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I take a step closer, cautiously approaching her. “Tesoro,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. But she doesn’t respond. It’s as if she’s lost in another world, detached from the reality around her.
Uncertainty gnaws at me, but I can’t deny the raw desire flickering within me. The sight of Angelica exuding confidence and surrender simultaneously sends a surge of electricity through my veins. Every fibre of my being screams to claim her, to finally make her mine.
I honestly didn’t know how I’d cope tonight, the thought of Angelica being paired up with someone else, driving me to the edge of insanity. My nights have been filled with dreams that turn into nightmares when she’s not mine.
Now, here she is. Fate’s way of giving me the green light, of gifting her to me, of confirming what I knew all along: she’s mine.
Slowly, I reach out to touch her cheek, my fingertips trembling with anticipation. The softness of her skin beneath my touch confirms that this is indeed Angelica, that the woman before me is not just a figment of my imagination. But what has brought us here? What secrets lie hidden behind her blindfold?
I need to read her questionnaire.
Shit. I can’t even touch this woman until I know exactly what she wants and needs from me.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart as I search the room for Angelica’s questionnaire. It must be here somewhere, hidden amidst the seductive decor. My eyes scan every corner, every surface, until they land on a small table tucked away in the corner.
On the table sits a stack of papers, neatly arranged alongside a pen. I walk over and pick up the first sheet, realising it’s a list of questions designed to explore desires and boundaries. As I flip through the pages, my eyes widening at some of the explicit queries, I finally find Angelica’s questionnaire.
With trembling hands, I start reading her responses. Each answer is like a window into her deepest desires and fantasies. It’s an intimate glimpse into her world, one that she’s entrusted a stranger with. She doesn’t know it’s me.
Should I tell her? Is it wrong or taking advantage if I know who she is but she doesn’t know me? She obviously chose to be blindfolded for a reason. Maybe she doesn’t want to know. But would that change for me? She has to know there was achancewe’d end up together tonight – no matter how small.
As I peruse her words, I feel a mixture of relief and overwhelming desire. Angelica has willingly participated in this key party, seeking an experience that explores her boundaries and ignites her passions. She’s written that the blindfold was her choice, a way to surrender control and embrace the unknown.
A surge of arousal courses through me as I realise the power dynamic at play. Angelica has put herself in my hands, trusting that I will guide and fulfil her needs. It’s both exhilarating and daunting, but I’m determined to rise to the occasion.
Setting aside the questionnaire, I walk towards Angelica with newfound confidence. Her blindfolded gaze follows me as I approach, anticipation flickering in her breathing.
I reach out again, this time cupping her face gently as my voice emerges firm, yet tender. Maybe she thought the blindfold would help conceal her identity, but I’d know those lips anywhere. Her hair. Her curves.Her scent.
I don’t know what makes me do it, but when I speak, it’s notmyvoice that comes out of my mouth. If she wants anonymity, why should she be the only one? I don’t want her to know it’s me. Not yet anyway.
“Hello darling, want to tell me your name?”
She shakes her head, trembling slightly.
“No? That’s okay, sweetheart. What shall I call you?” I keep my voice deliberately low and gravelly, hoping she won’t recognise me yet.
“Y–you can call me Angel,” she replies, licking her lips before pulling the bottom one between her teeth nervously. My dick lurches at her using my pet name for her – the one she banned me from calling her. Why choose that name? What does it mean?
“I can do that, Angel. I’ve read your questionnaire. I’m going to make you feel so good, is that okay?”
She nods.
“Words, Angel,” I reprimand her gently, like she’s a skittish bird about to take flight. “Use your words for me.”
“It’s okay. More than okay.”
“Good girl. We need to use a safeword. We can use the standard red, or if you have something in mind…”
“I have one,” she surprises me by saying straight away.
“Go on.”
“Brie.”
“Brie?” My brow raises of its own accord. I know she loves cheese – she has it every single day at work in one form or another – but to bring it into the bedroom?
She starts to nod, but catches herself and answers instead. “Yes, please.”
