No Strings Attached

Chapter Eight

My fingers leave the satin hesitantly as Giovanni's hand grasps the indented curve of my waist. I'm more nervous than I've ever been.

"Giovanni," I utter in complete darkness.

His voice is a gentle whisper. "What?"

I don't answer him. I don't even know why I've said his name. I've lost any form of coherency.

"Don't be scared."

A shaky exhale is my only answer. His warm lips descend to my shoulder as his hand on my waist glides against the smooth silk material, descending over my hip, his fingers squeezing the skin tightly.

"The way you looked in this dress was beyond my imagination."

I lean my head back into him, trying to breathe, my body trembling with wanting.

"I-I thought you didn't do women's clothing."

"I don't."

I lick my lips as his hand travels back up, refusing to stop at my waist. "We're not supposed to give gifts either."

The pads of his fingers cover the wide slope of my breast over the fabric, teasing the erect buds that show through his material. "This wasn't for you. It was for me."

"You?"

"Me."

I cannot move a muscle as his lips rest against my cheek just so, his fingers now moving to the small zipper across the side. Having designed it, he knows where to go without looking.

I feel the material loosen, the fabric on my arms drooping lower.

"The way everyone saw you tonight is how I see you. It's who you really are, who you've lost being hurt by men who do not appreciate you."

Yes. I reach up, clasping onto the nape of his neck, moaning onto my bottom lip. His breath is warm against my jaw, his hair soft beneath my fingers. And then suddenly, my cheek is bereft. Moments later, I feel his hands bunching up the fabric against my hip, pulling up.

I have to lift my arms to get his masterpiece of a gown over my head, not realizing that when it was completely off, I'd be entirely naked facing a window, a very turned-on man at my back.

My hands come down slowly, my eyes blinking against the black fabric over them as if I did it enough times, I'd finally catch sight of him.

"Fucking hell," he whispers ,and I smile, knowing he's looking at my reflection.

I bite down on my lip as I hear him beginning to remove his clothing.

"I want to take your clothes off," I blurt out, my voice high and nearly unrecognizable. The movement stops. I hear him chuckle softly before he grasps my arms, turning me towards him.

"Then take off my clothes."

His voice is like velvet, smooth, confident... sensual.

Even with my shaky nerves, I don't need to be told twice. From the moment I met this man, I've wanted to feel him.

My sense of sight gone, I lift my hands, finding contact with his chest first. I pull on his undone bow tie, letting it fall to the floor, immediately finding the buttons of his shirt.

I take my time, savoring this moment as I undo them one by one, inhaling the strong manly scent of him. I feel a rise of panic deep in my belly as I feel the last button part from the slot, and the shirt opens wide.

"I have to remove the cuffs," he says. I'm not listening. My hand settles against his abdomen, feeling hard ridges, feeling warmth, and hair. I need my other hand. I press them both to him as I feel him shrugging the sleeves off before the sound of the material hits the floor.