Bonus Scene
Keep reading to find out what happens when Zara recieve’s Lorenzo’s gift…
The Gift
Work had been grueling, my anxiety was peaking, and I could not wait to take a nice shower and fall asleep.
That was my only thought as I rushed into the penthouse and straight to my room; the bedroom door clicked shut behind me.
I’d been gone for three hours—lunch with an old friend from college, someone who didn’t know about him, about the gilded cage I’d willingly stepped into six months ago.
I stopped dead.
There was a box on the bed.
Not a gift-wrapped thing with ribbons and bows. This was a plain black velvet case, the kind that held jewelry or watches or something equally precious. Resting exactly in the center of the king-sized duvet.
I approached slowly, and when I got close enough, I saw the note. A single sheet of heavy cream paper, folded once, and placed beneath the velvet case.
My hands trembled as I picked up the note and unfolded it.
If you want to come without my mouth or my cock, don’t use a toy you’ve ever touched while thinking of another man.
You want to come? Come with me. Come for me. Or don’t come at all.
Say my name, and it comes to life. Say another man’s name, and it dies.
—L
The paper slipped from my fingers.
Fuck. My. Life.
He had heard me last night when I’d been restless, frustrated. When I came with his name on my lips.
Lorenzo.
Not some ex-boyfriend’s name. Not some fantasy lover’s. His name. The only name I was apparently allowed to say.
I’d figured between the thick walls and the long hall between the rooms that I’d been safe.
Yet somehow, he had heard me, which would have only been possible if he was just on the other side of the door as I touched myself, pretending it was him. The thought made my skin crawl and my thighs clench in equal measure.
I reached for the velvet case, my fingers closing around its smooth surface. It was heavier than I expected. The sound of the zipper was obscenely loud in the silence.
Inside, nestled in black satin, was a vibrator.
Not a cheap one. This was sleek, expensive, made of matte silicone, and curved to hit that spot inside me with surgical precision. At the base, there was a small speaker grille.
Say my name, and it comes to life.
My throat was dry. I should have thrown it across the room. I should have called him, screamed at him, demanded to know how he’d heard me. I should have packed my bags and walked out of this penthouse and never looked back.
Instead, I held the vibrator in my palm, feeling its weight.
I spread my legs without thinking, the black silk of my dress riding up my thighs. My panties were damp, the fabric clinging to me like a second skin. I pressed the vibrator against my clit through the fabric, just to feel it—just to test the smooth, cool surface against my heat.
I took a shaky breath.
“Lorenzo.”
The vibrator hummed to life immediately, a low, rumbling vibration that sent shockwaves through my entire body. I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily. The sound was soft, intimate, like a secret whispered against my skin.
I turned it off. Or rather, it went silent when I stopped speaking.
I could use it without saying his name. I could just hold it, just let it sit there, and deny myself the pleasure. But that wasn’t the point. He wanted me to need his name. He wanted me to understand that even my most private moments belonged to him.
I set the vibrator down, picked up the note again.
My hand drifted down my stomach, past the waistband of my panties, until my fingers found my clit. I was already slick, already swollen. I circled myself slowly, deliberately, imagining his eyes on me. His cold, possessive eyes that saw everything missed nothing.
He heard me.
The thought should have terrified me. And it did—God, it did. But it also lit a fire in my belly, a dark, twisted arousal that I couldn’t explain or justify.
I picked the vibrator up again, brought it to my mouth, and pressed a kiss to the silicone.
“Lorenzo.” I whispered and felt it hum against my lips.
I slid it inside me without preamble, pushing it deep until the curve nestled against my g-spot. The vibration was constant now, a steady, pulsing rhythm that made my eyes roll back. I gripped the sheets with my free hand, my knuckles white, and let myself fall into the sensation.
But I didn’t say his name again. Not yet.
I wanted to make him wait. I wanted to see how long I could last before I surrendered to the game he’d designed.
The vibrator was relentless. It didn’t soften, didn’t change pattern.
Just a steady, buzzing pressure that built and built and built, coiling that knot of pleasure in my belly tighter and tighter.
My hips moved on their own, fucking myself on his chosen instrument, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
I was close. So close.
And then I stopped.
I pulled the vibrator out, biting my lip to stifle a whimper. The sudden absence was almost painful, my cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for completion.
I couldn’t cum. Not yet. Not until I said his name.
But that was exactly what he wanted.
The note was still on the bed, his handwriting mocking me. Think of me. Only me.
I pressed the vibrator against my clit, not inside, and let it pulse against the sensitive nub. My hips jerked. My vision blurred. I was teetering on the edge, my whole body trembling with suppressed release.
“Lorenzo,” I breathed, the word barely audible.
The vibrator responded instantly, a deeper, more insistent vibration that pushed me over the edge.
I came with his name on my lips, a sob escaping my throat as the pleasure crashed through me, wave after wave, until I was writhing on the duvet, the vibrator still buzzing against my oversensitive flesh.
I lay there, panting, my dress soaked with sweat, the taste of his name still on my tongue.
And then I heard it.
A soft click.
The sound of the front door opening, and I scrambled to sit up, shoving the vibrator back into its velvet case, my fingers clumsy and shaking.