Fyre, Raven - Blind Man's Bluff (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Raven Fyre

Rachel glanced at her watch. “I’m on ’til nine. Then Paul’s picking me up for a late dinner. Guess I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

  “Have fun.”

  “Don’t work too hard,” Rachel countered.

  How hard could it be, lying flat on my back?

  * * * *

  The parking lot of Low Tide was filled to brimming when Chloe slipped into a spot near the back, one marked reserved for employees only. Jocelyn had sent over a key card and a code for the wardrobe room along with instructions to come at least a half hour early. Her client would be arriving promptly at eight, so that gave her thirty minutes to change and prepare.

  A day at Marlene’s had been like the adult version of a day at Disneyland. She’d sipped champagne while a staff of remarkably beautiful women pampered her with a facial, a pedicure, and a manicure. She’d had her hair deep-conditioned and trimmed. The Brazilian was the only low spot of the day because it hurt like hell, but she’d survived to tell the tale. Actually, now that she was a day or two out, Chloe had to admit the sensitivity factor might be worth the price of pain.

  Just walking around in her silky panties, with the luxurious fabric caressing her exposed flesh like a lover, was enough to keep her on the edge of arousal. Mercy.

  She’d showered at home, slathered herself in honeysuckle scented lotion and matching body splash—so outrageously mindful of smelling as good as she tried to look. Her worst fear, at the moment, was not being able to see the client. Sight and first impressions were so vitally important to attraction.

  Not that she hoped to be attracted to him, just that it might help to allay her fears. At first she’d thought of it as a blessing. Now, her mind played the terribly worrisome game of wondering why any wealthy, handsome man would need to pay for sex.

  What was wrong with him?

  Posing this same question to Jocelyn, the woman assured her, “They’re paying for the lack of commitment, honey. A couple hours of unadulterated pleasure. Hot, steamy sex. No strings. No remorse. Who wouldn’t want that? Trust me, though, your guy would stop hearts state-wide.”

  “You know who he is?” That idea never occurred to her.

  “Honey, it’s my business to know everything that goes on under this roof. But I’m sworn to secrecy by our confidentiality agreements.”

  Oh, yeah. She’d signed one, too. Under penalty of law and fear of prosecution, her lips were irrevocably sealed for eternity. “So, then, do they all demand the blindfolds?”

  “Ah, no. However, it’s not an unusual request for a first-timer.”

  Okay. That made sense. So, maybe next time—if she pleased him and if there was a next time—he’d reveal himself. Trusting Jocelyn’s judgment, Chloe felt a little better about putting aside her apprehension and began sorting through the racks, trying to fulfill her man’s request with a slip of a gown in creamy white satin that came to mid-thigh and a matching bra and panty set with white lace trim. To each his own, she decided, guessing a guy with the inclination for a fantasy woman would’ve wanted something slutty and black. Perhaps even vinyl or leather.

  “You look fantastic,” Jocelyn complimented when escorting her to the Red Room.

  “Thanks. I’m afraid I might puke. Nerves. Huge, jangling nerves.”

  “Deep breaths,” Jocelyn suggested. “Think of this as your own little fantasy fulfilled. Sex with a gorgeous guy. No strings on your end, either. Priceless. Ten minutes ’til go time. Here, I’ll help you with the tie.”

  The client’s other request—a silk necktie for her blindfold. Jocelyn secured it around Chloe’s eyes with a knot at the back of her head then gave it a test, asking her to tell how many fingers she was holding up.

  Chloe shook her head. “Not a clue. It’s black as pitch in here.”

  “Very good.” Chloe felt Jocelyn’s hands on her shoulders, directing her to the sofa in the sitting room. “Easy. Here we go.”

  She sat, listening for her next cue.

  “Have fun.”

  Fun? The poor man was unwittingly lucky she’d been too keyed up to eat since breakfast, or he’d be in for a nasty, so-not-fun surprise. The door clicked shut, tossing the room into deafening silence.

  Her mind began to run wild with worries, her heartbeat pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears as the minutes ticked by at turtle speed. She fidgeted with the layers of lacy hems, where the gown and robe skimmed her upper thighs.

  The next click of the door signaled her client’s arrival.

  Showtime!

  Chloe took a deep breath. What was she supposed to do? Say? She was as helpless as a soldier in a field of land mines without her sight, so moving on her own was out of the question, as far as options went.

  Finally remembering Jocelyn’s instructions, she managed to mutter, “Do you have the safe word?”

  If he answered incorrectly, the plan was to rip off the freaking tie ASAP and make a mad dash for the panic button. Step two was to lock herself in the bathroom until the cavalry showed up. A team of armed security personnel guarded the underground portion of the club. They might not bat an eye at a scream or an exuberant outburst, but the panic button would set off a building-wide alert.

  “Gardenia.”

  “You may proceed.” Following the dialogue she’d rehearsed with Jocelyn eased a small measure of her anxiety. “There’s champagne chilling in the bedroom, if you so desire. I hope you approve of the gown.” So saying, she dared to stand and was proud when she didn’t sway on her feet.

  “You look…delectable,” the deeply masculine voice replied.

  Oh, God. His voice was smooth as prime whiskey. So deep, so purely male she couldn’t help but envision the gorgeous Jackson Sawyer and all his smooth, tantalizing perfection. She felt a shiver of anticipation—this time, the anticipation was a good thing.

  Which shocked the hell out of her normally prudish sensibilities.

  Having sex with a stranger was so far removed from her MO it was laughable. Add in that the stranger was doling out an obscene amount of cash for said—hopefully fantastic, fantasy-fulfilling—sex and that his voice alone had her body sizzling with the expectation of what was to come, and Chloe could only marvel that perhaps she’d stumbled into some unknown universe.

  She felt him circle her, felt the heat radiating from him as he stepped close enough for her to catch a whiff of starch and shaving cream and rugged male that assailed her senses, intoxicated her.

  “I’m at your mercy,” she admitted with a light, forced laugh. “The blindfold makes it impossible to—Oh!”

  She was suddenly swept up into sinewy arms and held against a very solid, muscular wall of chest. He was carrying her—she could only guess—to the bedroom. Well, alrighty, then. Guess he was eager to get his money’s worth. And the sooner this began, the sooner it was over, she told herself.

  Without a word, he put her on her feet and untied the knot on the short, silky, white robe she’d belted over the gown. The garment slithered to the hardwood, a whisper of anticipation.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, brushing what felt like a knuckle over the swell of a breast. Beneath the layers of silk and lace, the nipple drew tight in response.

  She shuddered and bit her lower lip as heat pooled between her thighs.

  Being blindfolded set her other senses on heightened alert. The softest sound echoed in her mind like the crack of a whip. His touch, though brief, was a searing brand that stoked embers in her blood. Because she couldn’t see his hands or discern his intent by reading body language or looking into his eyes, the expectation of where he’d touch her or taste her next left her breathless and nearly coming out of her skin.

  “What would you like me to call you?” Chloe asked.

  “Who do you want me to be?” he asked, trailing his fingertips along her collarbone.

  Slippery slope, the truth. “That’s a dangerous game, don’t you think?”

  His answer was a low chuckle. “Then let’s play another. You’ll call me Master or Sir.
And I’ll address you as my slave.”

  Wicked and beyond the bounds of her reality so as to be perfect for playing along. “Very well.”

  She heard him chuckle again and realized as the sound traveled that he’d moved to stand behind her. He ran his fingers up her arms and down again, skimming ever so lightly. Up and down. Up and down. “Your skin is smooth as silk. And you smell like summer—sweet as honey.”

  Her knees went weak as tidewater, and she let out a low moan of delight when he pressed his cheek just above the knot at the back of her head, inhaling the scents of her shampoo and the honeysuckle-scented lotion she’d all but bathed in. Then he shifted the silky mass of her hair to fall over one shoulder and nipped lightly at the nape of her neck.

  Her skin was flush, every cell of her body alive with arousal. When he licked the spot he’d nipped, sharp, jagged bolts of lust shot straight to her clit.

  This was going to be an excruciatingly long, hellacious interlude if every move the man made reminded her of Jackson Sawyer.

  Wasn’t she supposed to be servicing his needs, not the other way around?

  Using her tactile senses, Chloe crossed an arm over her torso and felt for his muscular arm. She turned and placed her palms on his chest for reference. This erotic game of blind man’s bluff required a certain skill…

  One by one, she deftly freed the buttons on his shirt, tugging the hem free as she encountered his belt and the waistband of his pants. Then she spread her hands over the warm, firm wall of sculpted muscles and short, wiry hairs, sliding them up, up until she cupped strong, wide shoulders, effectively shoving the shirt down and off his sinewy arms.

  She came back to the thin layer of wiry hairs covering his upper torso and reveled in their texture, feathering her fingers through them and tugging lightly. Searching blindly with her mouth, she found the flat male nipples hidden there and flicked her tongue over them until they peaked. And he groaned. Then, following the feel of washboard abs with her fingertips, she journeyed lower, freed the buckle of his belt.

  “May I?” she asked, poised to lower his zipper.

  “Good girl,” he said, and she swore she heard his smile. “You may.”

  With a smile of her own, Chloe boldly pressed her lips to his navel while unzipping his pants and shoving them down his hips. She felt the clench of stomach muscles and the sharp intake of his breath beneath her mouth. His fingers threaded into the strands below the blindfold, and he murmured encouragement. Empowered by his response, she slowly dropped to her knees, tugging down his pants and his briefs.

  Letting her fingers be her guide, for they’d yet to steer her wrong, she glided up strong calves, up heavy, corded thighs, and reached for an erection that stole her breath by its sheer weight and steely girth. A sigh of startled delight escaped her.

  Was this another trick of being temporarily blinded?

  Did his size seem unrealistically large because she had nothing to rely on but her tactile senses? And who the hell cared? His penis felt huge, hot, velvety smooth, and hard as granite. Her pussy clenched in anticipation of having every amazing inch of him sliding inside of her. She licked her lips and initiated an act she’d found repulsive until this moment. Leaning in, she kissed the large tip. Oh, yes! The lips did not lie. Then she swirled her tongue around the rim.

  A deep groan erupted in the room.

  Tilting her face up to his, Chloe fought off the maddening urge to dispose of the tie. She’d never experienced such a need to be connected with another, to visually affirm she was pleasing him. “May I?”

  “Tell me, my slave. What is it you have in mind?”

  Damning Jackson Sawyer and his comment on her prudish vernacular, Chloe swallowed down what felt like the last shreds of her decency. “Your cock…It feels so huge, so hot in my hands. I want my mouth on you, on it. I want to suck it.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes,” he murmured when she closed her lips over the length of him and started a careful, precise rhythm of gentle suction.

  She used her tongue, running it from base to tip while cupping his balls in her hand and squeezing gently. It seemed impossible, but she could have sworn his cock grew larger, harder from the teasing play. Savoring the salty taste of him that beaded on the tip, she took him in deeper, sucked more urgently.

  “Easy, my slave,” he coaxed and eased his length from between her lips. “You do that amazingly well. Unless you want me coming in that luscious mouth, however, we’d better slow things down.”

  The idea of swallowing down his passion was not an unpleasant one, Chloe noted with awe. “Whatever you wish.”

  He helped her to her feet and maneuvered her closer to the bed. Her thigh brushed what she took for the raw silk comforter. Then his hands pulled on the thin straps of the gown, and it fell from her shoulders to pool at her feet. The rush of cool air over her exposed skin made her shiver.

  One quick tug and the front clasp of the skimpy bra liberated her breasts to his eager, greedy palms.

  She sighed.

  “You fit perfectly in my hands,” he told her while caressing and fondling the weight of them.

  The rasp of his slightly rough thumbs over her nipples made them pout in response and made her moan low in her throat. He tweaked the taut buds, and she cried out.

  Her breasts felt heavy, and her nipples tingled. Each subsequent tug simultaneously caused an answering pulse in her pussy.

  When his mouth, moist and hot, closed over a peak and began to suck, her legs nearly buckled. He eased her down to the mattress and resumed the glorious assault. She felt bereft when his mouth left her and the mattress dipped. But then his hands came to rest at her hips, easing the lacy, white panties down her legs and off.

  Could he tell how incredibly aroused she was?

  Her cream was pouring down along her inner thighs, and there was no disguising the musky smell of her excitement.

  Knuckles, she guessed again, brushed over the newly waxed, over-sensitized lips of her swollen pussy, and her hips arched up in response.

  “Is this pretty, bare pussy for me?” His tone was pure seduction as his thick fingers parted her slick folds and swirled her flowing juices over her clit. “You’re dripping wet.”

  For once, thank God, she did not feel the instantaneous rush of a heated blush.

  “Yes. Oh, yes,” she answered, hips writhing and grinding her mound against his palm as he continued to rub broad circles over the hard nub. The pain of enduring the wax job was eclipsed by the bliss of his unfettered touch. “Inside me…please…I need to feel you inside me.”

  Was it permissible to beg?

  Ah, did she care? Hell, no.

  He eased down beside her, letting his hand play over her mound, tantalizing with slow, feather-light strokes. Instinctively, she raised a knee, parting for him, inviting him to delve deeper. When two thick fingers slipped inside her, she gasped and arced into the intimate connection, wanting more. Needing more.

  “So hot.” The words seared her lips as his own hovered oh-so-close but did not claim them. Those fingers slid in and out. “You’re hot and silky and…”

  He couldn’t be…but the sounds…Was he licking his fingers?

  “Sweet. You taste like ambrosia. Open up.”

  Beneath the blindfold, her eyes popped wide. She felt the pads of his fingers on her lips, smelled her own arousal as he slicked her juices along the seam of her mouth. Then she groaned as his fiery tongue licked them off. Hers darted out in reply, and he took the unspoken invitation, finally claiming her mouth.

  Their tongues met and danced in an easy waltz, learning each other’s textures and flavors. She slanted her mouth under his and tunneled her hands into his silky hair, urging him to deepen his possession.

  He did.

  The kiss went on for what seemed like hours, as if neither could get enough of the other. Finally, they broke apart, panting and shaky. Then his lips traveled along her jaw. His teeth nipped at her ear, tugging the lobe. He worked his way down her neck,
over the map of her torso, stopping to suck at one breast and then the other before moving lower to flutter wing-like, whispery kisses over her navel, her hips, the flat of her stomach until his head settled between the valley of her thighs.

  He seemed as hungry for the taste of her pussy as he had been for her mouth. Licking up the soft folds, sucking lightly on her swollen clit, plunging his tongue as deeply as possible, he brought her to a staggering climax. She’d barely floated back to earth when his fingers came back to her still-quivering pussy, taking her up and over again while he plundered her mouth, swallowing up her cry of release.

  She’d never been the recipient of such phenomenal oral sex. Nor had she climaxed twice in such close succession. This stranger had turned her inside out and sideways. Trembling, feeling as if her damp skin were wonderfully gilded, she all but purred while stroking up and down the slope of his back.

  “That. Was. Magnificent.”

  She felt his chuckle ripple through him, into her. There was a shift in his weight, then the sound of crinkling foil. Then he came back to her, placing light, unhurried kisses at the corners of her mouth, nibbling at her lower lip. “You want more, my slave?”

  “Yes. Please…” she pleaded breathlessly.

  Who was this weak, needy woman she’d become?

  This stranger may believe her to be playing a part, earning her exorbitant wages, but there wasn’t a scintilla of fabrication to the erratic beat of her heart or to the racing of her pulse. Or to the desire that rode her body with the force of a Category 5 hurricane churning in the balmy, tropical waters of the Gulf, poised to hit land and cause devastation on a massive scale.

  “Please what?” he asked and licked the sensitive hollow behind her ear.

  Chloe’s skin was tight and flushed. Her center throbbed. She’d never ached so badly for a man. Ever. “I need you…inside me…filling me up.”

  “You need me to fuck you, slave?”

  He sounded smug, yet at the same time, she caught the underlying tone of vulnerability. As if he needed to hear her surrender, to affirm that she was desperate for him. What man—or woman, for that matter—didn’t want to feel wanted?