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It’s who I am.
Chapter Twenty
Skye is in my bedroom, naked and lying supine on my bed. She’s bound as she was last time, with leather restraints on her wrists, her arms in a V above her head. I don’t bind her ankles.
“Close your eyes,” I say softly.
She obeys, and I cover her eyes with a silk blindfold. “You won’t be seeing things tonight, Skye.”
She nods.
“Tonight I want you to concentrate on what you hear. Pay close attention to the sounds in the room.”
“How?”
“The same way you paid attention to the sights last time.”
“But there’s so much to see,” she says. “There’s nothing to hear during sex.”
“You’re wrong,” I say, “and tonight, I’ll prove that to you.”
“The feeling of what you do to me overshadows everything else. I could suppress it by watching the visual, but for sound? I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.”
She opens her mouth, but I place two fingers over her lips. “You’re done talking. Don’t speak unless I tell you to.”
Again she opens her mouth but shuts it abruptly.
She’s wondering what she’ll hear if she’s not talking. For a moment, I consider playing some soft jazz to replace the jazz we’re missing out on tonight, but I decide against it.
There is much to hear during sex, and I want Skye to listen. I want her to learn how sensory deprivation and sensory overload can work together to enhance the sexual experience. So much she doesn’t know. So much she doesn’t understand.
She looks beautiful lying across the blue satin of my sheets. A feast for my eyes.
But tonight is about ears.
Still, my breath catches at the sight of her, and I can’t help a low moan.
“You’re beautiful,” I say. “So fucking beautiful, Skye.”
I press my lips against her and pull back. Then I kiss her again. A short, sweet kiss to her lips. The sound is a soft smack. It’s a sexy sound, but it’s also a sweet and nurturing sound.
I kiss her again and again. I move from her lips to her neck to her shoulders. Tiny smacking kisses. I wander over her chest to the tops of her breasts, where the kissing sound is joined by my low guttural moan.
“God, I love your tits.”
I kiss her nipple, and she sucks in a breath.
She squirms. She wants to say something, to tell me what to do. She desperately wants to watch me make love to her.
I know because I know her.
Though she’s surrendered her control to me here—in the bedroom—she never imagined that I’d take her senses away.
She’s resisting.
“Concentrate, Skye,” I say against her flesh.
When I kiss her nipple again, the sound of the peck sends a thrill through me, and I’m not even blindfolded.
She sighs softly.
Yes. She’s beginning to understand.
The sound. My mouth touching her skin, and then the slight intake of air through my closed lips. The smack. The sweet smack.
It’s the most provocative sound in the world.
“I’m going to suck on your nipples now, Skye,” I say. “Listen. Listen to the sounds I make. Listen to the sounds you make.”
My lips are firm and tight over her nipple, and she moans. Her moan is higher and louder than mine.
“Oh God,” she says breathlessly.
Slap!
My hand comes down on her other breast. “No talking,” I command.
The sound. The blow of my hand coming down on her flesh and striking her.
It excites me. It’s dangerous. Dangerous and intriguing, as it always is. The sting on my palm makes my cock grow harder. I clamp my lips over her nipple once more. She gasps.
She squirms beneath me.
She’s feeling what I’m doing to her. How can she not? But I’m determined that she’ll focus on sound. The slurping of my lips. The low moan that comes constantly from my throat as I pleasure her.
The low moan that means I’m receiving pleasure as well.
And I am. Touching her, kissing her, showing her what sensory focus can give her—it all pleases me very much.
I trail my fingers at her side and squeeze her other breast. Then I thumb her other nipple. I give her a pinch. A sharp pinch that makes no noise.
No, the noise is in the echo of my low groan and the gasp and moaning coming from Skye’s throat. I continue sucking one nipple. I savor the soft texture of her skin, her sweet moans of pleasure.
I finally let her nipple go with a soft pop.
Time for other delights.
I spread her legs.
She says nothing. Good girl.
The feast of beauty before me is almost more than I can handle. My dick is so goddamned hard, and I want to thrust inside her. Penetrate her. Show her who’s in control of every aspect of her pleasure.
But I hold myself in check. I am the master of control.
“You’re beautiful,” I say. “Pink and swollen and oh so wet.”
Again the low moan. My moan. The moan that says I like what I see.
