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

by Raven Fyre

  The day Jackson had held her while she’d cried, when he’d come within a breath of kissing her. The night on the beach and the fireworks—both overhead and within, due to his embrace—only served to increase her level of frustration exponentially.

  Her phantom lover’s voice was fathoms deeper, but that was the solitary mark of delineation in her mind. And that was really no mark at all.

  He could be infinitely gentle with her one minute and then intent on ravishing her wildly the next. But he never left her without kissing her senseless and whispering words of praise, compliments. And he never left without damn near satisfying her to death with his powerful lovemaking. Promising to do it over and over, again and again, shamelessly admitting how he longed for their hours together. How each night in her arms only made him want her more.

  She imagined the words coming from another man who stirred her blood to boiling with just a look or a whispered word.

  Like one big freaking circle, it all just kept swirling back around to Chloe’s craving for Jackson Sawyer. Desperately wanting him in her bed, naked, possessing every inch of her body in the full, glorious light of day. Ruling his in turn.

  Oh, the things she wanted to do to him!

  All in all, the stress was wearing on Chloe’s thinly stretched nerves. It was taking a toll on every other aspect of her life. She’d had to rush back to Birmingham to handle transferring her credits and, at least temporarily, packing up and moving her meager possessions back into her old room at Gram’s. Although she still hadn’t admitted her naughtiest little secret, working for Sex On The Beach.

  Really, if her luck held, a couple more wicked rendezvous and she’d have her goal amount tucked away, earning interest. Especially with the outrageous tips her guy dropped. Then she could put her days as a paid sex slave behind her and move on.

  Maybe she couldn’t move in the direction of Jackson Sawyer. After all, knowing she’d spread her legs for money, for a stranger, why on earth would he ever want her tainted goods? He deserved so much better, so much more than a struggling divorcee with student loans and her Gram’s debt and nonexistent dignity.

  But facing the reality of ending her trysts with Mr. Master, Chloe realized with dismay that there was an absurdly depraved side of her that had blossomed, thrived, been indulged and enjoyed. Who knew there was a whole other side to her sexuality? And now that it had been uncovered and explored, ignoring her rampant sexuality was akin to closing the barn door after the horse had already gotten loose—a futile effort. It would not be repressed.

  No more mild, meek, sexually unfulfilled Chloe Rezner.

  She’d learned that her ex’s problem was just that—his problem. Not hers. Her phantom lover seemed to crave being with her as much as she craved being with him. He was so focused, so in tune to the nuances of her body, her desires, there were times when it bordered on frightening.

  She never left his arms frustrated or dissatisfied.

  In these short weeks, he’d learned what pleased her and what didn’t and what absolutely drove her wild. He’d capitalized on those personal weaknesses, exploiting them in order to bring her the most pleasure humanly possible. Right before taking his own.

  Big warning bells were going off in her brain. She was falling, and falling hard, for a stranger with no name and no face. Worse, she was projecting those surreal, implausible feelings on a man who hadn’t so much as kissed her. Jackson’s chaste, searing kisses to her temple, the crown of her head, nuzzling her neck—those caressing, brief sparks of contact might’ve melted her clear to her toes, but they did not count, she told herself. Not the way they might’ve if he’d actually brought that sexy mouth to hers and slipped her some tongue.

  But, damn it, she’d fallen for Jackson Sawyer on sight.

  Chloe didn’t believe in love at first sight.

  Lust, maybe.

  Love? Definitely not.

  So, these feelings, then, that her scrambled brain was fighting to process? Hell if she had a name for them except love.

  Hell if she could explain why that troubling idea didn’t make her throat close up or her feet run as fast and as far away as they could carry her.

  On the heels of that shocking tumble, she’d layered on tons of respect for Jackson due to his constant showing of sheer, unwavering compassion and support without the expectation of anything in return. First, when he’d all but single-handedly supported her during the funeral. And delivered Gram’s pearls—he really was the sweetest man. Then after, when he’d stayed until the bitter end to help her clean up the kitchen, and his fabulous massage for her poor, tired feet. To top it off, he’d given her the answer to her problems with one cushy job—if one overlooked the whole selling one’s soul to the devil for profit aspect.

  And she was.

  She had to if she wanted to stay sane.

  The click of the door drew her to her feet and shoved her musing aside.

  He was here.

  Now that he was, her resolve slipped. Another evening, just this one more time, she told herself, and then she’d end it.

  God help her, she’d end it. But not tonight.

  “Mmm, my beautiful slave.” His long, sinewy arms snaked around her torso, and his lips grazed her earlobe, sucked on the soft flesh until she purred. “So many things I want to do to you.”

  Yes. Yes! Her pulse instantly accelerated, as did the beat of her heart. Her nipples pebbled, and her juices poured from her, blotted up by the silky V of her panties.

  How had he gained such utter and complete control of her body using only that sexy, seductive voice and a few simple caresses?

  He loosed the knot from her robe, tugged it from her shoulders. She wore nothing else beneath it but a matching bra and panty of bright coral silk trimmed in creamy lace. “Did you think of me, miss me?”

  The silk whispered its way to the floor.

  “Yes.” More than you’d ever imagine.

  “I can smell your arousal.” One hand drifted down her torso to trace the scalloped edge of her panties. Just the tips of his fingers brushed the upper curve of her thigh then dipped underneath that V of lace and silk to stroke her slick folds. “So wet for me. So ready.”

  She whimpered.

  She whimpered again when his hand fell away, and she felt him pull back. Without his warmth, she shivered.

  She heard the rustle of him shedding his clothes and unwittingly held her breath, the interminable seconds ticking by in her mind as loudly as a drum.

  “Feel like playing tonight, my slave?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  Something extremely luxurious—possibly fabric of some sort—brushed the upper swell of her breast. “That depends on what you have in mind.”

  He laughed low and throaty. Suddenly, her arms were seized and pulled behind her, thrusting her chest up and out. “A little light bondage,” he suggested as casually as one might suggest a stroll in the park, an afternoon of careless fun. “Nothing painful, my slave, you have my word.”

  “And we have the safe word.”

  “Absolutely. Use it and I’ll untie you in a heartbeat.”

  Curiosity got the better of her. “What will you use?”

  “This is the belt off your robe,” he explained, once again running the luxurious strip of silk over flesh that instinctively flushed. “Nothing rough, nothing too tight to mar your creamy skin.”

  “I’ve never been bound.” The idea did thrill her. Like the mask, she imagined it would add the element of helplessness, giving him complete control, only heightening the pleasure.

  And if she was wrong, then one word would call it. Game over.

  She took a deep breath. “Tie me.”

  A growl of approval rumbled in the room, and he began to weave the strip around her wrists and partway up her arm. He tested the series of knots with a few gentle tugs and pronounced it good enough. “Not too tight?”

  She wiggled her hands. Circulation was good. “No. It doesn’t hurt. Any chance of losing the b
lindfold?” When he laughed, she said, “I thought not.”

  “Now, don’t pout. Don’t you enjoy the mystery?” He was in front of her now, on his knees as he tongued her navel. “I can be anyone you want me to be. Imagine whoever you choose tasting you. Touching you.” Strong, wide hands circled her waist and squeezed before gliding lower to her hips. “Teasing you,” he said. He nipped at the damp scrap of silk covering her mound.

  The rasp of wet fabric and demanding lips made her quiver. Her legs trembled as he brought her to orgasm just that way—without ever removing her panties. Damn, he’s good.

  He slowly dragged the soaked, musky-scented silk down her hips, her legs. His mouth retraced the journey upward, paying special attention to the insides of her knees, her thighs. With one last lick up the length of her swollen pussy, he began an assault that led to the valley of her breasts.

  There was the snick of the front clasp opening and the rush of cool air over her skin. Her nipples drew impossibly tighter, so hard they could have been used to drive nails. The points throbbed for the moist heat of his mouth.

  As if sensing her desires—or perhaps they simply matched his own—his lips found her, latched onto one aching peak. Back and forth he laved and plucked, sucking all too briefly at one nipple before darting back to the other. He plumped her breasts in his palms and nuzzled his face between them, scraping the skin with his stubble.

  The added sensation was exquisite.

  And all too soon, it was over.

  “W–what—why?” she was grappling for words. “More…Please, I need…” She went to reach for him and struggled like a fish wriggling on a hook because of her bindings. Forgot about those.

  “Let’s turn you around,” he said and took her by the shoulders, guiding her where he wanted. “Now, bend forward. That’s it.”

  His hand splayed across her lower back, easing her down until her face met soft, cushy material. The sofa? Chloe turned her head, pressing her cheek to the fabric. Yes, definitely the sofa.

  “I’m going to rearrange the bindings,” he informed.

  He rid her of the bra and allowed her the chance to rest her arms a minute. Then he tied them again, this time wrapping the length from elbow to elbow and stretching across her lower back so that they were bound at her sides with her hands free.

  “Now.” His voice was smug. “This time you aren’t going to come until I give you permission. Understood?”

  She had only to utter the word “gardenia,” and he would release her. Plus, she’d come to trust him. He’d had plenty of opportunities to hurt her before now, and there’d been nothing but immeasurable bliss. “Yes, Master.”

  He knelt behind her, his breath hot and tantalizing on her exposed folds. “Spread your legs a little wider. Perfect.”

  His idea of “perfect “put her face down in the sofa, elbows tied to her torso, legs spread wide, ass up. Oh, yeah, just—holy mother of…perfect—his greedy mouth started eating at her swollen flesh again.

  His fingers gripped her thighs, keeping them where he wanted them, spread wide, while he brought her to the brink once more. Everything in her world centered on the tight, building sensation in her clit. She was so, so close.

  “No coming until I tell you, slave.”

  “But I’m so close. Oh! Oh, God, yes.”

  “Patience,” he murmured. “Do you know the punishment for disobeying your Master?”

  Behind her mask, her eyes went wide. “P–punishment?”

  Now, why didn’t that shock her or at the least disgust her? Instead, it turned her on even more. She wanted to defy him just to incur his wrath. Jesus, she’d gone completely loopy.

  “Five licks—and I don’t mean to your pussy—if you come before I give you permission.”

  “You would spank me?” She couldn’t help it—her ass wiggled of its own accord.

  He laughed and ran a hand down the seam of her aforementioned wiggling ass. “Admit it, the idea excites you.”

  She gnawed at her lower lip. Though he didn’t give her a slap, his none-too-gentle caress still sent tingles of fire racing up her spine. She moaned, “Yes, yes, it excites me. So much so, I’m dying to defy you.”

  “Precious little treasure. You are one in a million. Maybe I’ll reward your obedience with double the lashes.”

  “Please, Master. Yes. I’ll be so good. I promise not to come until you say.” Anything.

  “We’ll see,” he said, doubt evident in his tone. “We’ll just see.”

  Instead of setting his mouth on her, he used his thick, slightly callused thumb to stroke her clit. The friction had her poised on that razor-sharp edge of release before she could catch her breath. Holding off her climax proved more difficult than she’d thought. But she so wanted to please him.

  Those ten licks were like the rabbit used at a racetrack. They loomed before her, the temptation luring her to the finish line.

  “I can’t…can’t control it.”

  “Yes, you can,” he snapped. “You will if you want those licks.”

  “Either way, I’ll get at least five,” she countered. “I’m dying here.”

  His palm met her ass cheek, the thrilling zing and subsequent burn coming out of nowhere. Okay, yet another perk to the blindfold, Chloe thought. “Yes! More, Master, please.”

  He gave her two more, just hard enough and scattered about to thoroughly warm her bottom. “That’s three. A taste of the pleasure you crave.”

  Marginally satisfied, Chloe murmured her thanks.

  Master chuckled and rubbed her burning flesh. Then his cock, hard and pulsing, slid up and down the heated cleft. He’d never dared come this close to the ultimate prize before suiting up, and the sensation of his velvety, hot flesh on hers was almost too much. She was dangerously close to letting go, letting the orgasm take her.

  As if that weren’t enough to drive her wild, he changed the angle slightly, teasing her further by pressing that same hard, heated length to her slit. He rocked against her, and the engorged, petal-soft tip nudged her clit. She cried out and wiggled her hips, trying desperately to assuage the ache. For one infinitesimal second, that magnificent tip centered on her moist entrance. Her breath hitched. Her heart stopped.

  “Fuck,” he whispered at her ear. “I want to claim you, slave. Skin-to-skin, I want to fuck you and fill this pussy with my cum until it overflows.”

  Chloe bit her lip and groaned. God, yes, she wanted that, too.

  Rules, she fought to remember. For her safety and his.

  Thank God he also managed to hold on to one final thread of logic. He eased back with a curse, and she heard the telltale rip of foil.

  “I’m going to slide my cock in that dripping pussy now, my slave.”

  She braced for his penetration, fearing it would sever the last ties of her control. His hands caressed her hips, and the now-sheathed tip once again nudged her moist center. He surged into her, chanting, “Come for me, baby. Now, now, now.”

  The orgasm exploded in her pussy, and she screamed. He pumped his hips, pounding and pounding and pounding away. The aftershock of the first orgasm blended into the next, and he just kept hammering away.

  Their bodies were slick and trembling. She felt the drops of his sweat pepper her spine, felt the rivulets crisscrossing her damp skin. His pace became measured, and her reward came with each slow, deep, long thrust. By the time he reached seven slaps—the remainder--she was whimpering and shaking and urging him for more.

  But he only caressed her stinging backside and pressed kisses to her shoulder as he finally found his own release. She felt every jerk and pulse of his cock as he emptied. “Such a treasure, my slave. Such a treasure.”

  * * * *

  Chloe met her reflection and revved up the pep talk while considering whether to add more gloss to her lips. The speech was nothing new. She’d said it all before, but then he showed up and touched her, put his mouth on her, and there was just no way to fight what her body wanted, no matter how great an
argument her mind made. He’d tied her up and had his way with her. He’d controlled her.

  He could and probably would try to do so again.

  And although she would love it, she would do better to fight it this time around.

  She would. She must.

  It was past time to make a clean break where Mr. Master and the Sawyers’ club was concerned. Her sanity, after all, was in peril. And she’d socked the substantial earnings away in a savings account that she hoped would carry her and Rachel through while she really, truly waited tables for Bonnie—no lies this time.

  This last night, tonight, Chloe firmly decided, would be the end. So long, super-hot sex with her stranger. Farewell to the unrequited fantasies starring the gorgeous, hard-bodied Jackson Sawyer.

  She’d call a moratorium on sex—even in her dreams—until she got a grip on the rest of her life and got over these ridiculous feelings for Jackson Sawyer.

  She wasn’t going to try to tell herself it would be easy, because deep down she knew it would be the hardest thing she’d ever done. Harder than admitting her marriage was a failed mess and filing for divorce. Harder than screwing up the courage to fill out a college application.

  But she’d survived those.

  She would survive this.

  Even though it felt like all the breath was being squeezed from her lungs.

  * * * *

  “Please tell me you’re joking. You have to be joking,” Jocelyn added, more to herself, Chloe thought, than to her. “Why in the world would you call it quits? Did you not say this was the best sex of your life? Ever?”

  “And the money is insanely fabulous. Yes, yes, I said it all. But sex isn’t everything.” Though, with her mystery man, it came darn close. “And money’s a necessary evil I now have under control. Or moderately under control.”

  “Maybe you have a fever.” Jocelyn put a hand to Chloe’s forehead. “You don’t feel feverish. And you don’t look sick. When you come out of that room, after Mr. Honey’s had his way with you, you look ready to leap tall buildings and conquer the world.”