Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I smile, swallowing the lump in my throat.
I know he is. “The feeling’s mutual,” I whisper. It scares me, knowing how much I love him and what that could mean. I think back on my life before Adriano, and while it was vivid and full of meaning at times, the two of us paired together brings me to a whole new level I never imagined possible. And when I imagine a future together—growing old and sharing dreams, children and family, a place to call home—I feel as if my heart could explode.
I’m longing to see him again. I hate being apart. And even though I never knew love could make you feel so raw and exposed, I also never knew love could fill every cell of your being and, just when you thought you were filled to bursting, expand that much more.
Eden sits next to us. Marialena and I squeal at pictures of her baby, and I watch her eyes grow misty as she talks about raising a family here. I know for her, it means that she gets what she never had and for me—well, it will mean the same.
“Madame Beau’s here tonight,” Marialena says. “There’s a huge crowd, have you seen?”
Huge crowds and Adriano’s protective side don’t mix well, but I have to give him props for not losing it.
“I thought there were more people than usual. She’s the one who calls herself the Masochist Advocate, right?”
“Yup.”
I flip through her website and tell myself to put a pin in this one.
A masochist is a person who derives sexual pleasure from pain.
I flip through a definition of the power exchange, role-playing, sensation play examples, and a long list of the psychological benefits of a lifestyle choice.
Emotional connection and trust
Self-awareness and understanding
Fantasy fulfillment
Empowerment
Healing from past trauma or neglect
“Wow, this looks good,” I say softly, wondering how all these things and more have come into fruition with my relationship with Adriano. Suffice to say, I am not the same woman I was the night I witnessed Adriano’s vengeance.
“Do I smell garlic bread in here or is it my imagination?”
Helena walks in on six-inch high heels, wearing a body-con dress with sheer panels. Eden reaches for my hand and lays hers atop mine gently. “Don’t pick a fight,” she whispers. “It isn’t worth it, Quinn. She’s just a silly girl who has no filter; she’s not mean, trust me.”
Still, this woman opened her big, fat mouth and stirred up shit. Shit stirrers shouldn’t walk about with impunity.
“Oh, hey,” I say to her pleasantly, and Eden winces. She knows.
“Hey. Woah! I remember you, girlfriend!” Her eyes widen. “I heard what happened, and I gotta say, like you totally…”
“You asked me a question last time we met, remember?” I say, interrupting her. “You asked me my number?”
I watch the color drain from her face with deep satisfaction.
“Yeah?” Helena blurts out with obvious trepidation.
I get to my feet and saunter over to the other side of the kitchen to help myself to a little ramekin of Eden’s decadent chocolate mousse. I strut over to Helena, invading her personal space. There’s barely an inch between us now.
“The answer’s thirty-nine. Thirty. Nine. Girlfriend.” I gently place a dab of mousse on her snotty little nose. “If you ever spread shit about my husband to people again, I think I’m going to recommend he make it forty, so—”
I didn’t know someone could run that fast in heels that high.
Marialena laughs her ass off, and Eden shakes her head.
“Quinn.” I am rooted to the spot at the sound of Adriano’s dominant voice. “I told you to behave yourself.”
Eden becomes very interested in rearranging the pantry.
Chicken.
“Oh, hi.” I give him my dazzling smile.
Adriano crosses his arms on his chest. “Where did I tell you to wait for me?”
“In… our room. But that wasn’t until seven. It’s—”
Oh, shit.
“Ten past. I’m on my way!”
Eden’s not the only chicken. I turn tail and run.
And Adriano has the balls to make me wait. I’m kneeling, my hands on my thighs, in the corner of our private room wearing nothing but my birthday suit while I wait.
And wait.
My legs are starting to get a little numb when I decide to close my eyes and bring myself to the present.
The carpet is soft under my knees, likely installed here for this exact purpose. Muffled voices filter in from outside, likely a good crowd going to hear the presentation by Madame Beau, the guest speaker who came tonight for an audio-visual presentation I’m admittedly curious about.
And as I kneel on the floor, waiting for my husband…my husband… I realize that Bella Notte isn’t just about sex, or BDSM, but so much more.
I think about Eden, losing herself madly, deeply, head over heels to Sergio.
I think about Adriano, seeking me out as a masked Dom, discovering what I like and what I don’t, all the while cloaked in anonymity. Finding his own place in this world and the cathartic release of a place that welcomes all of him, as he is, with no exceptions.