rugged handsome studs fixed completely on me. Not looking over my shoulder for someone better, just gorging themselves, their eyes that is, on me.
I wake late again, sleeping right though my phone alarm. Every night I fall into the deepest sleep filled with the same dream. Although truthfully, I never see the face of my lover. I'm too subsumed in the overwhelm of pleasure, so realistic my thighs are soaked in the morning.
Shocked at my sensual indolence, I hurry out to find the guys and see what the plan is. It's such a trip being secured between two searing hot guys and walking through Venice, drinking up the surreptitious glances of the women of all ages we pass.
I trail through the piano nobile, looking in every room, which takes forever. My boys aren't anywhere. The kitchen rooms are unusually empty so I continue down the stone steps to the portigo level – the ground floor of the palazzo where Mark pulls the speedboat inside.
It ought to be called the water floor as there is no 'ground' on the ground floor in Venice. A rip of displeasure that they've gone out without me pushes me into trying all the doors along the passage, dank with ages old mold.
This is the level housing the old storehouses from the time Venetian aristocracy made their fortunes trading with the East. Maybe Mark spends his time down here at whatever work he does. Something he keeps cloaked in total mystery because he's rarely in his office on the piano nobile and I can never find him anywhere else in the palazzo.
His enigmatic behavior makes him even more alluring. Every day is carnival with Mark. I find it quaint the way he keeps his mask over his real identity. Same as the way he and Josh have a habit of describing themselves in third person, as though they're joined.
The first few doors I pull open are old store rooms, cold and slimy stone with centuries of dust and the next few are locked. Definitely locked no matter how vigorously I rattle their locks. The next I pull open and stand staring into for an age. The frown across my brow intensifies as incomprehension rattles through me. Questions, excuses, imagination.
The windowless room is a wall of closed circuit camera screens. Every room in the palace has been bugged with hidden filming devices. Including my bedroom and the bath I spend long hours touching my rediscovered new body in.
As I scroll across the shadowy gray images on the screens, my eyes alight on an image of a room more like a cell. Bare except for a stark bed in the middle with shackles attached to the underside at all four corners.
I shiver all through, part insane fear, part greedy hunger. Some bizarre responses are coming out of my body these days and I feel like I have no control. My skin starts to crawl, a chill moving up my arms and spine and I whip around at the sensation of someone behind me.
Only the open door.
I thought it was closed.
Oh crap, I'm imagining ghosts and ghouls in the basement now. Maybe I should get out of here and ask the boys about their dungeon later. Except I'm too curious. My eyes stretch to bring the grimy gray image into focus. And I see the cell is not completely bare.
On the back wall is a huge cross, which I guess is not surprising in a city with an ancient church on every corner. Although why would they do their worshiping in the basement when there's a whole private chapel room, all gold gilt and painted dome ceiling, on the piano nobile ?
The side walls are lined with closets but it's hard to tell what they contain. The door of one is open, revealing neat rows of – instruments. I recognize the whips and the lashes with many tails, although I don't recall the particular term for them. But there are many tools, toys, I can hardly imagine the use for. Whatever it is, there's no way it can be pleasant.
They're like items from a medieval torturer's chamber, or used by the inquisition back in those dark times. I know my history. Hundreds of thousands of women were tortured and put to
I wake late again, sleeping right though my phone alarm. Every night I fall into the deepest sleep filled with the same dream. Although truthfully, I never see the face of my lover. I'm too subsumed in the overwhelm of pleasure, so realistic my thighs are soaked in the morning.
Shocked at my sensual indolence, I hurry out to find the guys and see what the plan is. It's such a trip being secured between two searing hot guys and walking through Venice, drinking up the surreptitious glances of the women of all ages we pass.
I trail through the piano nobile, looking in every room, which takes forever. My boys aren't anywhere. The kitchen rooms are unusually empty so I continue down the stone steps to the portigo level – the ground floor of the palazzo where Mark pulls the speedboat inside.
It ought to be called the water floor as there is no 'ground' on the ground floor in Venice. A rip of displeasure that they've gone out without me pushes me into trying all the doors along the passage, dank with ages old mold.
This is the level housing the old storehouses from the time Venetian aristocracy made their fortunes trading with the East. Maybe Mark spends his time down here at whatever work he does. Something he keeps cloaked in total mystery because he's rarely in his office on the piano nobile and I can never find him anywhere else in the palazzo.
His enigmatic behavior makes him even more alluring. Every day is carnival with Mark. I find it quaint the way he keeps his mask over his real identity. Same as the way he and Josh have a habit of describing themselves in third person, as though they're joined.
The first few doors I pull open are old store rooms, cold and slimy stone with centuries of dust and the next few are locked. Definitely locked no matter how vigorously I rattle their locks. The next I pull open and stand staring into for an age. The frown across my brow intensifies as incomprehension rattles through me. Questions, excuses, imagination.
The windowless room is a wall of closed circuit camera screens. Every room in the palace has been bugged with hidden filming devices. Including my bedroom and the bath I spend long hours touching my rediscovered new body in.
As I scroll across the shadowy gray images on the screens, my eyes alight on an image of a room more like a cell. Bare except for a stark bed in the middle with shackles attached to the underside at all four corners.
I shiver all through, part insane fear, part greedy hunger. Some bizarre responses are coming out of my body these days and I feel like I have no control. My skin starts to crawl, a chill moving up my arms and spine and I whip around at the sensation of someone behind me.
Only the open door.
I thought it was closed.
Oh crap, I'm imagining ghosts and ghouls in the basement now. Maybe I should get out of here and ask the boys about their dungeon later. Except I'm too curious. My eyes stretch to bring the grimy gray image into focus. And I see the cell is not completely bare.
On the back wall is a huge cross, which I guess is not surprising in a city with an ancient church on every corner. Although why would they do their worshiping in the basement when there's a whole private chapel room, all gold gilt and painted dome ceiling, on the piano nobile ?
The side walls are lined with closets but it's hard to tell what they contain. The door of one is open, revealing neat rows of – instruments. I recognize the whips and the lashes with many tails, although I don't recall the particular term for them. But there are many tools, toys, I can hardly imagine the use for. Whatever it is, there's no way it can be pleasant.
They're like items from a medieval torturer's chamber, or used by the inquisition back in those dark times. I know my history. Hundreds of thousands of women were tortured and put to
Similar Books
