‘For Arno’s birthday, I do a little striptease for him – but true to his nature, he smirks and pretends not to be at all impressed by my little performance. When my teasing and flirtations seem to have no effect, I pout and sulk and try to walk away, but Arno seizes my wrist and pulls me into his lap. “Don’t misunderstand, cherie,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl as he begins undoing the cords of my corset, his dark eyes never leaving mine. “I can’t let you do all the work now, can I?”’