Page 485 of Rosetti Family New York
Something settles deep in my chest at her words. She understands. This isn't just bedroom dynamics - this is life-altering commitment that will reshape both our worlds.
"Good girl." I release her chin and step back, establishing the formal distance this conversation requires. "We'll start tonight with advanced restraints and sensory play. Build on what we discovered last night."
The formal protocols established, I feel the familiar calm that comes with proper preparation. Every contingency considered, every boundary mapped. Now we can begin.
I lead her through my bedroom to the closet, my hands steady despite the anticipation building in my chest. The hidden panel slides away softly, revealing my BDSM room in all its fully equipped glory.
Carmela's sharp intake of breath fills the space as she takes in the leather-padded bench gleaming under recessed lighting, the suspension points mounted in the ceiling like surgical equipment, the cabinet full of implements I've collected over the years. Everything organized with the same precision as my surgical instruments.
"Jesus, Van," she whispers, her voice echoing slightly off the soundproofed walls. "It's more intense than… than I remember." She turns to me sheepishly. "I peeked in here, you know," she admits.
The room triggers something deep in my chest - that desperate need for control that sometimes feels like it's going to consumeme whole. But watching her take it in, seeing no fear in her expression, keeps my arousal sharp and present.
"Second thoughts?" The words come out harsher than intended.
"No." She steps further into the room, trailing her fingers along the leather restraints hanging from the wall. "It's just… very thorough."
I move to the cabinet, pulling out silk blindfold and soft leather cuffs. The familiar ritual of preparation centers me, pushes away any lingering trauma responses.
"Van?" Her voice cuts through my focus. "Who did you use this room with? Before me, I mean."
Nobodies. One night-stands. Occasionally paid company.
"Noone worth mentioning," I tell her. "Nobody ever came here more than once."
She must see something in my face, because her tone softens. "Are you okay?"
I set the restraints on the bench calmly. "I'm fine." Better than fine - I'm exactly where I need to be. "Strip. Everything off. Then lie down, arms above your head."
Her eyes widen at the direct command, but she complies without question. The dress slides off first, pooling around her feet like silk water. Then her bra - delicate lace that I want to tear with myteeth. Finally her panties, revealing the neat triangle of dark hair between her thighs.
My cock strains against my pants as she settles on the leather bench, completely naked and trusting. The sight of her like this - vulnerable, willing, mine - makes my mouth go dry with want.
"Fucking beautiful," I mutter, securing the leather cuffs around her wrists. I check the fit with two fingers of space, professional even as my cock throbs with need. "This stays on until I decide otherwise." I secure the blindfold across her eyes. "No peeking."
The moment her vision is gone, something extraordinary happens. The constant ache in my wrists fades to nothing as I focus entirely on what I'm about to do to her.
She's helpless now, but by choice. Under my control, but because she wants to be.
I retrieve ice cubes from the small refrigerator, along with feathers and other implements. But first, I need to touch her properly.
"Tell me what you feel," I command, trailing my fingers along her collarbone without warning.
She gasps, arching against the leather. "Your hands. Warm. I want more."
"Good girl." I cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple until it hardens. "And now?"
"Oh god, Van. Sir. That feels…" She trails off as I roll her nipple between my fingers, applying just enough pressure to make her back arch.
I grab an ice cube, dragging it along the same path my fingers just traced. The contrast makes her cry out, nipples hardening further as goosebumps break across her skin.
"Cold. Sharp. Please don't stop."
I've never felt this clear, this present. Every movement, every command, every response from her body creates a feedback loop that drowns out everything else. For the first time since my discharge, my PTSD symptoms have gone completely quiet.
I drag ice down her sternum, watching water droplets trail between her breasts. "More what, princess?"
"More of your hands on me, Sir. More of everything."
