Chapter 24: Teasing Under the Table

POV: Stefano

I descended the stairs, and at the bottom, the glass door on the side of the living room, wide open, provided me with a perfect view of Beatrice. My attention was completely fixed on her, and my body seemed in doubt about taking the next step, as my mind alternated between wanting to be there and just going back to my chores. I hated the fact that Beatrice was able to destabilize me, and I still didn't want to kill her. At that moment, I relived the memory of that morning when I saw myself reflected in her, vulnerable in the same way I had once been, making me think I found her more interesting than I should have. Beatrice reminded me, in every detail, of the days when I struggled to breathe, constant nightmares, loss of appetite, but primarily the moment I had to learn to deal with it all in the worst possible way. There I stood, at the top of the staircase, with the same vacant look from those days, but now without feeling anything beyond that.

She explored her surroundings slowly, searching for me in the garden, confused by my invitation and my absence, even though it was already past the agreed time. Her face was a mix of frustration, fatigue, and boredom, clearly indicating through her expression that she was uncomfortable and lost about what to do. This suggested that she cared about my reaction, despite everything, as Giovanni's letter provided no details. She took a deep breath, her posture and shoulders still perfect, like a perfectly trained companion. She took a few slow steps towards the door, focusing on the flowers I had made sure were cultivated, making it clear that her patience had run out, as I had intentionally kept her waiting for half an hour.

Giovanni had delivered her message, detailing their conversation to me, and for a moment, I hated him while simultaneously desiring to be there to witness her face and reaction, to see if she was being honest. Either way, he was right when he said I could be in hell, but we would still have dinner, mainly because it was exactly what she didn't want.

I remember just smiling before dismissing him to spend the day with his family, as well as the rest of the staff, who needed to be there almost all the time to take care of meals. Today, temporarily, I only needed one of them to look after Davide, who was already asleep, and one to serve us. It was essential that they all spent some time with their families, even if some of them preferred not to have one. The soft light in the garden, visible through the window, emphasized the curves of her body and a slight blush, indicating she had been in the sun before coming here, perhaps she was a beach lover or just enjoyed walking. Her dark, wavy hair, falling below her shoulders, made me want to pull it while arching her towards me.

I felt compelled to observe every inch of Beatrice as I approached her. The soft sound of her feet crushing the grass filled the silence with the house, creating a melody that echoed in my mind and drew my attention. Beatrice was wearing high heels, despite being on the grass, and she had no problem with it. Her black dress with a knee-length flared skirt was elegant and featured a generous neckline, which she seemed to like, and it was a temptation for me.

"The table is set by the pool," I said when I finally came close enough for her to notice my presence and stop walking. Her body turned in my direction, her eyes meeting mine, and her eyelashes blinked rapidly. She parted her lips slightly but refrained from saying anything. Instead, she moved even closer. As she stood almost against my body, I was sure that the lack of physical space was merely a physical limitation, as I felt an increasing abyss between our souls, partly because of me and partly because of Beatrice. I couldn't help but notice her different eyes, her heavy breaths, as if she were nervous, as if she were trapped in her own thoughts.

Beatrice simply continued, passing by me and heading in the direction I indicated. Her hair covered her back as she walked with elegance and calm. As she kept walking toward the table by the pool area, I followed her, maintaining a careful distance, unable to resist watching her rear swaying. I was in no hurry now.

The table was carefully set, and luckily, there were no signs of a romantic dinner. It was near the pool in a covered area that served as a breakfast spot, although no one ever used it. A pristine white tablecloth covered the surface of the dark wooden rectangular table. In the center, an arrangement of exotic tropical flowers in a ceramic vase added a touch of sophistication. Whoever Giovanni had delegated to set it up had done an excellent job.

Each place at the table had meticulously arranged shiny silverware. Fine porcelain plates patiently awaited the main courses, while crystal glasses sparkled. Linen napkins were carefully folded and placed to the left of the plates, adorned with stone napkin rings. Soft lighting and aromatic candles in metal candelabras pleased me.

I pulled out my chair when Beatrice was already seated in hers, which she had opened herself. She took the napkin and placed it on her lap. When both of us were there, the silence hung between us, and the only remaining man came to serve us. He approached the table, serious enough to merely greet me and poured champagne into our glasses.

"Giovanni asked us to prepare your favorite meal, Don. What flavor of risotto will it be today?" He addressed me. Beatrice discreetly sighed, appearing displeased with the question, although her face still maintained its elegant poise, and she inspected the quality of the drink in front of her, raising the glass, swirling the liquid slowly before touching her lips, leaving a mark of nude color on them, which I scrutinized carefully.

"Risotto alle Zucchine," I said, choosing my dish, watching the man nod in agreement, ready to withdraw and prepare the meal for both of us.

"I want to choose my own dish," Beatrice said, placing the glass back in its place, looking at the man's back, who paid little attention to her statement. Beatrice then shifted her gaze to me, as if requesting that I could grant her at least this.

"Your orders won't have any effect," I warned, fixing my eyes on hers. It was my turn to savor the liquid in the glass before continuing. "If you want something, ask me, and then I might consider making him stop." I said this as I picked up the cigar resting at the edge of the table, preparing to light it, keeping my eyes fixed on hers, noticing her iris slowly yielding, closing her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.

"Please, Stefano," she forced herself to say, her voice faltering. Her eyes slowly met mine again, truly looking at my bare chest, as some buttons on my short-sleeved black shirt were unbuttoned.

"Look at me, ask with your irises in mine." Under the table, my feet slid carefully, seeking contact with her leg, which rested gently on her thigh. With subtle and calculated movements, my feet soon left my leather loafers, and the tips of my fingers glided over Beatrice's soft skin. She struggled not to obey my command. I delighted in it, slowly tracing my fingers along her leg, exploring the sensation of her warm and velvety skin against mine.

Her breath caught as a fire ignited within her, awakening a desire that had been dormant. I could feel her slowly giving in, her resistance diminishing as desire entwined with the reins of control.

My gaze intensified, fixated on her face as I brought the lighter's flame closer to the tip of the cigar. Beatrice's crossed legs unraveled gently under my touch, revealing a hidden invitation.

Beatrice discreetly widened her knees, his skin bristles in response to my touch. With each gentle or intense movement, my touches found secret paths across Beatrice's thighs, causing her to tremble slightly. Her eyes finally met mine, reflecting a mix of an attempt to maintain control being crushed by desire, while her mouth opened as I ventured toward her groin.

My nimble fingers lightly pressed there, exploring every inch of Beatrice's leg, while her gaze overflowed with lust, mesmerized by mine. The soft restaurant lighting accentuated the contours of her face, highlighting her vulnerability and anticipation.

"Please, Stefano," she finally whispered, almost inaudible to me, her voice filled with need and lust. Her plea filled my ears, even though her eyes were begging for something entirely unrelated to exchanging the dish.