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Do not open until ten o’clock.
If Oliver truly is following the book, then I already know what’s inside.
I already know what he’s going to want once I’m in it.
At 9:55, I strip.
I hang my skirt and blouse in the closet. I roll my stockings down and leave them in my suitcase. I let my hair down, giving it a quick brush, too. I remove my bra and panties.
I open the garment bag. A plain men’s dress shirt hangs inside with a scarlet red tie draped over the shoulder.
My pulse skips twice. It’s not only fueled by the fantasy I’ve pictured since I first read that book, but intensified because my lover read it, too, and had the same fantasy as me.
I throw the shirt on, leaving it open and unbuttoned.
I kneel on the floor by the door. I wrap the tie around my eyes, knotting it behind my head. A little light makes it through, so give it a quick adjustment so it obscures my vision completely.
And then I wait.
In the book, this wasn’t some punishment dealt out by a ruthless Dom. It was research for a book Melissa was working on. She wanted to know what it was like to be submissive so she could put herself in the mind of her characters. Richard, of course, volunteered to play out a scene with her at a local kink club.
Unfortunately, they were so silly with one another, they couldn’t take it seriously. The experiment was ruined, but she ended up with enough inspiration to finish her book, anyway.
And they fucked. A lot.
A keycard slides into the lock.
I roll my shoulders back as the doorknob turns. I fold my hands and look down, willing myself into Melissa’s mind as she waited for Richard. The teasing thoughts. The wicked anticipation. The aching feeling of... her feet falling asleep.
My toes tingle. Ah, shit.
The door closes. I focus on the sound of shoes lightly whispering the carpet as they make their way toward me, recognizing Oliver’s smooth, casual gait. He stops in front of me. I feel a finger brush the bottom of my chin and he forces me to look up.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
My breath trembles in my chest. He lets go and rises. His belt buckle clinks as he slides it free.
“Raise your hands,” he says.
I obey. I delight in the feeling of leather wrapping tightly around them; a taut leash to keep me close to him.
Oliver steps back and gives me a light tug. “Come,” he says.
I walk on my knees, blindly following him across the carpet. My tingling toes drag, full of little stabbing needles as my circulation returns. I ignore it, not wanting to ruin the fantasy too early and miss what’s going to happen next.
The difference between Richard and Oliver is that Oliver likes to be in charge.
Oliver settles into the chair by the writing desk. “Kneel,” he says.
I rest back on my knees, maintaining a straight face through stabbing toes. He leans forward, a single finger grazing my cheek. It draws along my jawline and swipes my bottom lip, prompting my lips to part.
“Do you want it?” he asks, following the book.
My tongue twitches in my mouth. I nod.
“Say it,” he says. “Tell me how badly you want to suck it.”
Unlike Melissa, I don’t laugh. I just quiver. “Yes,” I say. “I want you in my mouth.”
