her face is wet with tears and I remember what she'd said about men. About being forced.
• "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you. It's just sex, all right? Just sex."
• She nods fast but I can see she doesn't believe me.
• My dick's going to go soft. I have never dealt with a woman crying in my bed.
• After a moment, I reach up and undo the cuffs.
• She draws her arms in and rolls onto her side, turning away from me.
• I get off the bed, go into the bathroom to slip the condom off and pull on a pair of draw-string linen pants. I walk into the living room and grab the bottle of vodka and a glass. I return to find her sitting up on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her hair is a wild dark mass beneath which her whiskey eyes track me.
• I pour a generous portion of vodka into the glass and hand it to her.
• She takes it without being urged to. She drinks a small sip first, then downs the rest of the glass.
• "I can honestly say I've never had a woman need to be drunk to fuck me," I say. I'm serious but I also need to diffuse this. Get her out of her head and whatever's going on in there.
• "I just don't like being tied up." She holds out her glass for more.
• I pour more vodka into it.
• She shifts her gaze away like she can't look at me and drinks the whole of the glass.
• I put the bottle down.
• "More," she says.
• "No more," I tell her, taking the glass.
• She sets her arms stiffly at her sides.
• "I want to look at you," I say.
• She stares back at me.
• "Just look."
• She nods.
• "Get on your elbows and knees."
• I watch her take in the instruction, pour myself a vodka in her glass while she does, slowly, turning over, climbing up onto her elbows and knees.
• "Knees wider. Good. Like that."
• She follows my instruction, burying her face between her forearms, her hair hiding her from me.
• I take the glass, swallow the contents of it, pour another and walk around the bed. My dick hardens as I take her in, her smooth olive skin, the heavy breasts hanging down, almost too heavy for the rest of her, begging to be cupped and squeezed.
• Her shapely thighs and her ass.
• Fuck.
• Her ass. Her cheeks are parted just enough to display her pink and glistening pussy and as I look at it, a smear of arousal slides down her inner thigh.
• I want to lick it off her. Bury my face in her ass and devour her.
• Swallowing the contents of the vodka, I set my knee on the bed.
• She shifts a little, tensing.
• "You're fine. I'm not going to fuck you." Fuck. Did I just say that? "I just want to see, Sienna. Taste."
• I widen her knees with my own, and settle between her, set my hands on her ass, open her wider.
• She makes a sound. A whimper.
• I dip my face down, kiss her lower back, her ass cheek. I smell her arousal and fuck, I want to bury myself inside her. But instead, I lick her again, lick that smear of arousal from her inner thigh, hear her gasp when I do.
• I slide my tongue along the length of her pussy and circle her asshole. I do it again and again until she's panting and I'm going to fucking blow in my pants when I hear her come again, that sound she makes a fucking aphrodisiac.
• The smell of her, the taste of her, the sight of her, all of it, it makes me fucking crazy, and it takes all I have not to sink my cock into her. Not to hold her down and spread her open and drive into her.
• It takes everything for me to get up off the bed and walk out of the bedroom.
• I slam the door harder than I intend to and walk with a fucking steel rod between my legs into the living room to pour myself three fingers of whiskey. I drink it in one gulp before pouring another.
• I go to the wall of windows, look out onto the strip and sip my drink.
• I don't know what the fuck just happened in there. Between me buying her to fuck her, I might remind myself, and this, me here with fucking blue balls.
• The bedroom door opens, and I turn to watch her walk into the living room. She's barefoot and wearing the shirt I just took off. It's huge on her. It falls almost to her knees and she keeps having to tug it up when it slips off her shoulder.
• When she sees me, she stops, hugs her arms to herself.
• "I don't know what to do," she says, any attitude from the start of this night gone, her voice small and unsure.
• I know she's not playing or acting. It pisses me off a little because those things I can deal with. Those things are what I know.
• This...her...it's foreign.
• "Go to bed." I turn away.
• "You didn't—"
• "Go to bed, Sienna," I repeat.
• "But you...the debt—"
• I turn to her and when I take a step toward her, she takes one back. It makes me stop.
• "Contrary to what you may think, rape doesn't get me off. Now go to bed."