As she drove home she noted other improvements. Her fluids were full and the car had a new set of windshield wipers. When she turned on the radio the iPod illuminated. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was when music slowly strummed through the car.
It was a remake of an old song, quite familiar, and relevant. Curious about the pretty vocals, she glanced at the artist’s name displayed on the screen. It was Amanda Seyfried singing Little Red Riding Hood.
The quiet thrumming of strings paired with her husky vocals cut right to her heart as the words sank into her soul. Had he purposefully selected this song? Of course he had. There was such desperation to the song. It was romantic, yet ominous. She wasn’t afraid, not of him. No matter what happened, she truly believed he’d never intentionally hurt her.
When she got home she fed Thor and changed into jeans and a soft sweater. He’d instructed her to wear something comfortable, but her feminine side forbade she go to him in grungy sweats and sneakers. He deserved her efforts.
She carefully brushed out her hair, and clipped it into a twist. Reaching into her jewelry box, she selected the thin pearl necklace he’d given her, pairing it with twin pearl earrings her mother had gifted her with on her sweet sixteen.
On the drive to him, her mind remained busy, turning over possibilities and disqualifying the sense that he was rushing to the end. Maybe he was, but maybe that was in order to get to the next stage, a stage where blindfolds didn’t exist and she could finally look into his eyes.
“Did you like all the improvements to your car, Ms. Farrow?”
Pennyworth’s question jarred her attention away from the lingering apprehension. Their short conversations over the mysterious drive had become familiar, never carrying the weight of her and Mr. Stone’s dialogues.
“I love them!” She smiled in the enforced darkness. “I never expected anything like that when he told me to leave the keys.”
“He was happy to do it for you.”
She silently grinned, finding it peculiar that Pennyworth had divulged any information regarding his employer’s motives. “He’s incredible,” she whispered.
The driver didn’t miss her appraisal. “Inspiring,” he amended, bringing her back to their first meeting when he’d used that same word.
Mr. Stone certainly was an inspiring man. He’d inspired her to attempt things she never dreamed she’d have the courage to dream.
I love him.
Her mind jolted at the silent confession. Did she love him? Knowing she shouldn’t—not yet—she reprimanded her fanciful heart and remained quiet for the remainder of the drive.
“We’re here.” The car slowed and her stomach turned over, a pinch of excitement folded into nervousness, but as the door opened any worry was replaced with euphoric joy.
“Good evening, Ms. Farrow.”
Tension escaped her as she sighed. “Good evening, Mr. Stone. Thank you for my incredible gift today. I loved it.” There was that pesky word again. She’d have to be careful tonight.
Taking her hand, he surprised her by leaning close, his warm scent breathing into her soul, as warm lips pressed at the corner of her jaw, just beneath her ear. His breath was hot, tickling her throat. “You’re very welcome.”
Her body shivered, drawing to attention and revving up faster than ever. He escorted her inside and slowly unbuttoned her coat.
Overcome with so much longing, she wanted to maul him before he got to the second button. Her body shook with effort to restrain her desire. His fingers deftly stripped her of her jacket. Her ears followed his footsteps as he placed the coat in the usual area. She was coming to recognize her surroundings, but tonight, over the sweet scent of wood burning nearby, there was a new smell.
It was fragrant and calming. The delicate traces of a scent unarguably feminine penetrated her senses and her mind went wild with guesses as to what he had in store. She forced her mind not to linger on the sense of trepidation that another woman might be there.
His finger traced over the side of her throat, the action drawing her like a feline into a caress. “Your hair’s up,” he observed.
Stepping behind her, his hands slowly combing over her arms, touching her hips, and tracing up to her shoulders, he seemed to breathe her in. She loved the liberties he now took to touch her, loved feeling the weight of his caress on her skin. He’d become so bold with her and she treasured every bit of contact.
Shoes softly scuffing over the floor in gentle steps, the heat of his body warmed her front. His finger played with a fallen lock of hair by her ear and she shivered. Creeping closer, she sucked in a breath as his chest grazed the tips of her breasts pressing through her clothing.
“I find…” he whispered gently, his lips tracing over her thundering pulse, “it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep my hands to myself in your presence.”
“Then don’t.” Would she ever stop being breathless around him?
He chuckled and licked at her exposed throat, throwing her heart into double time. “I have a treat for you this evening.”
Every moment with him was a treat. He didn’t have to continuously orchestrate things. Simply being with him was a gift in itself. “You already did something extraordinary for me today.”
“You’re worth spoiling,” he said, sliding his hands down her back, he drew her to his front.
He was hard. Evidence of the effect she had on him took her arousal to a new level. Boldly, she reached for him, her hand curling around his hip, fingers firming as a thousand volts of erotic energy shot up her arm.
He stilled.
She breathed through the frozen moment, silently begging him to allow the contact.
“What are you doing, Ms. Farrow?”
Shallow breaths panted past her lips. She wanted to slide her palm over his thigh and cup him, bring them each a modicum of relief. She couldn’t bring herself to apologize, so she said nothing. He wasn’t the one who was blind. He could see what he was doing to her, feel her need. Hell, it was thrumming through the air like a collapsing star.
He stepped back and her face lowered. “Not tonight.”
Her tongue refused an apology. “Why?”
His voice gave nothing away. “Because I have a different plan.”
She waited. Though she desperately wanted to touch him, he had yet to disappoint her. Perhaps his plan was better.
Without knowing exactly where he stood, she sensed he’d moved out of reach. “Please remain still.”
She shivered as he lifted her arm, pulling the sleeve of her sweater slowly. “I’m afraid your clothes need to come off. Do I have your permission, Ms. Farrow?”
“Yes,” she rasped.
He carefully fed her arms through the sleeves of her sweater, cautious of the blindfold and her hair as he lifted it over her head. Her breasts lifted as her breathing accelerated at the moment of exposure.
Caressing fingers traced over her hip, and unsnapped her jeans. The zipper lowered with torturous slowness, each tiny tooth enunciating its parting in the quiet room.
“Step out of your shoes, please.”
She toed off her shoes, one by one, and he lowered her pants. She detected him lowering to his knees as he slid the denim from her calves. Warm breath bathed her naked thighs for an extended moment.
He was looking at her. She could feel his gaze weighing on her sex and the tickle of his breath. Gentle fingers teased the hem of her panties. “These too.”
Jaggedly, she nodded as anticipation left her trembling. Slowly, the silk of her panties pulled away, loosening at her knees and eventually dropping to the floor. Her body went on high alert, a thousand jolts of sexual tension wreaking havoc on her brain.
Barely there, like the brush of a small breeze, his fingers grazed the fiery curls covering her sex. Her fingers twitched and her hands balled into fists as she struggled to remain motionless.
Again, his breath teased her flesh, this time tickling her lower belly. “I’ve changed my min
d,” he said.
Why? Panic took hold of her patience, slamming her heart into palpitating apprehension.
He stood and took her hand. “Come with me.”
Objection quivered on her lips as his fingers laced with hers and he towed her across the room. “Sit.”
She lowered into the seat, the fabric cool on her naked bottom. His clipped steps did nothing to calm her nerves as he suddenly walked away. Something clicked and there was the clank of glass, not shattering, but carelessly knocking. He returned and the plug of a cork popped in the silence. Liquid tinkled into a glass and she scented the flowery fragrance of Merlot.
His fingers lifted her wrist and guided the glass into her hand. “Have a sip of wine, Ms. Farrow. I’m going to touch you.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she found it impossible to sip from the goblet. Her hands shook so tumultuously, she feared spilling the staining liquid. Forcing the glass to her lips, she wet only the tip of her tongue then felt for the table, sliding the goblet onto the surface carefully. She loved wine, but she loved his touch more.
“Very good,” he said. “Place your hands on the arms of the chair and don’t let go until I give you permission.”
Eagerly, she did as she was told. Fabric whispered. She wished she knew what he was wearing as he was clearly removing an item of clothing.
Finally, his touch returned, a slow trace of his finger running from her upper thigh to her knee.
“Scoot forward for me.”
She shimmied lower on the seat, careful not to let go of the arms of the chair.
“Good girl.” Her body flooded at his praise. The rustling of his clothes and her excited breathing blurred out any telltale clues as to what he was doing.
Warmth covered her knees as his hands crept over her flesh, parting her thighs. He was kneeling before her. “Open for me.”
Dear God, every command was an aphrodisiac to her starved libido. Though it was dark under the blindfold, she had no idea if he was seeing her in blinding or dim light. Exposed didn’t begin to describe how on display his actions made her feel.
He sucked in an audible breath. “I knew you’d be pink,” he whispered as her outer thighs pressed into the upholstered chair. “Your pussy’s glistening. You’re very aroused, Ms. Farrow.”
Rapidly breathing through the unparalleled experience, she fought back all insecurities. Please ... She couldn’t remain silent any longer. “Please touch me,” she begged.
“I will. I want to look at you first.”
The brush of his sleeve caused her to jerk as it tickled her thigh.
“You’re so wet it’s trickling from your slit like a little drop of dew. I can see your body trembling for my attention. Describe what you feel, Ms. Farrow.”
“Throbbing. Wanting. Need.”
The heat of his hands closed over her inner thighs, dragging slowly to her center. She held her breath, awaiting the moment he’d actually touch her there. The first graze of his finger jarred her, ripping a moan from her throat as her hips jerked, lifting her rear from the chair.
“Stay still, Ms. Farrow.”
Her fingers tightened over the upholstery as he parted her folds. Delicately pulling back her drenched layers, he whispered, “And you’re even more pink inside. So delicate and feminine, so sexy.”
Her clit pulsed with unequivocal need. He held her open for several seconds, presumably examining her like no one, not even her doctors, had ever done. Meticulously.
“I can scent your arousal. It’s sweet and beguiling. Do you want more, Ms. Farrow?”
“Yes,” she begged.
Pulling the flesh of her sex, his thumb grazed her clit and she shivered so violently it was as like a miniature orgasm, quickly transcending into the thrums of something greater.
“Are you close, Ms. Farrow?”
She was there. He’d barely touched her and she was already hanging on the cusp of what would undoubtedly be the most intense orgasm of her life. Words were impossible; syllables were hard, she moaned in the affirmative.
“Would you like to come?”
“Please.”
“Good, because I very much want to taste your pleasure.” His finger sank into her, lifting her body off the seat as the digit drilled deeply into her core. She cried out, begging him for more.
His shoulders forced their way between her thighs and his hot mouth covered her weeping sex, his tongue penetrating her opening as his fingers teased her clit. The orgasm needed no time to build. At the first brush of contact he’d released a knot of hunger inside of her begging to be undone.
Her body arched into him as his mouth devoured her. Back bowed, fingers digging into the arms of the chair like talons, she was practically standing over him. Muscles tensed and rocked her bones as she shattered. He groaned, licking at her slit, his mouth latching onto her sex as his fingers filled her. He stretched her, adding another digit, fucking her with his hand as his lips closed over her throbbing clit, prolonging the rushing waves of ecstasy racing through her.
There was no waning. The stubble of his jaw chafed deliciously at her tender flesh. The pleasure mounted and mounted, ripping down layers of pent up need as he drove his fingers into her pussy. Dragging out new sensations he pleasured her until her strength depleted and she collapsed in the chair, her body twitching with each caress.
His attention slowed, his tongue tasting every fold, licking at every spent trace of arousal. The blindfold had become irrelevant. Her eyes rested in the darkness as he tended to her pulsating body.
When he finally eased back, he blew over her heated sex, cool air tickling and sending more shivers up her spine.
His voice was hoarse. “Now you’re even more beautiful, Ms. Farrow, because I can see evidence of my touch on your already stunning body.”
She shivered. Last time he’d touched her he’d left a hickey on her breast. At first it had concerned her, but when she reminded herself no one but her would see it, she cherished the mark. It left her feeling connected to him even in his absence. The idea that she’d likely wear scratches from his five o’clock shadow was a welcome and erotic souvenir. “Thank you.”
His knuckle brushed over her tender sex and she gasped. “Are you sore?”
She shook her head. Sore wasn’t a fair description. Sore carried negative connotations and there was nothing negative about the way she felt in that moment.
“Your sex is swollen, slightly chafed, and your hole is contracting by the tiniest degrees. That’s your body asking for more.”
Breathing fast, she wondered if more was on the menu. She couldn’t have sex with someone without seeing him, without even knowing his first name, could she? Dear God, he had her under such a spell. Anyone else would call her crazy for letting things get this far.
His lips pressed to her knee and he stood. “I think you’ll really enjoy your surprise now, Ms. Farrow.” Taking her hand, he slowly helped her rise. “Let us not forget this.” His fingers unclasped her bra, sliding the material away from her sensitized flesh.
Like a newly born fawn, she walked jaggedly, her limbs languorous as he led her deeper into the house. She’d never been this far in his home and her curiosity awakened a bit of her drifting senses.
The flowery fragrance intensified with the sound of babbling water under a low hum of machinery. “I hear water,” she announced.
“Very good. That’s because I’ve arranged to give you a bath. I think you’ve earned it after the last hour.” He took two more steps. “It’s a tall jetted tub, so I’ll help you in. The water’s heated.”
She hesitated when he gave her fingers a tug.
“Ms. Farrow?”
Her lips pursed. This had never happened before. “Um… Before I get in the water…I need to…”
Silence.
She waited for him to comprehend what she was inelegantly trying to bring to his attention.
“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Right this way.”
She follow
ed his lead through the house. Winding turns disoriented her and her steps became sluggish. “Here we are.” A door opened and he escorted her inside, her feet brushing over cool tile, the polished sort without grout lines.
He turned her and she stood dumbly as the swift flutter of tissue unraveling from the roll filled the room. Wadded up paper filled her hand. In a trance, she waited for him to step away.
When he made no move and her body demanded prompt release, she whimpered. “I’ll be right out.”
The silence turned heavy. “My back is turned. I can run the faucet to drown out my presence, if that will help.”
She frowned, the pressure in her bladder making it difficult to speak. “I need privacy.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid this is all the privacy I can offer, Ms. Farrow. It’s only human nature.” The soft rush of water from the faucet masked the silence and added to her uncomfortable predicament.
Was he afraid she’d snoop? “I won’t peek.”
“I’m afraid not.” His words hit her like a bucket of ice, reality’s cold truth breaking her sense of comfort.
He didn’t trust her. It hurt. She trusted him so profoundly and he couldn’t trust her enough to leave her alone for two minutes. “I can’t go in front of someone.”
“Would you like me to get your clothes and Pennyworth?”
Her lips parted as she sucked in a breath. Anger at his easy solution, which would cut their night short, sliced through her. “No, I’d like you to leave me alone for a minute.” If she didn’t sit soon, she was going to embarrass herself.
“Sit on the seat, Ms. Farrow, and stop being so modest. I assure you I’m not watching.”
Out of time and without physical choice, she rapidly dropped to the seat. Her muscles reflexively slackened as the humiliating tinkling broke the silence.
He’d never upset her until that very moment. Feeling outmaneuvered and deceived, she scowled into the darkness. Mouth tight, she cleaned herself up and slowly stood, refusing any silent offer of help, should he offer one. The blindfold made it impossible to tell.
BLIND: A Mastermind Novel Page 25