Page 97 of Forbidden
I get it, it does feel calming. Especially considering the hustle and bustle of NYC.
We sit outside on a large white wooden back deck, and there are no guests around. A staff member in a crisp white uniform brings us ice teas, and we rest in the shade.
The sun is due to set in a few hours, and Lorenzo tells me he knows of a special place to watch it kiss the horizon.
He then walks off, leaving me alone. As he heads inside, he turns and winks.
I follow him in, and then to another door. I follow Lorenzo slowly up the side of the old building as if we’re in some hidden passage.
After reaching the top level, I find a private suite. It takes up half of the top floor, it is spacious, and exquisite.
The inside is dark wood, billowing curtains, and ornate antiques fill it out. The white curtains blow in the wind, and the fresh Southern breeze cools the place.
“Well, what do you think?” Lorenzo asks, relaxing.
“What do I think?” I ask, lost for words. “It’s amazing.”
I walk through the place, and admire its sophistication and style. I then work it out, this… is not a hotel room. This suite is Lorenzo’s, and it’s likely an apartment.
A photo of him with an older woman, gives it away, and I hold it in my hands. Lorenzo steps behind, and he kisses my neck. “That is me and Martha. She’s my old secretary.”
I spin, and smile. “It was her that arranged things? And talked to my mother?”
Lorenzo nods, before he inhales, as if worried.
“It’s amazing Lorenzo,” I say, continuing, lost in the class and old money feel. I admire old landscape paintings, and even moreswords he has collected. Some of the art must be worth a small fortune, and I suspect there may be a Rembrandt and a Monet.
As I circumnavigate the entire apartment, Lorenzo puts old music on. I finally find the deck, and it is wide, with views of the many trees and gardens below.
I stroll back inside, and I find a gorgeous, dark oak library. I stop to admire rows and rows of old leather-bound books, and my heart flutters. Many are classics, and there are a lot of first editions. The collection must be worth a fortune.
“Lorenzo, you never told me you collected books.” I run my finger over them, and I check their titles.
“Just a few,” he says, walking over, twirling an old hat in his hands.
The hat is an old-fashioned Spanish conquistador hat, with a large peacock feather in it. I pluck it from his hands, and carefully put it on my head. Lorenzo laughs, and I spin like a fool.
Suddenly Lorenzo chases me, and I run along the polished dark floors. He catches me in a corner, and he tosses me on a giant four poster bed.
It’s in the corner of the suite, and the views are spectacular.
As Lorenzo tosses the large hat aside, he undresses me. I lay back, with my eyes closed, and I let him do what he wants to me.
I am so relaxed, and the smells of the rare old home, the cinnamon, suede and cloves relax me. I feel content, and it feels like a dream.
Lorenzo kiss every inch of me, and finally, he reaches my core. “Spread your legs,” he commands.
I do as I am told, and holding his hair, I guide him towards me. He suddenly pauses, and I don’t like it. “Tell me what to do.”
“What?”
“Tell me.”
“I… I want you to lick me.”
“And?”
“And make me come on your tongue.”
