Zefiro speaks to his fiancée, but his gaze holds mine as I crawl on all fours to the centre, invading his neatly arranged work space and knocking back whatever stands in my way. Then, with a dancer’s grace, I roll onto my back, lifting my legs to rest on the desk and I split them apart.
“I made Arancini. Your grandmother says you love them. Are you in? I’m coming to you,” I hear Valentina say as I lean back on one arm and pop the last few buttons of my shirt slowly until my white lacy bra comes to view. I run my hand down my neck, between my breasts and unclasp the front hook.
Zefiro eyes drop to my chest, narrowing at my dark pink areola and hard n*****s. His nostrils flare. Good. I run my hand down the length of my torso, raising my skirt high, so he can see the slip of white material
