He stood and carried the shoes to the door, carefully and silently placing them on the floor. When he returned her posture was alert. “Are you still aroused, Ms. Farrow?”
“I don’t know.”
He glanced at her shirt. Her nipples still pressed into the fine fabric, but her core temperature might have reflexively dropped under the press of fear. He desired her aroused, but not afraid. “Forget the shoes. Tell me about your body.”
She nearly choked, the subject clearly an uncomfortable one for her. “W—what?”
“I want you to imagine yourself sitting here naked.” Her shoulders immediately lowered, as she appeared to curl into herself. “Does nudity make you uncomfortable?”
“I don’t think anyone’s comfortable being completely exposed.”
“I beg to differ. There are times, in the privacy of one’s home, that nudity goes without question.”
She laughed nervously. “I’m not one of those people.”
“Yet you live alone.”
“Yes, but I have friends that stop by—and windows.”
Yes, and every mention of outside friends reminded him of how precarious their situation still was. He wanted to intrude on that private side of her life, be there emotionally even when he couldn’t physically. “It would please me if you started sleeping in the nude.”
Her lips parted and there was a pregnant moment of consideration. Her voice was small when she finally agreed to his request. “Okay.”
“When you go to sleep tonight, I want you to shut your eyes before you climb into bed and remove your clothing. Fold them neatly and don’t open your eyes until you’re completely nude. Then I want you to carefully walk the folded clothing to the farthest dresser and place them there. I want you to feel the air on your flesh, the floor beneath your bare feet. When you climb into bed, I want you to think of how softly the blankets weigh over your flesh. I want you to consider every part of your body and find comfort in its health and beauty. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“And the next time I see you I want you to thank me for showing you this freedom of self, should you discover it. Coming to terms with our physical gifts and limitations can be quite liberating. I want you to reach a point of acceptance with yourself.”
She nodded and he stood.
“Our time’s up, Ms. Farrow. Please stand up.”
Her palms pressed into the arms of the chair, her movements shaky as she rose to her feet. Catching her fingers, he soothingly rubbed them between his, bringing them to his lips. “Twelve more nights, Ms. Farrow. I believe we have a lot to anticipate.”
Her lips trembled as he slid a delicate strand of red hair behind her shoulder. “Goodnight, Ms. Farrow.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Stone.”
He walked her slowly to the door and knelt, carefully sliding her feet into her shoes and helping her with her coat, taking his time fastening each button. When he opened the door, her grip on his arms tightened and he paused, deciphering her hesitation. Her posture was trusting, but her expression gave nothing away. Did she not want to leave?
Steve climbed the steps and her grip tightened another degree. Asher brushed a finger over the high arch of her cheek, careful not to disturb the mask. “Goodnight, Scarlet. I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Goodnight.”
Steve escorted her down the steps and guided her into the car. When they pulled away, Asher stepped inside and collapsed on the chair, letting his head fall back. Time was slipping away from them faster than sand through an hourglass. He should have suggested more than fourteen nights.
His face dropped into his hands and he groaned. She was too beautiful, too trusting. He’d set the bar too damn high and now dreaded her expectations would be out of his reach. This entire game was spinning out of control, despite his insistent claim to be the one in the power seat.
“Shit.” He unknotted his tie and contemplated his options.
He could confess who he was, as Jet suggested, but his gut twisted uncomfortably at the thought. He needed those last twelve encounters desperately. He could stretch them out, use the remaining time wisely, but it would never be enough to truly change who he was inside.
The idea of staying away from her for any length of time also displeased him. She’d been gone minutes and he already missed her, wanted to call her, hear her voice again. Yet when she was present he was so nervous his natural impulse was to hastily wrap up their encounter. He was a disaster. With all of his planning, he was completely unprepared for how emotionally complicated this experience would be for him. It was supposed to be about her.
She’d continuously consented to put herself in a vulnerable position, yet he was the one feeling utterly defenseless against her lure. He’d been insane to ever think he could deceive her. Meeting her again, truly learning the qualities that made her tick, created an inescapable instinct to protect her.
But what if he couldn’t protect her? What if there came a time when she needed protection and he didn’t measure up? So many buried fears resurfaced. The more time he spent in her presence the more his deepest, festering insecurities returned. It should have been the opposite. She should have bolstered his confidence, but that wasn’t what was happening at all, because the more he liked her the more he feared losing her again.
It became perfectly clear in that moment of personal truth. Her awakening had become equally his own. And while he commended her for facing her fears, he wasn’t sure he had the balls to face his own.
****
Later that evening, after returning to his primary home, Asher stood in front of his bed and considered everything he requested of Scarlet. Would she do as he instructed? Was she naked at that very moment?
Grimacing, he glanced down at his clothing. He was asking a lot of her, being that he was very uncomfortable with his own nudity. Turning, he went to the long mirror in his room and analyzed his physique through his clothing. His fingers unknotted his tie and slid it from beneath his collar. Slipping his jacket off, he draped it over the chair.
Toeing off his shoes, he stared at his reflection. His new haircut was nice, giving his face a more appealing shape and his visage a touch of much needed maturity. Drawing in a deep breath, he set to undoing the buttons of his shirt, not looking back at the mirror until he was unclothed from the waist up.
He scowled at the man looking back at him. His stomach, always a bit too concave, had begun to fill out with slight ridges of muscle. His chest was unremarkable. Turning, he admired his arms, noting the slight shape taking form in his biceps and shoulders.
“You got a lot of work to do,” he mumbled to his reflection.
Walking to his bed, he stared at the coverlet. It was imperative he do this in order to understand the sensations involved, and to better question her the next time they met. Tipping his head back, he undid his belt buckle and shucked his bottoms, his heart reflexively racing as he quickly slid under the shelter of the covers.
He was a grown fucking man and couldn’t face his naked self. Discomfort engulfed him. He could blame the reaction to his appearance on the precedent set by the few women that had seen him partially unclothed or the times he’d been made fun of in locker rooms, but deep down he knew it was his own fault. He’d never come to terms with who he was and that had to change. Who knew how much of a difference Steve could make?
In those quiet moments, alone with only himself, he realized it wasn’t so much about changing his appearance as it was about changing his thinking. His low self-perception was perhaps his greatest weakness.
Playing with Scarlet boosted his confidence. But the truth was, he’d removed his kryptonite. Her blindness enhanced his courage, helped him become someone else, but it wasn’t the antidote.
Their encounters unearthed a side of himself he appreciated. The question was, could he apply those qualities of self-assurance and poise to the outside world where everyone saw the real him? He wasn’t so sure it was possible.
Body Language
“Why do we all have to be here?” Hunter asked, shifting awkwardly in his sweats.
Asher sighed, already exhausted with their questions. “Because Steve said it’s more effective to take dance as a class.”
Elliot remained in the corner, nose stuck to his phone obsessing over stocks. Asher sighed. This was never going to work.
He’d talked to Steve during one of their workouts about his feelings of inadequacy. Asher told him about his issues with confidence and Steve suggested he dance, which immediately had Asher laughing. Steve simply proposed he research the connection between dancing and sexual prowess. He did and now he was here.
“There’s scientific proof that confident male dancers have a higher probability of delivering a female orgasm,” he informed them.
Jet rolled his shoulders, appearing eager. “I’m an awesome dancer.”
Elliot rolled his eyes. “I had plans this afternoon.”
Asher rolled his eyes. His friend’s plans, whatever they were, likely involved sitting in front of a computer by himself. “Just give it a chance.”
Elliot lifted his face from his phone and gave him a disparaging look. “Asher, I understand you’re on a quest to find your manhood, but some of us are fine with the sort of men we—”
His friend’s lecture abruptly cut off as his expression turned to utter panic, his attention suddenly affixed to the other side of the studio. Asher turned and drew up straight. The instructor had arrived.
The four of them ogled as she bent and placed a small stereo on the floor. Long chestnut hair fell past her shoulders. Her hips were outlined in black stretch pants, her midriff completely exposed, showing an expanse of olive skin and the slight ridges of her spine. Petite buckle heels ensconced her feet and a tangerine blouse tied high around her ribs.
Unfolding her lithe body from the pose, she stood and faced them with a beaming smile. Hello, breasts. Wow.
“Hello, boys. I’m Nadia, your instructor for the next couple of weeks. Are we ready to dance?”
She held a remote in her hand and pointed it to the stereo. Pulsing music filled the studio as she tossed the remote to her bag. No one moved.
“Who’s Asher?”
He swallowed and wheezed, “I am.”
“Why don’t you come to the front, Asher? The rest of you spread out.”
Steve mentioned having a friend that taught dance. He never said anything about her being a woman. Asher should have assumed as much, but still… this woman was a force of nature.
Every awkward memory of huddling in the corners at school dances flooded his mind. That was before he gave up attending such ludicrous rituals. Jet moved beside him, but Hunter and Elliot remained frozen in the back.
“Let’s start by warming up. Loosen your legs and let the music direct you. Let’s see what you got.” He detected traces of Hungarian in her voice.
She stepped from one foot to the other, a look of expectation on her oval face. He scrutinized her tiny feet. Jet mimicked her motions and she smiled. “Good. What’s your name, handsome?”
“You can call me Jet, sweetheart.”
Great. He’d seen Jet perform with the ladies before. He was about to hog all the attention and chances were the instructor would end up leaving with him and forget the reason she was there. Asher shifted and slowly distributed his weight from foot to foot. He had no rhythm.
Nadia stepped close, her hands pressing lightly on his frame. “Try to loosen your hips, Asher. Don’t force it. Let the music take control.”
Her hands-on coaching only served to tighten his muscles and make it more difficult to move.
“You boys in the back, I don’t see you dancing.”
Asher looked over his shoulder. Hunter took a few steps forward, his jaw slack, and gaze glued to Nadia. Elliot didn’t move a muscle.
She chuckled and walked over to Elliot. Removing the phone from his hand, she placed it on the windowsill. Keeping hold of his hands, she turned so her back was to his front and pressed his palms to her narrow hips. Elliot’s eyes widened behind the lenses of his glasses.
The song changed to one Asher recognized as the Dean Martin classic, Sway, only this version was sung by a sultry female voice. Elliot’s shoulders visibly tensed as Nadia did as the song said and swayed.
Her hips slowly gyrated, brushing against his friend’s rigid form. Her hands caressed her sides, traveling over the swell of her breast, through her long, dark hair, wrists twirling above her head. Asher’s throat was instantly dry.
“You’re not moving, boys. I can’t teach you if you don’t try.”
One hand coasted down her extended arm as her hips made slow circles, her winking belly button playing a game of peek-a-boo. Elliot looked as though he’d seen a ghost and Asher actually took pity on him. Chances were he was hard as a rock and there’d be no hiding it in his loose sweatpants with Nadia pressing her curves against him as she was.
Hunter got a touch ambitious, throwing his hands into his exaggerated moves. Asher laughed. Any stereotypes about black men having innate rhythm was disproved the moment Hunter started to dance.
“Very good!” Nadia called, smiling at Hunter, which only encouraged the ridiculous display.
Asher fisted his hands and brought them to his sides, bending his elbows, trying to get more into the song. His chest lifted as he surveyed the others via the mirror. Nadia’s palm drifted over her exposed belly and down her inner thigh.
She abruptly turned, her hair fanning out as she came face to face with Elliot, spreading her fingers wide over his narrow shoulder. Jerking him close, her breasts pressed into Elliot’s chest and his friend made a choking sound.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Elliot. Elliot Garnet.” Was he sweating? He hadn’t moved.
“Dance with me, Mr. Garnet.” Her fingers caught Elliot’s right hand as she lifted the dead limb. “Left hand on my hip.”
Her smile remained in place as she swayed in a slight box step—if that’s what it was called.
“A confident man leads, Mr. Garnet. And there’s nothing more attractive than confidence.” Shockingly, Elliot took a step. It was awkward and clumsy, but he was trying. Amazing.
She was drawing him out of his shell. Her mouth pressed into a tight smirk and she leaned close to his ear. “Confidence and intelligence,” she amended.
Taking everyone off guard, she did a quick spin and left Elliot’s arms, leaving him looking a bit devastated. Elliot’s cheeks darkened and he stilled, slowly folding his hands in front of his crotch.
Nadia walked like fluid seduction, her eyes drilling into Asher’s. He swallowed tightly as she held out a hand expectantly. Asher placed his hand in hers, painfully aware of how clammy his palm was. A throaty laugh tickled the air like soft bells as she pulled him close in a sort of tango pose. He stiffly complied.
“Such large hands, Mr. Roan. There’s something intoxicating about having a partner who is clearly stronger than me.”
His chest filled with heated breath, as he stood a mite straighter.
“Very good. Keep your hold firm, but your hips loose.” She continued to move her feet and he feared accidentally tripping her.
Glancing down, he ventured a step.
“Eyes on me, Asher. Eye contact is perhaps the strongest tool our bodies possess when it comes to seduction. Look at your partner as if you can see inside of her soul, every desire, every need. Look at her with the unspoken promise that you will satisfy her every craving and eventually you will be inside of her.” She winked. “You must show enough confidence that it removes any questions as to whether you’re capable of delivering such pleasure. You are, Mr. Roan. And your eyes tell her so.”
He stared into her dark eyes and noted how they dilated, black eating up the brunette flecks of brown. He wished she had blue-green eyes like Scarlet. He also wished he could look into Scarlet’s eyes without her looking back at him. For
the first time, he resented the damn blindfold.
Distracted, he stepped on Nadia’s toes. She flinched, but didn’t get upset. Rather, she giggled.
“Sorry,” he quickly apologized, only to botch the next step and crush the toes of her other foot. “Sorry.”
She grinned softly. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I’m not very good at this,” he admitted, perspiration gathering from his nerves.
“You don’t have to be good, Mr. Roan. You only have to be comfortable. Even terrible dancers can be sexy if they’re comfortable enough in their own skin to dance. Confidence.”
He nodded and tried to relax without mangling the dance or her feet.
“Your grip’s loosening. Hold me like you mean it.”
He tightened his fingers over the warm skin of her exposed hip and her gaze smoldered. Maybe he wasn’t such a tragic student.
“Thanks for the dance,” she whispered and spun over to Jet. “You’re trouble,” she laughed, as Jet immediately took the lead.
Next she went to Hunter who found his own groove and left Nadia in a fit of giggles. “That’s it. Have fun.”
When the song changed again, she returned to the front. The mood had lightened for everyone, it seemed, except for poor Elliot who appeared more guarded than ever.
An Argentinian beat picked up and Asher waited for what would come next. He was anxious, but enjoying himself, feeling safe to make mistakes and already intending to thank Steve for introducing them to Nadia.
“Keep moving. Don’t worry about losing the rhythm. Let it find you,” she said, as she slowly bobbed at the front of the class.
The mirror on the front wall provided a place to observe everyone. Through the reflection, she spoke to them, awarding an additional view of her ass. “Dancing isn’t always about seeing. Eye contact’s important, but not as important as the feeling of intimacy dancing can provoke. Mr. Roan, why don’t you come join me at the front.”
He took a couple steps forward and waited for direction.
BLIND: A Mastermind Novel Page 17