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I heard a man clear his throat, which caused me to jump.
“Who are you?” I asked, a little too loudly. I was blindfolded, not deaf, but for some reason my voice projected more than usual.
“Make a quarter turn to your left,” the voice said. “Take five steps and
stop.”
It had a very sexy timbre, maybe belonging to a man who was a little older, perhaps someone used to being in charge. I did as instructed, sensing I was heading towards this voice.
“Please put your hands out.” I did so. “Now walk forward until you touch me.”
There was something about the languidness in his voice that pulled me forward. I took one, then two careful steps, aware how blindness can seriously throw off your balance. I stretched out my hands until they made contact with toned, warm flesh. Though I didn’t have the nerve to let my hands trail down, I got the sense that he was naked, too, and tall, with a taut, broad chest.
“Cassie, do you accept the Step?”
His voice was like liquid smoke, his s’s curling around the vowels.
“Yes, I do,” I said, with a little too much enthusiasm perhaps, as I finally let my hands trail down the sides of his lean torso and back up his stomach to his collarbone. I realized that my shyness was gone, it had melted, or I had left it somewhere at Halo, or maybe in the middle of the Gulf, or perhaps in the back of a limo. I didn’t know, couldn’t remember, and didn’t care.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter, Cassie. May I?”
“May you what?”
“Touch your skin?”
I dropped my hands to my sides, as willing as I’d ever been to submit. I nodded as he stepped so close to me I could feel his fingers brush my nipples, which were already responding. He moved his hands slowly, artfully, across my breasts, cupping one and taking it into his cool, wet mouth. His other arm wrapped around me, lingering at my buttocks and pulling me into him so that our bodies were pressed skin to skin. I could feel him hard against my thigh. His hand slid behind me and up. I was already wet.
I remembered how in the beginning it had taken a while for my body to respond, but now, my passion was instant. I wanted him. No, not him. How could I want him, a man I didn’t even know? But I wanted this. All of this. And I began to understand what Matilda meant when she said that if I could get back into my body, I could move thoughts of Pierre out of my head. Then, just as quickly as things had begun, the man released me from his hot embrace and I almost tipped over on my heels.
“Where are you?” I asked, my hands reaching into the air around me. “Where did you go?”
“Follow my voice, Cassie.”
It was now coming from the other side of the foyer. I turned slightly to follow it. We were moving away from the fire, away from the warmth of the parlor to another room, a different room.
“That’s right, one foot in front of the other,” he whispered. “Do you know how sexy you look wearing just those heels?”
His words were making me hotter and wetter, as I carefully made my way towards his voice, my arms out in front of me. I felt the warmth of another fire on the front of my body. When I felt carpet under my heels, I almost tripped.
“There’s a chair right in front of you. Two more steps.” My fingers hit a highback wooden chair, which felt as big as a throne. I took a seat on what felt like a raw silk cushion. I felt self-conscious of what my stomach looked like in a seated position. I pressed my legs together. Stop it, Cassie. Now’s not the time to think. The silk felt lovely under my butt, though, and my hands began stroking the fabric. I could sense the man moving around the room until he was directly behind my chair.
I felt his large, warm hands on my shoulders, caressing my skin. They trailed up my neck, where he left one hand cradling the back of my neck, while the other fetched something in front of us. The rim of a glass grazed my lips, and my nose was hit with the warm, full-bodied smell of red wine.
“Take a sip, Cassie.”
He gently tipped the glass forward. I took an eager gulp. I was no connoisseur, but the wine tasted rich and layered. I don’t know if I tasted oak or cherry or chocolate tones, but I knew it was probably the most expensive wine I had ever swallowed. I heard him gently place the glass back on the table. Seconds later he moved in front of me and his mouth was on mine, his tongue searching. He tasted like wine, too, and chocolate. Every cell inside me came alive to his taste and touch, smell and feel. Then he stopped.
“Are you hungry, Cassie?”
I nodded.
“What are you hungry for?”
“You.”
“That’s later. First, open that delicious mouth of yours.”
