It all started the evening before, and after ten sensual nights of exploring my body, I could safely say that I had discovered things about myself that surprised even me. One of the things I learned was that my nipples were unusually sensitive and it was possible to come from playing with them alone. My lips often throbbed when I thought about my husband’s hungry kisses. And I only ever pictured one thing when I was ready to touch heaven. The look on Ettore’s face when he came was always what sent me over the edge. Also, it was pretty apparent by now that I was indeed a closet exhibitionist.

Who would have known?

There was something extraordinarily daring about the role that was also oddly safe. My whole life, I only had one deep-seated fear. Rejection. And, here, in my bedroom, there was no chance of that. Whether I was being watched or not was still very much in question, but even if Ettore wasn’t viewing me, I still performed for him. Enthusiastically, at that.

But last night surpassed all others. When my performance ended and I lay wide-eye, panting and astonished by how quickly I managed to go from start to finish, I uttered a surprised, “Wow. That was…” My brain felt like mush. “Unexpected. Surprising, but a good surprise. That was a top-tier orgasm. Best so far. Like high end champagne.” Lightheaded, I puffed out, “Whoa.” And when I stood, making my way to the bathroom to clean up, I washed my hands and taunted my husband with a playful, “If I were you, I’d be worried.” I lifted my wet hand and wiggled my fingers in front of the mirror. “With fingers like these, I’m starting to wonder if I even need you anymore.”

So, the next morning, when I brought out a mug of coffee to Marco with a polite smile and a happy, “Good morning,” I was a little staggered when he took a mug, but held out an expensive looking matte black bag. I took it carefully with a cautious, “What’s this?” It had some weight to it.

Marco sipped at his coffee and shrugged lightly. “No idea. It arrived early this morning.”

Interesting.

Curious, I sat on the top step and fished the black rectangular box out of its bag. It had golden hinges and there was a golden spade symbol on the front with the letter A embossed into it. When I sat the box down and opened it, a golden bottle sat in its black velvet lining and it had me asking a quietly confused, “What is this?”

Marco whistled low. “That is Armand de Brignac.” I blinked up at him, puzzled. “Ace of Spades.” I shrugged. “Brut.” My brows rose in question and he sighed lightly at my obvious ignorance. “Champagne. Expensive champagne.”