Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“Look alive, Rook,” Livia said low in my ear, squeezing my arm where she held it. “You’re about to meet our hosts and the masterminds behind The Manor.”
The couple smiled at us before chatting in hushed voices to one another, but they were still on track for us.
“Who are they?” I asked Livia, feeling a bit foolish that I hadn’t thought to ask until this moment.
“Marcello and Evelyn Rovelli. He’s a real estate tycoon and owns half the west coast of Florida. She’s a retired ballerina and a philanthropist.”
“She’s wearing a dog collar.”
Livia chuckled before straightening and offering a small wave to our approaching hosts.
Marcello Rovelli moved like a man who’d never once rushed in his life. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with perfectly groomed silver hair and espresso-toned skin. He wore tailored black slacks and a crisp, open-collar dress shirt with the sleeves rolled, his chest exposed, wrists dripping with gold. His hand held a thin, polished chain leash.
The leash was attached to the collar of his wife — who was stunning.
Evelyn’s skin was deep bronze, her hair a cascade of black coils pinned up in a loose chignon that exposed the long, graceful line of her neck. Her makeup was dramatic — dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, deep plum lips — and her dress, if you could call it that, was sheer mesh embroidered with gold thread in ornate patterns that just barely shielded the curve of her breasts and the apex of her thighs. Beneath it, I saw nothing but a high-waisted thong and the glint of jewelry.
And at her throat, that thick leather collar that I couldn’t take my eyes off.
“Tesoro,” Evelyn purred, letting go of her husband’s arms just long enough to sweep Livia into a hug once they reached us. I didn’t miss how she seemed to know just how far she could stretch away from her husband without the leash catching. “You look edible, darling.”
“Are you telling me I’m good enough to eat, Ev?”
“Always.”
She winked as Marcello stepped in and took Liv’s hand in his, planting a soft kiss to the back of it. “What a pleasure to have you with us tonight, Mistress Livia. It’s been too long.”
“I agree. But I’ve had a… project occupying my time.” Livia slid her arm back through mine with those words, and our hosts swung their gaze to me.
Marcello’s eyes swept over me from head to toe, not unkindly, but like a man assessing the quality of a rare bottle of scotch. He nodded once, satisfied. “Carter Fabri. We’re honored.”
His voice was drenched in power, just like everything else about him.
“Welcome to our home,” Evelyn added, her gaze twinkling with mischief. “We’ve heard lovely things about you.”
That alone made my stomach clench. I shifted on my feet, but Marcello lifted a hand, his tone softening just enough to reassure.
“She only means from Livia when she delighted us with her request to bring you as her guest. And let me ease your mind. You have our full discretion,” he said. “No one here will utter a word about hockey, and no one outside these walls will know you were ever here.”
“You’re safe,” Evelyn echoed, brushing her fingers over the chain that connected her to her husband once more. “Free to explore. To observe. To indulge. And if at any point, you’d prefer to disappear into one of the private rooms, Livia knows the way.”
Their words settled over me like warm water, and somehow, I felt both more exposed and more at ease than I had all night.
Livia squeezed my hand. “We’ll take it slow.”
Marcello nodded. “That’s always the best way to begin.”
With a final wave, the couple left us, and then Livia turned to face me fully and slid her hands up over my chest before hooking them behind my neck.
“Alright, Rook. Keep those safe words handy.” She grabbed my hands and started walking backward then, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Time to play.”
Watch and Be Watched
Livia
Carter was tense as I pulled him through the main play area and down the dark hall to one of the voyeur rooms.
I could feel it in the way his shoulders squared, the way his hand twitched at his side like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for me or fold into himself. His eyes were hungry, gaze devouring everything before him, but his jaw was tight, breath shallow.
Once we were tucked behind the invisible side of the one-way mirror, I leaned in, brushing my lips near his ear, hoping my voice would anchor him.
“I brought you here to watch tonight,” I murmured. “To learn. To feel.”
His eyes flicked to mine, those golden flecks swimming in the dark brown as his pupils dilated.
“I want you to see what it looks like when people let go. When they play. When they ask for what they want without fear they’ll be punished, or laughed at, or told they’re wrong for wanting it.”