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Air gets clogged at the back of my throat, which is ridiculous. If he made any move to strip off the robe, I’d silently allow him to do it.
He’s paid a lot for the honor.
But that’s not what happens.
Instead, his hands slide beneath my leg, propping it up until the sole of my foot rests flat against the comforter. Then he works the tight muscles of my calf with an insistent touch. It’s slowly that he slides upward to my knee. Only when those muscles have turned pliant does he venture higher up my thigh. When he’s thoroughly massaged one leg, he shifts on the bed and gives the same attention to the other. My mind drifts as I sink into the unexpected pleasure. I almost forget why I’m here.
Blindfolded.
Being touched by a stranger.
When he’s finished, my muscles feel deliciously malleable. No one has ever handled me like this.
His fingertips drift from my thigh to my ankle before he shifts toward my upper body. That’s all it takes for my anxiety to slam back full force. My fingers sink into the plush comforter, clawing the material in order to keep silent.
His thumb settles on my lower lip before ghosting over the plump flesh. Air leaks painfully from my lungs as he strums back and forth. When the tip of his finger slips into my mouth, my tongue darts out, licking at it, tasting the saltiness of his skin. A hiss escapes from him as he jerks away.
My breathing turns jagged, my heart pumping wildly beneath my breast. Even though his finger is no longer there, my tongue slips out to moisten my lips, wanting another taste.
It’s almost a surprise when his hands settle on the tie cinched at my waist. For a moment or two, he doesn’t move. We hang suspended for what feels like hours. My nerves stretch and lengthen until I want to scream. Until I’m tempted to knock his hands away and rip off the robe myself just to get it over with. The suspense is killing me.
It's almost a relief when he finally loosens the knot. I don’t realize that my hands have settled over his larger ones until the warmth of his flesh registers, seeping into my bones. My breath stalls as I wait to see what he’ll do. As if by reflex, my fingers tighten around his. Even though I’m blindfolded and can’t see my surroundings, I can almost feel the heat of his gaze licking over the lower portion of my face.
Studying it carefully.
A strange kind of disappointment fills me when he slips them free. The warmth of his palm settles over my fingers. He wraps his larger hand around one of mine before carefully prying it away from my waist and placing it at my side. He does the same with the other.
My breathing picks up tempo, turning choppy. It feels like my arms weigh a thousand pounds, and I couldn’t lift them even if I tried. I don’t understand how they can feel so heavy.
Only then does his hands settle at the knot before slowly loosening the belt, tugging the ends free. His fingers rest along the edges near my lower ribcage. I’ve never been so hyperaware of anyone’s touch the way I am of this unknown man. Without disturbing the robe, his hands slip beneath the thick material. The heat of his palms singes my bare skin.
That’s all it takes for my world to shrink down until the only thing it encompasses is the two of us. For a long moment, his hands remain still, the pressure insistent. Seconds and maybe even minutes tick by before I find myself shifting beneath his touch, wordlessly urging him to move.
Explore?
I don’t know.
I’m confused.
I didn’t expect to feel any kind of pleasure.
It’s as if he somehow understands the silent plea. Or was waiting for a signal to continue. Now that he has it, the warmth of his palms slides upward until his thumbs graze the rounded swells of my breasts. My breath catches as anticipation thrums through me. Instead of sliding higher and cupping the softness, they move downward along my ribcage and belly until reaching my hip bones.
My teeth scrape across my lower lip as I wonder if he’ll sink to the place that now throbs with awareness. Instead, they do the opposite. Just like earlier, he massages the rigidly held muscles, loosening them, turning them malleable until it feels like I could melt into the mattress.
I don’t realize that the edges of the robe have loosened until the cool air of the room ghosts across my nipples, making them pucker and tighten.
Everything within me stills as my breathing turns shallow.
His hands rise to my breasts to palm the softness. He squeezes them in tandem before gently plucking at the hardened tips. A whimper of need escapes from me as my spine arches off the mattress and my lips part.
As much as I hate to admit it, delicious sensation ricochets throughout my being before settling in my core, where it pools like warmed honey. There’s no denying that his touch feels good. He’s been nothing but gentle the entire time.
When he first walked in, an image of the man from the elevator was firmly in my head. It was so much easier to visualize the person touching me so intimately instead of a faceless stranger. It’s disturbing to realize that the figure has morphed into someone else entirely.
Another man.
One with short dark hair and green eyes that see straight through to the heart of me. I imagine that his hands are just as strong and capable of this kind of tenderness.
