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I’m not sure if he realized that obedience wasn’t really my strong suit. But since I was curious, and more than ready to get back to the fast climb to ecstasy, I did as he asked and closed my eyes.
He stepped away. I could hear him moving about the room, but I hadn’t exactly memorized which toys were stored where.
So, when he came back, standing so close I could feel the heat from his body through my clothes, I had no idea what to expect. Like a five-year-old playing hide-and-seek, though, I was damn tempted to peek.
Until something cool and soft slipped over my eyes, and then they just about flew open.
“What are you doing?” I asked, though, of course, I knew the answer. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.
“Still trust me?” he asked.
“Si,” I replied, though perhaps a little less certainly this time.
He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Then stop asking questions.”
A warm shiver rippled down my spine at the feel of his warm breath. Even the low, commanding timbre of his voice did strange things to my insides, igniting them in a way I would not have expected.
I was still trying to make sense of it when he grabbed hold of the hem of my shirt and yanked it off over my head. My bra went next, so fast, the sudden cool air of the room made my nipples harden more, almost painful.
Finally, we were getting back on track. And while I’d never been one for blindfolds, there was no denying that the lack of sight was drawing attention to my other senses; the sound of our breathing, heavy but not yet labored. The sandalwood and leather scent of him with just a hint of something smoky. The brush of his breath against my forehead. I could even imagine the sensation that was coming, the feel of his big hands palming my breast, his fingers catching my nipples between them, tugging lightly, easing the ache even as it heightened the other one between my thighs.
But instead, his warm fingers wrapped around my wrists, raising them up, and up, pulling my arms high above my head. Then the warmth was gone; cool silk replaced it, cool silk that encircled them, then tightened, then tightened a little more. My hands pressed against the cool, sturdy beam above me, and I think my brain short-circuited for just a moment, trying to figure out what was going on. In all of my sexual encounters, I was never the one to end up in cuffs or tied to the bed.
“What are you doing?” I asked, though, in hindsight, I think the question I really meant to ask was “why”.
He chuckled. “I said no more questions, remember?”
Sure, but that was then, and this was now. A lot had happened in the past thirty seconds.
He let go of my wrists, running his fingers from my hand all the way down to my shoulders while my arms remained trapped above me.
“Your quick hard fuck isn’t going to do more than take the edge off, darling. I think we can do a little better than that.”
I was about to object, but at the same time, warm, firm lips pressed against mine. And then lower, down my neck to the hollow at the base of my throat. He moved slowly, tying up the knot of frustration in my stomach even as molten heat coursed through my veins and settled low in my abdomen.
And then his lips moved lower, across the bony ridges of my clavicles. Then the upper swells of my breasts. He hadn’t even reached my nipples, but god, how they ached. And he knew it. I had no doubt he was doing it on purpose when his lips traveled down the valley between my breasts then back up, around the outer curves.
I tried to shift, to align my body right where I wanted his mouth, but his big hands wrapped around my waist, stilling me.
I fought the urge to groan in frustration. No way was I giving him the satisfaction of knowing he was riling me up. But I could call this off. Tell him to stop.
As if he could hear my thoughts, his tongue flicked across my nipple right then. And then again, right before he suckled the taut peak into his mouth, scraping me lightly with his teeth before paying the same attention to the other one. I think my nipples actually sighed in relief, but they passed their ache lower, making my pussy clench around its emptiness. Empty. Needy.
He released my nipple, but I wasn’t done. Nowhere close.
“More,” I told him, arching toward him.
“Shh,” he said, abandoning my nipples altogether and moving lower, grazing his lips down my ribs, nipping at my abdomen until the waist of my pants hindered his descent.
He wasn’t hindered for long. The sound of my zipper was oddly loud in the quiet room. I could even hear the quiet slide of the fabric down my legs as he yanked my pants and panties off together, then the quiet sound of his unfastening my knife’s sheath around my thigh and my ankle holster.
I was naked, bound, blindfolded. And he had my gun. I felt exposed, vulnerable. It shouldn’t have felt good; it should have been setting off warning signals in my head.
But it wasn’t.
Then he was gone. Not far; I could still feel him, the heat radiating from his body close by. The quiet swoosh of fabric told me he was stripping, first his cut and shirt, then the thud of his boots, the zipper of his jeans.
“Take off the blindfold,” I told him. I wanted to see him; my eyes even widened, straining to see the wickedly sculpted body through the black silk.
