Three Simple Rules (The Blindfold Club Book 1)

by Nikki Sloane

  “Fuck,” he whispered. His hands pushed my hair back to give him a better view. I tried to take him as deep as I could, and as I drew up, I sucked hard, hollowing my cheeks. This earned me a whole slew of profanities, but they were all encouraging.

  “You’ve got a dirty mouth, boss,” I said.

  “Stop talking and focus on your task.” Again, no clue if it was a half-joke or completely serious.

  I started slowly, just my mouth and suction, and graduated to moving my tongue around, licking him from the base all the way to the ridge beneath the head. His hand not holding my hair back was splayed out on his thigh, and I watched his fingers curl into a fist and then flex back out.

  That was what I wanted. That tiny signal that maybe I could make him feel as out of control as he made me. I wrapped my hand tight around the part I couldn’t fit in my mouth and dragged my grip up, then back down, following with my mouth. It took no time for his dick and my hand to be coated in saliva.

  He took shallow, quick breaths, watching me through hooded eyes. “Yeah, just like that.” Over and over again I moved, sometimes twisting my grip or letting my teeth ever so gently skim over him.

  “Fucking shit,” he groaned. “Do you have blowjobs . . . on your résumé . . . under special skills? I’ll give you a recommendation.” I wanted to laugh or flash him a smug smile, but his hips moved to match my pace, urging me to go faster. I did, and his breathing grew more uneven and desperate.

  “Evelyn, fuck, you have to stop.”

  I wanted to hear it and kept my grip moving on him. “Why?”

  “You’ll make me come.”

  I used the most seductive voice I had. “Maybe I want that.”

  But the power I held over him wasn’t as great when I was using my hands, and I could feel it slipped back to him.

  “That’s not what I want.” It was almost a growl from him. “Stand up.”

  I was independent and strong, and raised not to take orders from anyone. Yet, his orders made me shudder, made heat pool in my body, flowing toward the junction of my thighs. I put my hands on his knees and raised myself up so I stood between his legs.

  His hand went to the pocket of his pants nearby, fishing out a condom packet and tearing it open. I watched long fingers expertly roll it on. He slipped his hands around my waist, dragging his tongue on the skin just above my panties. Fingers slipped under the fabric, easing one side down over my hipbone, and his hot mouth followed.

  “Logan,” I whispered. Hearing his name on my lips did something to him. Like it snapped the control he had on himself, if only for a second, but it was so worth it to see him come undone. His hands yanked my panties down.

  “Come here,” he said, snaking an arm behind my back and pulling me down on him, one leg on either side and his dick right at my entrance. “I want to be inside you.”

  Yes, I wanted that too. I lowered down on him, taking just the tip in, and I had to bite my lip. Would my body ever get used to him? His hands were on my hips, but helping to hold me there, not pressing me down on him.

  While my body was adjusting, he set his face in the crook of my neck and began kissing me, working his way up. Toward my mouth, where he knew he wasn’t allowed. I took another inch inside, gasping against the protest my body made.

  It always felt so good, that first time he was completely inside me and, wanting to prolong it, I continued to move an inch at a time.

  “Fuck, you’re making me crazy.” It rang out on his tortured voice.

  His lips wandered over my cheek, over my chin, the base of my throat. Everywhere but where I wanted them and denied them.

  As usual, Logan Stone was right. I was going to cave long before he did. I wrapped my arms around him, setting them on his shoulders, and sank down all the way. Pleasure was immediate. The grind of my body against his created a sharply focused need, growing more acute when he guided me up and back down on him. Again, and again.

  “Oh my god,” I murmured, my head falling onto my arms banded on his shoulder.

  I felt his fingertips skirt across my back, releasing the bra clasp, and slip the straps off my shoulders.

  “I want to see all of you,” his voice was hushed. Tender.

  I uncrossed my arms and let him pull the bra hurriedly away, the straps tangling briefly on my arms as they went. I think he’d had plans of another marathon session with lots of dirty talk, but apparently I’d changed his course simply by uttering his name. This wasn’t fucking.

  It was something else completely.

  His hands were everywhere, caressing me, stroking me, making me tremble. I moved faster on him, my mouth planting kisses on his neck, sucking on his earlobe. His soft hair was in my hands when he locked his mouth around my nipple, swirling his tongue and using the slightest hint of teeth.

  I pulled his head to mine, trying to put my lips on his, but he turned away from it.

  “I’m not going to break your rule,” he said, his voice broken. His eyes were intense and spoke volumes. He wanted that connection as badly as I did.

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  “Then make me come,” I pleaded.

  “I can do that.” His hand drifted between our bodies, touching the hard knot just above our union. His other hand wrapped on the back of my neck, holding me to him so our foreheads were touching, our lips only a breath away. He watched me intently, gauging each tiny reaction to what he was doing, watching my cues so he could send me over the edge.

  “Yes,” I gasped, “Yes, oh my god, yes.”

  Pleasure exploded inside me, radiating outward. I writhed and bucked on top of him, his hands holding me to him as I trembled through my orgasm.

  “Fuck, Evelyn.” He was coming, pulsing and throbbing inside me, his hands so tight on me it was almost painful. My head rolled forward, resting on his heaving shoulders.

  “I didn’t know you were close,” I said, catching my breath.

  “I always get really close when you come.”

  I lifted my head up and glared down into his face.

  “Why,” I asked, “did we wait so long to start doing this?”

  An enormous grin spread on his face. It was good I’d already come, because the sight of it probably would have made me.

  “I guess you’re not upset I took the blindfold off, huh?”

  chapter

  ELEVEN

  Tuesday morning I passed by his office without turning my head to see if he was in. His light was on and his door was open, and I knew eventually I’d see him. I’d decided on my train ride in that this would be another game. Who would be better at pretending we didn’t have nasty, dirty sex in his office or crazy-passionate sex on my couch yesterday? I was determined it would be me.

  Before leaving my place last night, Logan had casually told me that as his girlfriend now, rule three was always in effect. Even if he wasn’t around. So if I wanted rub one out real quick before going to sleep, I’d have to call or text him and ask permission.

  I’d laughed, but of course, he wasn’t kidding. My second response was to tell him the rule applied to him as well. The joke was on me when I got my first-ever text message from my boyfriend at ten minutes after midnight, an hour after I’d fallen asleep.

  I hadn’t thought this through. He was a guy, which meant he was going to be blowing up my phone every time he jerked off, which I knew guys did frequently.

  But . . . I kind of liked it. Knowing he would always have to think of me whenever he was close to coming. I gave him permission last night, but what would happen if I said no next time, denied his orgasm? Would he drive right over to my place and demand I give him what he wanted? What would happen if he said no . . . to me? Oh, shit, this was going to be fun.

  I heated my lunch in the break room and was working on the GoodFood business card design when my phone chimed with a text message from Logan.

  I chuckled to myself. Yes, I did.

  At four-fifteen I retrieved my proofs of the GoodFood rebra
nd from the color printer, and marched them into Logan’s office.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  He looked at me like he couldn’t remember my name. Always the actor.

  “Proofs?” He cleared the paperwork on his desk to make room for them.

  This was our first test on whether or not we could keep our personal feelings compartmentalized. I set the sheet down on the desktop, my eyes watching his. He scanned it quickly.

  “Thank you so much for wasting the ink in the color printer.” He shoved the proof back at me, displeasure verging on disgust. He thought this was a joke. I held my face steady and pressed my lips together, and the color drained from his face. “This is a real proof?” In his shock, his gaze went back to the artwork and searched for something redeeming. He came up empty.

  “Evelyn, this is terrible.”

  My face widened into a smile. “I’m sorry I wasted the ink, but I had to know you wouldn’t hold back.” I put the real proof down on top of it.

  He looked pissed-off. And relieved. “You’ve worked with me long enough, you should know I don’t do that. Not here.”

  I felt my face flush.

  He evaluated the proof critically but said he liked the direction I’d taken with it and sent me back with some changes he’d like to see before presenting it. I’d been at my desk less than a minute when I got his text message.

  I took the train home. I was turning into a full-on addict around him, so some space might not be a bad thing. God help me, I cleaned my apartment. I actually hung clothes up and put the dishes away, which did make the place seem a little bigger and distracted me while I waited for his call like a desperate teenage girl. At nine forty-five I changed into a tank top and cotton pajama pants, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed, the phone beside my pillow. I wasn’t a morning person in the slightest, which meant I had to force myself into bed early so I could tolerate waking up at six thirty.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad now that I’d see him every day.

  His call came right at ten o’clock. “Hey, sorry, dinner ran really long.” He sounded like he was walking.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You’re just heading home now?”

  There was the sound of a car door slamming shut and the engine starting. “We’re going to need to get our story straight.”

  “What?”

  “They asked a lot of questions, like how we met, how long we’ve been together. If you want kids.”

  “Interrogated you, did they?” I hoped he could hear the smile in my voice.

  “You think they won’t do it to you? Think again. Yours will be worse.”

  “So what did you tell them, boss?”

  “I tried not to lie,” he said. “I told them we work together, but I didn’t mention I was your manager. I said we’ve been dating a few months. Okay?”

  “It’s fine, I guess.” It’s not like we’d never met before this past Saturday; we’d been working together for over two years. “What about children? Do I want them?” I loved that he was forced to reveal this information, because everything about him screamed he wouldn’t give it up easily.

  “Yeah,” he said, “you do. Which reminds me, are you on the pill?”

  “Yes.” Why was he asking? “Did something happen last night that I—”

  “No, no. I wanted to ask how you’d feel about maybe not using condoms.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know how I felt about that. It wasn’t something I’d done before. Didn’t he say he’d slept with thirty women before me?

  He must have sensed the question in my hesitation. “I’ll get tested and prove I’m good, even if you want to keep using them.”

  “I can do the same.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” he said quickly.

  “No, it’s only fair.”

  “No.” His voice was tight. “I’ve already seen your test results.”

  Of course, at the club. What smart man would drop twelve grand without checking the quality of the product? “Right.” Since he couldn’t see my face, I cringed a little.

  “Hey, whatever you’re comfortable with, I am too.”

  The idea of having nothing between us was appealing. “If you can show me it’s safe, I guess we could try it.”

  “I’d like that a lot. You will, too.” His voice sounded like sin.

  My hand wandered down to the silk tie at the waist of my pants, toying with it. “So, tell me about last night.”

  “What about it?”

  “We had sex twice yesterday. Wasn’t enough for you?”

  He made a noise, sort of like a laugh. “It was, trust me. But when I got home, I saw the bottle of wine from the club, and even after I’d put it away . . . I got really fucking hard thinking about it.”

  I shuddered and undid the silk knot keeping my pants closed.

  “Which part?” A wicked smile curled on my lips. “Be specific.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In bed.” I heard a car horn honk in the background, signifying he was still stuck in traffic.

  “You mean, in the closet. Ironic, don’t you think, given what you did to that girl at the club?”

  My fingers crept inside my panties. “That wasn’t exactly my idea.”

  “No, I suppose it wasn’t. But, shit, it was so fucking hot. Are you touching yourself?” He asked it like he already knew the answer.

  “Maybe.”

  “Naughty girl. I wish I could come over right now and help.”

  I stifled a moan when my fingers circled, teasing myself. “Why don’t you?”

  “It’s late, and traffic’s a bitch. You’ll have to wait until I can do it right.”

  My fingers moved faster, becoming slick in my arousal, and I didn’t bother to quiet this moan. I closed my eyes, wanting to listen to his sexy voice. Hearing him without seeing him was a lovely reminder of our time with the blindfold.

  “You should probably stop now,” he said, hushed. “I won’t give you permission to come when you ask.”

  “What?” My hand stilled. “Why?”

  “Because of how awful that first proof was,” he said. “You’re okay to enjoy yourself, but don’t break our rule. I promise you, I’ll know if you do.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You’re welcome to test me.”

  He was infuriating and intoxicating, and I loved every second of our back-and-forth. I pulled my hand away and tied the pants closed, my body muttering a protest.

  “Fine,” I said. “I stopped.”

  He chuckled. “Good girl.”

  The rest of the week dragged. Getting to see Logan at work but not afterward was torture, and today, Friday, I didn’t see him at all. He had to use the day as vacation to help with last-minute wedding preparations and drive out to Arlington Heights to pick up his tux. We’d talked every night, but as Friday drew closer, those conversations were later and shorter.

  He’d refused me all goddamn week, and yesterday I’d barely kept myself from breaking the rule. I was beginning to hate this, and when he asked permission to come himself, I told him to fuck off. He hinted I was only making it worse on myself.

  I’d gotten approval, from him of course, to leave work early at four and take the blue line out to Arlington Heights. I changed awkwardly in the microscopic and filthy bathroom on the train into a gray and yellow sheath dress with yellow heels.

  He was waiting against his BMW at the Arlington Park racetrack, which was right on the other side of my train stop, wearing a gray suit with a black shirt beneath it, made casual with two buttons open. We didn’t say anything to each other as I walked toward his car and he straightened. He opened the passenger-side door for me, and then buried his face in my neck, kissing me there since he still hadn’t answered my question from Monday.

  “Missed you today at the office, boss,” I murmured.

  “I bet. Did Jamie get any work done?”

  “I’m sure she put in as good of an effort as usual.”


  When he was this close, I could smell his subtle cologne, and it made my knees go weak.

  “You have no idea,” he whispered in my ear, “how good you look to me. I suggest you get in the car before I bend you over the hood.”

  When I looked in his eyes, I was sure this was not an empty threat.

  Paper crinkled underneath me when I sat, and I pulled it out, scanning it. My mouth went dry. He got into the driver’s seat and gave me a coy smile.

  “That copy’s yours, for your records.” He feigned seriousness.

  I folded the test results once, twice, and then once more, sliding it into my purse. My face felt like it was on fire. Bareback, I believe the term is? That’s what his test results had cleared him for.

  Like the night he’d taken me to his place, once the car was in gear, his right hand went to rest comfortably on my knee, his hand just under the edge of my skirt. I liked it, but it was a thousand degrees in his car and the heat of his hand wasn’t helping.

  “I should probably warn you,” he said, reading my mind and rolling up the windows, turning on the air conditioning, “my family may be a bit overly excited to meet you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I didn’t bring home too many of my past girlfriends, so taking you as my date gives the impression things are pretty serious between us.”

  Weren’t they? He’d paid a rather large amount of money to have me. I knew how he meant it, though. There may be lots of personal questions as his family tried to discern whether or not I was worthy if Logan decided I was The One. It’s exactly what my aunts and uncles did to my past boyfriends.

  Oh my god, I bet Logan would have them eating out of the palm of his hand in no time.

  “Should I be nervous? Because, don’t worry, I am.” I was dreading facing Susan again.

  “Don’t be, there’s nothing to worry about. Worrying is strictly my mom’s territory, she’s got that covered for you. Now, I like Hilary a lot. But her family?” he said, referring to the bride. “They’re fucking crazy.”

  He gave me a quick course in family history. The groom, Nick, was two years younger than Logan. Their parents had married young and divorced when Logan was ten, and four years later his mother had remarried. Logan’s half-brother, Garrett, was a junior in high school.