SOFIA'S POV

“Kneel on the couch. Face the windows. Hands on the backrest. And do not move them.”

Luca’s voice was quiet steel as the penthouse door clicked shut behind us. The private dinner had been two hours of exquisite torture—his hand heavy on my bare thigh under the tablecloth, thumb stroking higher every time I tried to speak, the knowledge that I was completely naked beneath the short black dress he’d chosen. No panties. Just slick skin and the constant, humiliating awareness that he could smell how wet I was.

Now we were home. And the look in his eyes said the looking was over.

I obeyed. Climbed onto...