She drank what was left in her glass and stood, waiting for me to do the same. Then she led the way to my bedroom, already beginning to undress as she walked down the hall. Dropping her clothes as she removed them, it was like following X-rated breadcrumbs. When she arrived at the foot of my bed, she turned, her hands in the waistband of her light-blue thong.
“On or off?” she asked.
“Uh…” Did she really expect me to be able to answer questions right now? Rubbing my palm over my hardening cock, I tried to figure out how I envisioned this going. “On.”
A quirk of her eyebrows and smile told me she liked that idea. She climbed onto the bed until she sat against the headboard.
“Now what?” she asked.
Now I utterly scandalize you. “One sec,” I murmured as I moved toward my closet, where I’d put the things we’d bought into one of my suitcases. We’d decided we’d be better off keeping them at my place since she’d get the most use out of them when we were together.
“Oh my God, do you have a treasure chest of sex toys in your closet?”
I panned slowly to see her leaning forward on the bed so she could peer into my closet. “What else was I supposed to do with them? Display them around the room?”
“It would bring a little something extra to your decorating style.”
“What’s wrong with my decorating?”
“Other than the complete and utter lack of it? Nothing.”
“Is this really what you want to argue about right now?”
“No, no, as you were,” she answered as she moved back into her original position, with her back against the headboard.
I looked through the contents until I found what I was looking for, and then I returned to the bed, placing the items beside her so she could see what I had planned.
“This okay with you?”
“Yup. Totally okay. Perhaps the okayest I’ve ever been.”
I laughed as I leaned over her so I could press a soft kiss to her lips. “There you go making up words again,” I murmured.
“Maybe it’s not the alcohol that has that effect on me. Maybe it’s you.”
Moving back so I could look down at her beautiful face and into her expressive eyes, I felt an affection for this witty, intelligent woman who would have men falling all over her once she realized her appeal. It was something a dating app could never capture or convey. There was an energy about her that people needed to feel to understand.
Isla was someone who needed to be experienced. Not sexually—though that was quite a bonus—but personally. I felt like a different man just hovering in her orbit: lighter and happier. And some lucky guy was going to get a lifetime full of that feeling one day. I hoped he’d know how fucking lucky he was.
Bending down, I pressed my lips to hers and she opened for me, letting my tongue tangle with hers until I found the will to pull back. I reached over and picked up the fuzzy handcuffs we’d bought and then gently took hold of one of her wrists. Hesitating for a second, I gave her time to decide this wasn’t what she wanted.
But there was no doubt or reserve anywhere on her face. Instead, she sank lower onto the bed so her back was flush against the mattress. Fastening the cuff to her wrist, I brought it over her head so I could thread the other end of the cuffs through the slats in my headboard. Once that was done, I closed the cuff around her other wrist.
She squirmed for a second, seemingly to find a comfortable position, and then gave a tug to test the strength of the cuffs. If she pulled hard enough, she might be able to break the thin slats, but they were strong enough for our purposes. Next, I took the blindfold we’d purchased and placed it over her eyes, lifting her head slightly to slide the string into place.
“Still the okayest you’ve ever been?” I asked, my voice pitched lower than I ever remembered hearing it.
“Yes.” Her answer was clear and concise. Consenting.
I moved back from the bed and let myself take her in. There she was, all spread out, willing and waiting for whatever came next. It was one of the biggest turn-ons I’d ever experienced.
The longer I looked, the more she began to fidget. It was as if she was anticipating what she knew was coming—the fact that she had no clue when it was coming was making her more restless and anxious.
Trying to move as noiselessly as possible, I picked up the feathers from the bed and slid them over my palm. As the soft tickles flickered across my skin, I knew I was going to enjoy watching them glide over her body.
To start, I let the feathers hover above her flat belly and brought them down just enough to make only the slightest contact with her. I slid them over toward her hip, loving the way her breath hitched and the goosebumps I left in my wake. Moving next to the inside of her knee, I gently skimmed the feathers up the inside of her thigh, over her panties, and then up all the way to her breasts, where I let them flutter over her nipples, making them hard and pebbled. When she was practically panting from my ministrations, her body unable to stay still, I removed the feathers from her body and waited.
She practically whined at the loss and began to writhe even harder, as if her body was seeking out contact with something, anything. When she’d calmed a bit, I began again, dancing the feather over the inside of her arm, down her torso, faintly brushing her breasts again as I passed them. There was no part of her body I hadn’t sensitized with the feathers.
Every time I picked up the feathers and brought them down somewhere new, she would shrink away from them before leaning into the soft caress it offered. It was like watching the tide roll in and out, a gentle sway that was hypnotic.
“Please,” she whimpered, arching her back in a way that sent her breasts higher, pushing them into where I swirled the feathers.
As hot as this was, and as much as I loved her giving me this much control, I was becoming overwhelmed with the need to touch her myself. To watch my fingers slide over her skin. To have her push up into my hands, craving the sensations I could bring her.
Eventually, I couldn’t hold back any longer, and I let my fingers pinch her nipple while I rubbed the feathers over her clit. Her gasp morphed into a moan that caused my dick to harden further. I took advantage of my unfettered access to her body to touch her everywhere. The feathers were soon forgotten as both of my hands paid homage to the exposed skin in front of me.
“Please,” she begged again. “Gray, please.”
“What do you need?” I asked right before I bent to suck her nipple into my mouth.
“Oh God. I—I need…I need you to fuck me. Hard.”
Hearing the dirty words from this beautiful woman was almost my undoing. My cock throbbed in my pants, and I worried for the first time since I was fourteen that I might accidentally come in my pants, since the time at the Bean couldn’t be chalked up to an accident. Quickly, I shucked my clothing and retrieved a condom from the drawer of my bedside table, rolling it down my length.
The bed dipped under my weight as I leaned on it to peel her thong down her legs. Then I climbed between her thighs and stared down at her, her hands still bound above her head, her eyes still covered by the mask.
“So beautiful,” I murmured as I brought my hands up her thighs until gripping the juncture between her legs and her pelvis.
She squirmed as if trying to inch my hands higher, but my grip stayed firm. “Goddammit, Gray, stop messing around and get inside of me.”
I chuckled at her whining order. Leaving her hanging for a bit longer was torture for both of us, but I managed until I couldn’t hold back any more. I leaned forward so that my cock slid into her crease, and I thrust against her, turning her into a babbling mess beneath me. Then, when I thought she was near tears from the torment, I lined myself up and slid home.
The tight heat of her body hugged my straining cock so perfectly, I had to wrestle myself back from the brink of orgasm. Once I had myself under control, I began thrusting, knowing this was likely to be over quickly for both of us. I circled my thumb on her
clit as I snapped my hips, driving forward into the soft wetness.
“Close,” she whispered.
I doubled my efforts, driving my cock as deep as I could until I felt her shudder and convulse on me. I continued to rub her clit and thrust into her in an effort to draw her orgasm out as long as it could go. When her body relaxed, I dropped both hands to her thighs and pushed into her three more times before my own release barreled through me. It was as though every muscle in my body locked up as I emptied into the condom.
My thrusts grew shallow as I attempted to wring every drop of my orgasm. Releasing her legs, I let myself fall forward onto my hands as I caught my breath.
When I could finally form coherent words, I asked, “So…what did you think of the feathers?”
She lifted her arm as best she could with the cuffs and gave me a thumbs-up sign before letting it go lax again as if the act of lifting it had zapped what remaining energy she’d possessed.
“A-plus,” she said, her voice sounding still slightly out of breath. “No room for improvement.”
Chuckling, I bent down to give her a soft kiss on her lips and released her from the handcuffs. “No room for improvement? That actually sounds like a challenge.”
A smile spread across her lips, and she reached up and put her hands on my cheeks. Drawing me down so she could kiss me, she said, “Bring it on.”
Chapter Fifteen
ISLA
Hunter had texted me the day after we met and asked if I would like to get together with him for coffee or a drink. Since I was already nervous about the prospect of going on a date with someone I could actually be interested in, I figured adding alcohol to that mix could be disastrous for me. So I’d said coffee would be great and that I knew just the place. We were meeting at the Bean in two hours. Plenty of time to get ready and make it over there.
Except for the fact that I was freaking the hell out.
“I seriously don’t get you,” Liv said from where she lay sprawled on her stomach atop my bed. “You weren’t nervous before your other dates. At least you know this guy isn’t an ax murderer.”
“How would I know that?” I muttered as I dug around for a suitable outfit.
“God, you’re so literal. I just mean that you’re not going into this one totally blind. You know he’s attractive. And that he’s a guy, which is a step in the right direction.”
“Honestly, I wish I was bi. Girl Hunter had a lot to offer.” My voice sounded wistful even to my own ears. “I need a whole new wardrobe. Like, what even is my sense of style?”
“Do you want me to actually answer that, or…?”
“No, just…shh. Let me have my breakdown in peace.”
“Put on a maxi dress and call it a day. It’s just coffee.”
But it wasn’t just coffee. It was potentially my last first date. This could be the turning point of my entire life. Years from now, when I told the story of this night to our hypothetical children, I wanted to speak about how it was love at first sight…or second sight in our case. I wanted the story to be full of magic and fairy tales. An unbreakable bond formed over coffee and possibly a blueberry muffin. It would be the stuff of legends.
Jesus Christ, I’m really losing it. “I need to make a call,” I said abruptly as I left my closet and practically ran into the bathroom.
“Don’t cancel on him!” Liv yelled behind me.
Slamming the door shut, I leaned against it and found the number I needed.
“Hey, aren’t you—”
“I don’t have clothes,” I blurted out, not caring that I’d interrupted Gray or made no sense. He wouldn’t care about either one.
“Okay,” he said, drawing out the first syllable. “I feel like that’s an exaggeration since I have seen you in clothes on numerous occasions. Though seeing you without them is definitely my preference. But maybe you want to save nudity for at least date three.”
“I don’t… What do I wear?”
“You realize you’re smoking hot, right? You could wear a burlap sack and it would look good.”
“Don’t be sweet right now. I need honesty.”
“First of all, don’t call me sweet. I’m not a puppy. Second, I’m always honest.”
I knew this to be true, but it wasn’t helping me right now. “I need you to agree that I have no clothes and therefore cannot go on this date. God, why can’t you be more supportive?”
“Supportive of your neuropathy?”
“Yes.”
“Isla, what’s going on? This isn’t you. You’re one of the most confident people I know.”
“You must not know many people,” I mumbled. When he didn’t respond, I continued. “I’m confident about doing my job and being a good person and useless crap like that. This dating stuff is way out of my scope.”
“You’ve been going on dates for months.”
“But those were doomed to fail.” As the words left my mouth, I was overwhelmed by how true they were. I walked into those meetings already believing they weren’t going to work out. It wasn’t a conscious thought, but it colored all the dates just the same. Feeling like I was risking nothing had made it easy to interact with those men—and woman—but now I felt bad that I hadn’t given them more of a chance. “I’m a bad person.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a great person who has had to play a safe game for most of your adult life because someone else was depending on you. But this, jeopardizing your time and maybe your heart, is risky. It makes sense that it scares you a little.”
“A lot. It scares me a lot.” Tears prickled my eyes. Of course Gray got it. He always got me.
“That’s totally normal. But you can’t let that fear stop you. You’re going on that date if I have to come over there and tickle you out of the house with those feathers.”
My laughter sounded wet as it came out through the tears slipping down my cheeks. “Are you going to be there?”
“I was planning on it. Unless you’d rather I didn’t.” His voice sounded unsure, and I rushed to alleviate his concern.
“No, no, I want you there. I was just making sure.” When I’d originally invited him, it was because I’d wanted him to get the opportunity to sketch the date. But now the thought of him not being there made my stomach hurt.
“Then I’ll be there.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Good.” I heard the smile in his voice, and it was enough to convince me that I could do this.
We said quick goodbyes, and I hung up, lowering my phone and moving so I could see myself in the mirror. “Okay, Isla,” I said to my reflection. “You got this. You are a dating ninja with voodoo skills, and none of what’s coming out of your mouth makes any sense, but it doesn’t even matter because it’s just a date and everything will be fine.”
Giving myself a final nod, I left the bathroom and returned to my bedroom, where my sister had pulled out a casual yellow-and-blue striped dress with white sandals.
“What do you think of this?” she asked.
“It’s perfect.”
GRAYSON
As I walked down the sidewalk toward the Bean, my messenger bag slapping against my thigh, I found myself more anxious than eager. Normally, there was a thrum of excitement in finding out who Isla had agreed to a coffee date with, to see that person and sketch him and, well, judge him. Or her.
But this time felt different. It had started with her nerve-racked phone call, though I had to admit, my reticence had been there even before I’d had to talk her down from the metaphorical ledge. Isla was excited for this date, even if she was driving herself batshit crazy in preparation for it. And her excitement made me…less so. Which was bullshit. She deserved better from me than that.
Throwing open the door of the coffeehouse, I hoped for the best. Then I ordered a cappuccino, waited while they made it, and then took my normal seat by the far wall. Scanning the room, I didn’t see anyone I thought could be this Hunter character unless Isla had grown a penchant for pau
nchy, balding men or had decided to try her luck with more women. I was thankful my seat gave me a full view of the door so I’d be able to see this guy arrive.
Removing my sketchbook and a pencil from my bag, I opened to a fresh page and attempted to look busy while I really watched the door obsessively with only my peripheral vision. I had only arrived about ten minutes early, so unless he was a scumbag who showed up late to first dates, he’d be here any minute.
No sooner had I mentally called the guy a scumbag than a blond Adonis walked into the Bean. For fuck’s sake, is this Hunter? The guy looked like he should be in a magazine, with his tailored slacks and lavender polo. Seriously, what kind of guy could pull off a lavender polo? I would’ve looked like I belonged in a Crayola box if I’d put that thing on. I watched Hunter scan the room, and when he didn’t see Isla, he settled in a seat toward the front of the place.
I hadn’t formed a contingency plan for what would happen if Isla didn’t get there first and pick her normal seat. Now Hunter’s back was to me so he could face the door, and I found myself irrationally irritated with him for messing up our normal arrangement.
It dawned on me that I almost considered Isla and me as a team against her dates. Well, against was maybe a strong word, but that sentiment remained the same.
I’d seemed to lose sight along the way somewhere that I was the actual third party in all this. Isla was trying to make a go of it with one of these guys, and I was the creep who drew them striking out. My sketches weren’t the core goal of these dates—at least not for her. Jesus, I was a real fucking narcissist sometimes.
While I sat here mentally berating myself, I heard the chime above the door sound, and I watched Isla walk in. I wished I could’ve seen Hunter’s face when she arrived. Wished I could’ve made sure he was as taken with her as she deserved to be. Maybe that was a superficial thought, but whatever.
Isla walked in and noticed Hunter almost immediately, her eyes lighting up and a smile spreading across her face. I thought I saw her gaze dart to me, but that might have been wishful thinking. They did an awkward dance when she reached him, a should-we-hug-should-we-shake-hands kind of waltz that was endearing in its lack of coordination. She laughed brightly and they hugged—a brief, friendly infiltration of personal space—before he gestured toward the counter, no doubt asking what she wanted to drink.
Misadventures with a Sexpert Page 11