Giorgio (Vigilance 1)

After changing into painting clothes, I sorted through a box of objects I’d collected from thrift stores, antique shops, and flea markets, trying to find what I needed to complete the piece. I chose a skeleton key, a wooden spool, and a mascara wand. I also grabbed the dark red spray paint I needed to cover them with and some newsprint I’d packed them in. I could use it to protect the porch while I painted.

As soon as I turned the knob on the front door, Giorgio stepped out of the bedroom where I imagined he’d been brooding and cataloging all the ways I’d pissed him off.

“Where are you going?”

Ignoring him, I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. As expected, he followed me.

“Lane, I’m fucking serious. Tell me what you’re doing out here?”

“I’m painting. You told me to work on my art. I’m being a good little boy and doing exactly what you said.” My words brought to mind a memory of him telling me I had to be good when we were in bed. I was so not going to fantasize about that. I was not going to think about how hot it made me. I wasn’t going to think about how much I wanted to find out what he would do to me if I was bad.

“You are definitely not being good. You have absolutely no idea how to take orders.”

“Why should I? I liked my life the way it was.”

Giorgio stared at me, and the heat in his eyes made me shiver. He didn’t say anything else. He sat on the porch swing, making it clear he wasn’t going to let me be outside alone. The swing creaked, and I waited for it to fall apart the way the couch had. Apparently it was sturdy enough to hold Giorgio’s muscular frame.

“You’re going to watch me spray paint?”

“I’m going to protect you.”

I was actually kind of thankful for that, since it would be really easy for someone to hide in the woods surrounding the cabin, but I didn’t tell him I wanted him there.

Every time a twig cracked or a bird twittered, I glanced up. How the hell was I supposed to work like this?

“Calm down,” Giorgio said. “I’ve got you.”

He really fucking did. That was half the problem. I doubted I’d be so jumpy if I wasn’t on edge from needing him—and hating that I did.

I took a few slow breaths as I shook the spray paint. When I’d thoroughly covered each object, I lifted the paper to carry it back inside.

“They’ll be fine if you leave them out here,” Giorgio said.

“I’m not leaving them for the bears and lions and snakes and stuff to eat.”

“I’m fairly sure none of those animals like the taste of paint.”

He was probably right. It was more likely they’d just blow away. “I’m not going to risk something happening. I need these for my piece.”

“All right then. If the cabin is going to smell like paint for a while, we might as well go get coffee.”

I assumed I’d pissed him off too much to get a trip into town. “You’re seriously taking me into town?”

“I want to check things out and see if the man who showed up here is hanging around somewhere.”

I wanted to tell him I’d changed my mind, but I had a pounding headache, and my hand was shaky. I knew it was caffeine withdrawal. I would normally have had several cups of coffee by now. “Fine. Let me go change again.”

“You can wear your painting clothes. We’re just going into a small town where you don’t know anyone.”

I looked at my oversized button-down and torn sweatpants. No way. I gave Giorgio a scathing look and walked past him into the cabin. I put on the outfit I’d worn for breakfast and added my velvet jacket just to prove I did need it. I surveyed the shoes I’d brought and finally selected a pair of sparkly ankle boots.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, Giorgio’s eyes went wide. “Fuck no.”

Anger burned through me. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That means that under no circumstances are you wearing that to town, princess.”

“I’ve had enough. You won’t tell me what’s going on. Everything is about what you want, what you say, and what your rules are. I’m supposed to be the client, but no one cares about my opinion. I am not going to let you tell me how to dress.”

He remained infuriatingly calm. “Please go put on some sensible clothes.”

“I didn’t fucking bring any.”

“You were just wearing some.”

“Those are painting clothes.”

He stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

“I don’t wear them out of the studio.”

“You are the most fucking infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

I reached out to shove his chest and move him out of my way. He caught my wrist and squeezed. Suddenly I was right back where I’d been last night, in bed with him, my arms pinned to the mattress as he fucked me hard and deep. My breath caught.