Page 112 of Sweet Prison
Hard, demanding lips crash against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, spearing my fingers through the short, silky strands. They are not as spiky as they were. He’s been letting his hair grow. I’m taking it as a sign of him finally accepting that the life he led for the previous two decades is over and done. My feet leave the ground as Massimo lifts me, and I immediately cinch my legs around his waist. The high slits up the sides of my wide-legged pants fall open, the fabric draping off me, and the breeze from the fan takes no time at all to cool off my bare skin.
Massimo bites my lower lip. “Okay, you can look now.”
I open my eyes.
Frames. Enormous ornate wooden frames occupy a massive wall. Gleaming white and accented with a gold leaf finish. Above each is a ceiling-mounted brass picture light, softly illuminating the drawings under the frames’ polished glass.
A squeaky whimper escapes me when I realize what they are. Enlarged prints of the dress sketches I’ve made over the years. Oh God, there’s even the very first image I sent to him in a letter, exhibited right there, in the middle of the feature wall.
It’s not just the sketches. In front of each frame, stands a sleek and shiny white wrought iron mannequin, displaying the dress depicted in the sketch.
“Oh, Massimo,” I whisper, squeezing his neck while I take in the rest of the room.
Vintage shelves, grand cabinets, an abundance of showcase platforms. Comfy seats, decorative mirrors, gorgeous overhead lights. Off to the side, there’s a stack of boxes. I can only imagine what this man has hidden away in them. Emotions clog my throat as I look around. No one has ever done anything like this for me.
“I’m sorry if I didn’t get every color right. The seamstresses kept pestering me, emailing me photos of various fabrics… As if I can distinguish between the different shades. I mean,Skobeloff? What the fuck is that? It sounds like the name of a fancy cake.”
I half laugh, half sniffle. “It’s bluish green. Similar to teal, but with more vibrant green undertones.”
“Shit. I made you cry. I’m sorry. I’ll let them know to— YES, I REALIZE I SHOULD HAVE PICKED TURQUOISE. NOW, ZIP IT!”
“No. No, I’m fine.” Cupping his face with my palms, I draw his forehead to mine. “It’s perfect. So wonderfully perfect. But…why?”
“Because it was your dream. And because you’re one hell of a fashion designer, angel. You deserve your own boutique.” He carries me across the room, toward the opposite wall where a white satin sheet is covering… something. Shifting me in his hold, he grabs a corner and tugs the cloth away. “And brand,” he adds.
I gape at the wide plaque of white and gold cursive letters. Two words. Two words thatdomake me cry.
Zahara Spada
“Oh no! No, no. We’re not done.” Massimo chuckles as he lowers me to the floor. “We’re finished with the setup of the brand. Just not with the actual branding.”
I’m barely holding myself together. My vision is blurry as I watch him lower to one knee. There’s a mischievous smile curling his lips as he reaches inside his pocket and raises his hand, holding a ring out to me.
“Zahara Veronese, you are the air I breathe and the light that allows me to see. I love you more than anything, and I need the world to know it. You are already my friend. My savior. The love of my life. But now, will you please be my wife?”
“You asked me already, silly.” I sniff. “And I said yes.”
“Without the ring, it didn’t count. So this is a do-over.” He lifts the ring higher.” It’s platinum, of course. So, will you?”
“Yeah,” I choke out. “I will.”
My hand shakes as he takes it, bringing it to his mouth. That smirk is still tugging on his lips as he wraps them around my ring finger. Wetness pools between my legs as he slowly slides my finger inside his mouth. The sensation is amazing—both innocent and completely erotic. The satiny softness of his lips as they wet my skin while delicately gliding over my finger. And the sharpness of his teeth, grazing it at the same time. As he starts pulling my finger out, his slick tongue strokes the underside, while the edge of his teeth scrapes the top. A perfect combination of rough and tender. Just like him.
“There. All ready.” He kisses the pad at the tip.
I’m enthralled as he slides the ring on while taking great care to center the contoured ribbon of diamonds just right. The ceiling lights reflect off the brilliant cluster, arranged with the largest marquise in the middle, and two sets of progressively smaller gems mirroring each other on either side.
“It’s a crown.” He gently tilts my chin up with his finger. “For my queen.”
I bite my lower lip to stop myself from further crying.
“And now, angel…” Hooking his fingers in the waistband of my pants, he slides them down, along with my panties. “Now, I’ll make your regal pussy thoroughly wet, before I give it a royal fucking.”
A shriek escapes me when he lifts me onto a chaise longue upholstered in white velvet, and then he buries his face between my thighs.
The tip of his tongue circles my clit, the motion fast and ferocious. He positions my legs over his shoulders, then slides his hands under my ass. In one swift movement, he lifts me, bringing me closer to his mouth.
The strokes of his tongue transform into languid, long licks interrupted by sporadic bites as he feasts on my juices. There’s something utterly decadent in being sprawled on a vintage sofa while he kneels on the floor and eats me out. I’m certain there wasn’t a locking of the door when he first led me in here, which means anyone at all could walk in on us. The possibility of that runs rampant in my mind, exciting me beyond measure. Grabbing his hair, I revel in the tremors rocking my core.