Send Mikaere away before Rosaria strangles him.

"That will be all, grazie," you say to Mikaere, your voice tight. "We need some privacy."

Mikaere inclines his head with that unflappable smile. "Of course, Sir. I'll be at the concierge desk should you need anything. Do enjoy your stay." He glides out, the door clicking shut.

The silence that follows is broken only by the hum of the air conditioning and the quieter, more insistent hum coming from between Rosaria's thighs. She's still pressed against you, her forehead on your shoulder, her breath hot and uneven against your throat.

"Twenty-four hours," she whispers. "Matteo, I can't - not a whole days, I'll go insane."

"Not a whole day," you correct, your hands stroking her back, feeling the rope harness through the thin cotton of her sundress. "They said my phone would be back Sunday morning. That's - that's less. Maybe 16 hours?"

She laughs - a brittle, desperate sound. "Madonna, 16 hours of this and I'll -" She cuts herself off with a moan, her hips jerking forward against your stomach. The belt is solid beneath the fabric of her dress, warm metal molded to her curves, and you can feel its vibration through your shirt. She groans in frustration. "It stimulates me constantly, but it's not even enought to ... to ..." She bites her lips.

You pull back slightly to look at her. Her pupils are huge, her lips parted, a flush spreading from her cheeks down her throat. "Rosaria," you say carefully, your heart hammering. "Maybe I could - help you, somehow?"

Her eyes snap to yours. For a moment neither of you speaks.

"How?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You swallow. Your hands are still on her waist, your thumbs resting just above the belt's edge. "Maybe I could help. Touch you. Not - not there, obviously, because of the belt, but - your breasts? Your - I don't know..." The words feel thick in your mouth. "The belt only covers - only blocks access to -"

"To my pussy," Rosaria finishes bluntly, her eyes locked on yours. "But not the rest of me."

The air between you feels electric. Rosaria's breathing quickens, her hands coming up to clutch at your shirt. "Matteo," she says, and there's a pleading edge to it now. "Please. I need - I can't think straight, I need something, anything -"

You kiss her. It's clumsy and desperate, her mouth opening under yours with a sound that's half distracted moan. Her fingers dig into your shoulders and her hips grind against you, seeking friction, pressure, anything.