Chapter 7
JUNO
So practise we do.
Over the next few days Sandro introduces me to all sorts of new physical delights.
I quickly come to enjoy sensory deprivation in the form of a blindfold and headphones playing loud music, especially when it goes hand in hand with the lavish use of Sandro’s tongue, mouth and hands on my body.
I also find, to my surprise – once I pluck up the courage to allow it – that spanking can actually be rather pleasurable.
It’s something to do with the release of endorphins into the bloodstream, he tells me afterwards, which heightened my orgasm and left me in a panting, shuddering mess of exquisite sensation.
The days fly by like that, with me working on my laptop during the day, him disappearing into his studio to work on his sculptures, then the two of us taking increasingly longer lazy lunch breaks in a nearby café before returning to the apartment to continue to feast on each other’s bodies.
I’m bolder now with my advances and requests for what I want, and Sandro seems pretty pleased with my progress. But he still won’t take my virginity, much to my frustration.
Even though I’m very much enjoying our time in bed, I feel as though I’m missing something important.
A closeness, perhaps. I think it’s something to do with the fact we haven’t actually kissed on the lips.
I can understand why he might want to keep himself cut off from the emotional side of sex – we’re going our separate ways soon, after all – but it leaves me longing for something more.
Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
* * *
I’m taking a break for a little while, after a particularly intensive hour of working, and to distract my whirring brain, I decide to go and see what Sandro is working on.
When I gently push open the door to his studio I see that he’s in there working on a new piece, which seems to involve an awful lot of bright copper wire that he’s meticulously twisting into amazing shapes to form what looks like the cascading branches of a weeping willow tree.
He’s so involved in what he’s doing he doesn’t notice me standing there, and I don’t want to break his concentration, so I content myself with watching him work for a while.
It occurs to me, as I stare at the careful, sure movements of his fingers, that for once he seems completely calm.
His usual restless energy is noticeably absent and instead he appears to be completely serene and deeply focussed on the task at hand.
It’s as if he’s channelling the whole of himself into his art.
Something about that makes my heart lurch in my chest.
It’s a truly awe-inspiring thing to behold and I experience a wave of pure admiration for him.
I have a mad urge to do something – anything – to make him see just how unique and incredible his creative talent is.
That he shouldn’t listen to his father and let him influence his feelings about his sculpting.
I want him to be able to see himself in the way that I see him. To know how good he is. To accept that there’s so much more to him than just being good in bed. That there are different types of intelligence.
I watch him for another moment or two before leaving him to it, determination to help him recognise his talent for what it is surging through my veins.
I’m not sure how I’m going to do it yet, but I know I’ll find a way.
* * *
On Friday night I’m fully expecting Sandro to want to go to the hottest new restaurant, bar or club, so I’m surprised when he suggests we order takeaway pizza from the local pizzeria and eat it at home.
While we’re waiting for the food to be delivered, he drags me into the bedroom and introduces me to the delights of nipple clamps.
The painful pleasure from the clips mixes with the delicious sweep of his muscular tongue over my clitoris, which does something magical to my body, as if the two areas are connected and feeding off each other’s stimulation.
Whenever he increases pressure in one area, I feel it in the other one too, until I’m gasping and moaning uncontrollably, unable to concentrate on anything other than the intense sensations he’s creating in me.
Afterwards, I lie panting for breath after an orgasm that seemed to go on forever, and when I look up at him Sandro is watching me with a perplexed expression on his face.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, wondering if I’ve committed some sort of post-orgasm faux pas.
‘I was just wondering why you came to me for help – other than hearing about my amazing reputation in bed, that is. I can’t believe you don’t have men asking you out all the time.’
I let out a snort of surprise, which I quickly cover with a small cough.
‘That’s kind of you, but I don’t really.
Not any more. I try to keep well out of the limelight now, after what happened with Malcolm, and I’m extremely wary about the men that approach me.
’ I swallow. ‘Actually, the reason I came to you was because I knew there wouldn’t be any danger of anything like that happening with you. And because I like and trust you.’
He’s looking down at the bedspread now with a frown and for a second I wonder whether I’ve spooked him with that final comment. Was it verging on too emotional?
‘And hopefully you find me just about tolerable too?’ I joke, hearing the nervous quaver in my voice.
‘More than tolerable,’ he says, looking up now and giving me one of his heart-stopping grins. ‘And I feel privileged to be the person you trust enough to help you get past your hang-ups.’
I smile back, though a strange, heavy weight seems to have lodged somewhere in my chest.
I push it away.
‘Well, I really couldn’t see any of the men I know agreeing to such a preposterous-sounding request. I probably would have given them heart attacks if I’d suggested it.
Not that there are many to choose from. The two men I’ve dated since Malcolm were both really gentle and unassuming.
Beta, I suppose you’d call them. Unthreatening.
Thinking about it now, I suppose I was attracted to them for that very reason.
They made me feel safe, which was important to me after what happened.
Neither of them were exactly proactive when it came to initiating sex. ’
‘Lazy bastards,’ Sandro hisses with a disgusted wave of his hand.
I smile and shrug. ‘Maybe. My last boyfriend, Hugh, was the sort of person that would stay put until someone moved him and I was too insecure about sex to make anything happen myself.’
‘It sounds like you need to adjust the preferences on your dating profile.’
‘I don’t have a dating profile. I only ever meet men through work.’
‘Like this guy you’re so keen to impress – Adam is it?’ He says the name as if he’s offended by it.
‘Yes,’ I reply, a little bemused by that. He’s not even met him so his insinuation that he’s not worthy of my attention is a little misplaced.
‘What is it about him that gets you so hot?’ he asks. There’s an aggressive undertone to his voice now, as if he feels a need to compete. He’s such an alpha male.
‘He’s one of the brightest minds in our area of research. I’ve had some really enlightening conversations with him about my PhD topic. He really knows his subject. And he’s clearly going places. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he ends up with a Nobel Prize.’
‘A Nobel Prize, huh?’ Sandro raises a derisive eyebrow as if he doubts this very much.
‘Probably,’ I say, bristling a little on Adam’s behalf.
‘He sounds to me like the kind of guy that thinks way too much of himself. Especially if he’s happy to pass up the opportunity to be with a smart, attractive woman like you.’
‘He really doesn’t,’ I argue, although thinking now about the dates we’d gone on, he’d mostly talked about himself and asked very little about me.
‘He’s a busy, in-demand guy who everyone holds in high esteem and wants a piece of.
Especially women. He has every right to be a bit full of himself.
He’s worked hard to be top of his game, so he’s entitled to be picky about who he chooses to spend his time with.
And how,’ I bluster, though I’m less sure of myself now.
‘And this is the guy you’re so desperate to get into bed?’ Sandro mutters with such distain I feel a shiver of indignation run the length of my spine. ‘He sounds like a total narcissist.’
I feel myself getting hot with irritation. ‘Actually, he’s exactly the kind of man I want to spend the rest of my life with – someone who’ll be able to look back on his time and know he’s made a difference to the world. Someone who’ll stimulate me intellectually.’
The door buzzer goes and he rolls off the bed to go and collect the pizza. ‘Well, before you propose marriage to him, can I recommend you check he can stimulate you in bed as well? I think you’re gonna find that’s just as important,’ he says as he exits the room.
‘That’s the plan,’ I call after him, with a confidence I’m not feeling any more. It’s funny, but it occurs to me now that ever since I’ve been here in Italy with Sandro, I’ve not given Adam a second thought. Until just now when he mentioned him.
I guess that’s the power of Sandro’s charisma coming to the fore.
Meeting him has really opened up my eyes to how sexual impulses can befuddle your brain and cause you to act in all sorts of uncharacteristic ways.
Hormones have a lot to answer for.
But I have to keep my head on straight. We’re only going to be together for another couple of days.
The trouble is, after talking to Sandro about him, I’m beginning to wonder whether Adam really is the sort of man I should be chasing.
Whether he’ll give me the kind of love and affection I’ll need from a long-term partner.
Whether he’ll make me feel alive, like Sandro does when I’m with him.