Chapter 58

Chapter 58
Vito’s POV
I could see clearly as Isabella clutched something behind her back, her fingers tense around what was obviously a small package. The sight would have been amusing if I hadn't been so curious about what my supposedly innocent wife was trying to hide from me.
"Leave us," I commanded my lieutenant, not taking my eyes off Isabella's flushed face. "And close the door."
Tony nodded and retreated, the soft click of the door echoing in the suddenly intimate space. I maneuvered my wheelchair closer, noting how Isabella instinctively stepped backward.
"What are you holding?" I asked, my voice deceptively casual as I rolled forward another inch.
"Nothing," she said too quickly, pressing whatever it was harder against her back. "Just... a friend gave me a gift."
"How thoughtful," I murmured, continuing my slow advance. She took another step backward, nearly bumping into the side table. "Why don't you try on this gift from your friend?"
"It's too late," Isabella said, her voice pitched higher than normal. "I need to rest."
I reached out and caught her wrist, pulling her close enough that I could smell the nervous sweat mixed with her expensive perfume.
"Let me see," I said, my fingers tightening slightly around her wrist.
She tried to resist, but her struggles only made it easier for me to pluck the item from her grasp. The moment my fingers made contact with the delicate fabric, I knew exactly what it was.
Interesting.
I held up the black lace garment, letting the silk slip through my fingers as I examined it with deliberate slowness. It was a corset, exquisitely made with intricate lacework and tiny pearl buttons.
"A lace corset," I observed, my voice carefully neutral. "Were you planning to wear this tonight?"
"No, no," Isabella said quickly, her cheeks burning crimson. "I wasn't planning to wear it at all."
I let my gaze drift from the lingerie in my hands to her face, noting the way her pupils had dilated slightly, the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. She was nervous, yes, but there was something else there. Something that made my blood warm with anticipation.
"I remember you telling me how... impressive you found my performance," I said, letting a hint of dangerous amusement creep into my voice. "So you decided to try something special tonight?"
I pressed forward in my wheelchair, watching with satisfaction as she retreated until her back hit the wall. Trapped now, with nowhere to run, she looked up at me with wide eyes that held equal parts fear and something much more intriguing.
"I didn't—" she started, but I cut her off.
"Didn't what?" I leaned forward, bringing my face closer to hers. "Didn't plan to seduce your disabled husband? Didn't think about what might happen if you showed up in my room wearing this?"
The corset dangled from my fingers, the black lace catching the lamplight. I could see her eyes dart to it, then back to my face, as if she couldn't decide where to look.
"You're reading too much into this," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Am I?" I tilted my head, studying her with the same intensity I usually reserved for business negotiations. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like my wife received some very specific advice from her friend."
I held up the garment again, letting it sway slightly between us. "This isn't the kind of thing you buy on impulse. Someone picked this out specifically—someone who knows exactly what effect it would have."
Isabella's breathing had grown shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her simple sweater. The contrast between her modest daytime clothes and the seductive lingerie in my hands was not lost on me.
"Tell me," I continued, my voice dropping to a more intimate register, "what did your friend tell you about wearing something like this? Did she explain how it works? How it... enhances certain experiences?"
"I don't know what you mean," Isabella said, but I could hear the tremor in her voice.
"Don't you?" I reached out with my free hand and traced a finger along the edge of the corset's neckline. "This is designed to lift, to display, to make a man lose his mind with want. Did your friend mention that?"
Isabella's eyes followed the movement of my finger, and I saw her swallow hard.
I rolled my chair back slightly, giving her breathing room while still keeping her effectively cornered.
"You know what I think happened?" I said conversationally. "I think your friend asked you about our marriage. About whether you were... satisfied. And when you had to admit that your disabled husband wasn't meeting your needs, she suggested a solution."
Isabella's face had gone from pink to deep red.
"I think she told you that sometimes a man needs encouragement," I continued. "That even a man in my condition might surprise you, if properly motivated."
"That's not—" Isabella started, then seemed to lose her nerve.
"No?" I held the corset up again, examining it more closely. "Because this is exactly the kind of thing a woman wears when she wants to test her husband's capabilities. When she wants to see if he's man enough to rise to the occasion."
I could see the pulse hammering at her throat now, could almost taste the tension in the air between us.
"Well," I said finally, setting the corset down on the arm of my wheelchair where she couldn't help but see it. "Since your friend went to the trouble of selecting something so... appropriate... it would be rude not to give her suggestion a try."
Isabella's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
I smiled at her then, the kind of smile that had made grown men reconsider their life choices. "I mean, wife, that you're going to put this on. And then we're going to see just how well your friend knows what she's talking about."
The silence that followed was charged with electricity. Isabella stared at me, her mind clearly racing, while I waited to see what she would do.
"Right now?" she whispered.
"Right now," I confirmed. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to admit that you asked your friend for advice on how to seduce me because you've been thinking about what it would be like to have a real marriage."
I watched her face carefully, noting the way her breath caught, the way her hands clenched at her sides. She was trapped between honesty and embarrassment, between desire and propriety.
"The choice is yours," I said gently, but there was steel beneath the silk of my voice. "You can take that upstairs and pretend this conversation never happened. Or..."
"Or?" she breathed.
"Or you can show me exactly what your friend had in mind when she picked this out for you."
I reached out and traced one finger along the back of her hand where it rested against the wall. Such a small touch, but I felt her shiver in response.
"What's it going to be, Isabella?"