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“Don’t you fucking dare. Jac,” I snarl. “You think I’m scared of you?”
He considers my words. “No, I don’t. Carlos, can I have your tie?”
The big man sighs and hands him the strip of material.
Jac uses it to cover my eyes as he ties it on me so I can’t see, and I’m swamped in sensation, emotion. I’m burning hot and cold and with a wildness, all at the same time. It’s like drowning on land. The car shifts and the breeze hits me again.
“Close the door, Carlos.”
It shuts. The car starts again.
Panic beats hard, panic and a wild excitement I can’t explain.
“See, you might not be afraid of me,” Jac says softly, “but now you don’t know if we’re alone or being watched. Do you?”
“No.” I push the word out.
Jac slides down between my thighs. “Just this once, you can use your damn Hendrick word. If you want.” He pauses. “If you use it, I’ll let you see, take off that blindfold and…”
There’s a threat there I don’t unpack, almost like he’s saying I can say no, but I might never get to ride him again.
It’s empty if it’s that kind of threat.
Jac doesn’t play that way when he wants something, and he wants me.
“I fucking loathe you, Jac. You’re a piece of fucking shit.”
“So fucking sweet.” He leans down, bites my thigh. Hard. I twitch. “I’m going to eat you for Carlos’s viewing pleasure.” Then he laughs. “And maybe when I’m done, I’ll let him throat fuck you.”
If he’s here.That’s what he’s not saying.
“Bastard.” I flail, trying to feel if we’re alone, but a hand comes down.
And the bastard laughs again. Because that’s what he is. Prime, grade A bastard.
The dress is peeled open, and hands touch me. Jac’s, I think, but they’re gentle, stroking, rolling my nipples, in a way Jac never does. I’m in overload. I don’t know. That’s what’s invasive.I don’t know. It’s both horrible and hot, all at the same time.
The word’s there,blue, in my head, but I poke it. I’m not tempted to say it because this is a game of trust, Jac-style. I think.
Fuck. I don’t know.
But I want to ride it out.
Whip me and call me psychotic, I want to ride it out.
If it were Hendrick, I’d know exactly who was with us or who wasn’t. Oh, he’d make a game of it, but it would be in that edge of safety. Jac plays in the darkest of grays.
“Enough of that, I think,” he says, like he’s talking to someone.
I try to listen, to see if I can hear breathing, someone else, but my blood’s pumping too hard, too loud, and I’m just focused on Jac.
He slides his hands under my ass, lifts me up and thrusts his tongue into me.
I know it’s him. The smoothness of the rings, the feel of his tongue. Jac’s got a style. And oh, fuck.
I can’t think.
Sensations roll over me, and I can’t stop the orgasm as he moves up to my clit and starts to push his fingers into me over and over.
