For Angelo(16)

“Thanks for being patient with me, but I think I’m ready now.”

Her self-sacrificing tone made his lips twitch. “You sound like a soldier about to go to war.”

“It sort of feels that way,” Lane confessed almost guiltily. “Just thinking about it…” She took a deep breath. Keep it together, Lane. You’re just going to talk about it, that’s all. It’s not like you’re making a lifelong commitment.

She heard Angelo say, “You can ask me anything. I promise to answer everything with complete honesty.”

She nodded, mumbling pedantically, “Thank you.” She took another deep breath. “First…”

Angelo raised a brow.

“Is this legal?”

He absolutely hadn’t seen that coming. “Err, yes.’ He had to sternly repress his smile as he answered her.

“Right.” She tried not to show her dismay. She had been hoping it would be illegal, which would then be her way out. Clearing her throat, she lied, “That’s, um, good.”

Liar, Angelo thought, and he had to fight back another smile.

“My next question is…” She avoided looking at him as she asked, “Is this…a sin?”

He almost laughed. “Are you worried you’d go to Hell for it?”

She nodded.

“Obviously, I’m not expert on religion but if you want my truthful answer, I’d say…no. Sadism and masochism are not sins. Instead of thinking about it that way, you should merely see them as another form of experiencing pleasure.”

“I see.”

Seeing her anxiously gnaw at her lip, he said softly, “There is nothing for you to worry about, my Lane.”

She found herself nodding, her worries fading as her mind zeroed in on those last two words.

My Lane.

He thought of her as his.

She bit her lip and tried not to be gauche with her thoughts, but it was impossible.

My Lane, he had said.

Gosh.

“I will never force or coerce you to say or do anything that you don’t want to. Nor should you see it as something that would change who you are, because it doesn’t. It’s not something that defines you—” He paused meaningfully. “Just like your clothes do not define who you are.”

A nervous giggle escaped her. “Is that a jibe about my taste in fashion?”

“Those are your words,” he pointed out smoothly, “not mine.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Any more questions, my Lane?”

Right. Her mind went back to la-la land at the endearment. She should have more questions, she knew, but now all she could think of was she wanted to hear him say that again and again. That she was his—

“Maybe if you look away,” she suggested hesitantly, “I could maybe think of more questions.”

“Or maybe deep down inside you already know there’s nothing to question.” The smile he gave her was pure iniquity, almost like it was telling her to simply seize the day and forget about worrying.

Trust me, that immorally beautiful smile said. You will love being a masochist because I’ll be the one to torture you.

His smoldering gaze roamed her body, as if he was already thinking of ways to make her cry out—

Lane hastily took a sip of her milkshake. Gosh. Why did it feel like the place had suddenly become hot? She focused on the swirls of liquid in her drink, and without his heated gaze to distract Lane, the question she most needed to ask slowly came back.

“Does being a masochist really mean I’d be whipped and, well, be on the receiving end of pain?” When Angelo didn’t answer right away, she couldn’t help looking up—

His lips curved, as if he had only been silent to make her worry.

Oh!

Her toes curled at the sight even as she protested, “Stop teasing me, I’m being serious!” Lane wasn’t sure whom she was more irritated at – Angelo for always wanting to keep her on her toes, or at herself for actually feeling like that smile of his had been a reward.

“But I am being serious, too, tesoro. That was my way of making you realize the kind of masochist you are.” Before she could answer him, he had reached for her hand across the table, and she nearly jumped in shock.

“Most of them think it’s all about the physical pain, but it’s not.”

“Umm…” Lane could barely understand him. She was too busy trying not to swoon at the feel of his fingers twining with hers.

“A few of them are…different.” Angelo continued playing with her hand, alternating between stroking her knuckles and tracing random lines on the back of her hand.

She strove hard to concentrate on his words, but it was impossible. Gosh. Oh gosh. Her body was on fire, and her pulse was leaping madly at every leisurely stroke of his long, graceful fingers.

“Like you.”

His gaze cast a spell over her, and completely enthralled, she could only whisper dumbly, “Like me?”

The barest hint of a wicked smile slashed his lips. “Yes, my Lane. You’re different from most. You’re the kind who crave emotional torment, the kind who like being made to beg, forced, and blackmailed.”

When he finished speaking, weaving a spell so much darker and harder to resist, she could only surrender to it, saying dreamily, “Yes, I’m…”