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He grabs the robe where it’s hanging and yanks the sash out. “Clothes off, Adria.”
Without breaking eye contact, I kick off my shoes and shimmy out of my dress, standing before him in nothing but a purple-and-gold lace bra and matching panties.
“Very nice,” he says. “I’d hate to see anything happen to such pretty lingerie. You better get rid of it before I tear it off.” His voice is rough, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver through me. I shuck the rest of my clothes and stand before him, letting him inspect me.
Looming behind me, he moves my hair off my shoulder and leans in close, his nose nudging at my ear. “Even prettier,” he says. “All this smooth brown skin.” He cups my ass and then spins me around. “Look at you. Perfect tits with perky nipples. Delectable. You look like a dessert I can’t wait to eat. Much better than that torte.”
He leans close again, turning me once more so that my back is pressed against him, his heady scent working its way around me and making me lightheaded with anticipation.
“Where’s your vibrator?” He pulls me closer and cups my breasts, his thumbs idly stroking my nipples, making them tingle. I can already feel gathering dampness between my legs, and pushed up against him this way, I’m acutely aware of how hard he is. He wants this as much as I do.
“What makes you think I have one?”
He snorts. “Please. A woman like you, who gets so wet and needy before you’ve even been touched?”
“How do you?—”
He cuts me off before I can get the question out. “I can smell it on you. Your desire, your juices. Your hunger.” He drags his tongue down the side of my neck, a slow, wet lick. “Now, vibrator. I know you have one somewhere.”
He’s right on all counts. I’m wet with anticipation and I tucked a small bullet vibrator into my nightstand when I arrived at the hotel. It’s been getting a decent workout this week. I point to the drawer and he nods.
“Good girl. I like a woman who’s prepared.” He pulls my arms behind my back and wraps the robe sash around my wrists, securing them snugly. Without warning, he scoops me up and gently places me on the bed, face down.
I make a garbled “uumph” sound, which he ignores.
“Keep your head down,” he orders. “Disobey and I turn my tie into a blindfold.”
I follow his instructions, ears tracking him as he moves around the room. I hear him rummaging through the nightstand, presumably grabbing the vibrator. Then there’s the telltale snick-and-rasp of a match lighting, followed by the heady scent of the hotel’s santal candles.
He moves again, and the lights dim, my peripheral vision going dark. I hear the scratch-clink of his belt coming off, followed by the rustle of his clothing. And then silence. My heart picks up speed at the idea of him standing there naked.
It’s not my first time having my sight taken out of the equation; I’m no stranger to a blindfold. The way it heightens my other senses is tantalizing. The aroma of the candles, the sound of Fiero padding around the room, the anticipation of his touch. It’s unbearably erotic.
I feel his body heat as he moves close, silently nudging my thighs apart. Without a word, he clicks on the vibrator, the harsh buzz filling the room. He tucks it beneath me, sliding it through my moisture and nuzzling it up against my clit.
I gasp at the sudden, intense stimulation.
“It’s on low,” he says, his voice gone deep and gravelly. “Just to get you warmed up. Be a good girl and I’ll turn it up.”
“Okay,” I say, already a little breathless.
“First rule: no coming until I tell you to.”
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down, my body already chasing orgasm. What can I say? I enjoy getting off. Following his directive will be a challenge, but one that I’m up for.
I wait for his next move, but nothing happens. The room is silent and still, except for the crackling of the candles and the hum between my legs. I relax into the motion of the vibrator; it’s good, but not too much. However, the waiting is ratcheting up my need; when is he going to do something?
I hear him move, and I can tell by the shadows in my peripheral vision that he’s up to something, but I have no idea what. I tense as I wait, but again, there’s nothing. Just the lovely pulse against my clit, making me feel all delicious and hazy.
Then it hits me.
A sudden, scalding wetness splashes against my back, making me gasp.
I realize almost immediately what’s happened: He’s poured candle wax on me. I imagine it might be too much for a lot of women, but not for me. I love heat. And thanks to my lineage as a descendent of the fire god Agni, I’m fairly impervious to burns, so rather than pain, the pool of wax just distributes a lovely, pleasurable warmth across my skin. A little moan me escapes as the wax spreads. I don’t exactly go around advertising the fact that there’s a deity in my family tree, but somehow he seems to sense that heat gets me going.
Fiero grunts in appreciation, and instead of letting the wax cool, dabs his finger in it and begins drawing little designs on my back. I mewl with pleasure, as my nipples tighten even more.
“Such a good girl,” he says. “Taking all this heat like a champ.”
