The Braille Club (The Braille Club #1)

by J. A. Kerr

  Benedict lost all sense of time as he slid his hands over the bare skin of her back and down the slippery richness of her short silk dress. Her body was fluid next to him; moving, teasing, touching up against him while their eyes locked.

  The tension between them building, Benedict was shocked by his response to her. The intensity between them was palpable. She twisted away, and his body jolted with the loss of contact before she was back in his arms, her eyes closed, swaying and dancing in time to the beat. She leant in again, smiling as she linked her arms around his neck before tilting her head back. The Swarovski crystal on the long gold chain between her breasts caught the light as it bounced wildly around her neck, and he was lost in this new sensation.

  Aroused, he could see the hint of her nipples as they clung to the silk of her halter neck dress and realised he wanted to touch them. He wanted to slip his hands inside her dress and caress her. Breathing hard, he suddenly wanted to kiss her very badly, to kiss the damp bronzed skin between her breasts, exposed and glistening, and then kiss the length of her elegant neck. His gaze travelled down her body, admiring her long tanned legs in her sandaled heels and imagined kissing them too. Benedict was startled as he experienced a rush of pure desire.

  “Do I know you?” he asked, dazed, something tantalising stirred in his memory.

  She gazed at him, smiling before twisting away, and he lost sight of her in the crowd of throbbing dancers. Benedict stood there reeling, racking his brains. He felt he knew her, but not recognising her face, he must be mistaken, but something was niggling. Frustrated it wouldn’t come to him, it was several more minutes before he plunged through the crowd in search of her.

  Chapter 3

  THE BRAILLE CLUB

  Braille Club, London, Present Day: Braille Club rules stipulate no member can activate their keys more than twice in one week. This builds up member anticipation as they wait impatiently for their next delicious booking. Hopelessly hooked, they are frantic; it’s what keeps them coming back for more.

  The two levels of membership in The Braille Club are granted according to a complex approval system. All Key Holders have access to one zone of their choosing, but only E Key Holders have access to all. This creates a certain rivalry amongst members. Whispered rumours cause heightened curiosity; a curiosity that for most will remain unsatisfied.

  Benedict stiffened as he listened to the music playing on Guy’s laptop as he worked on zone playlists. Whenever he heard that song, it took him back to the party in Marbella and the game he’d played. The tune, “Wicked Games” by Chris Isaak, his host’s little joke, always evoked a reaction. The events of that night were still crystal clear in his memory. Twenty-two at the time, the party had given him hope. Hope he might feel, hope one day he could perhaps love. Just a game to the others, but for Benedict, an idea was forming.

  The whole experience made him engage more, although he accepted these emotions should be second nature. He realised his ‘friends,’ a loose description of the people he allowed to interact with him, would have no trouble forming such emotions. He had attracted a lot of attention from women while studying at University and the guys on his course quickly realised he was a definite asset to have around. They regularly dated ‘Benedict’s Girls,’ as they called them, girls happy to oblige if it got them closer to the elusive Benedict. The more he ignored them, the more they seemed to want him.

  The Braille party changed him, and now he couldn’t get enough of them. He kept thinking about that night, those sensations and that kiss. Indebted to Will, it was only after the darkness he’d found his way to the light.

  Years of shutting down his emotions to cope with his life had taken its toll. He felt nothing most of the time and studied his friends with renewed interest, confused when a fellow student wept as he earned his degree. Benedict couldn’t understand his tears but with unusual insight did not voice his thoughts. His closest friend was Matt, although had you asked Matt he would have laughed to be called a friend.

  ***

  Matt

  “Benedict, a friend—are you joking?” scoffed Matt. “He barely tolerates me.” Yet he sensed Benedict favoured him. This knowledge brought its own pressures. Matt tried to be like Benedict, letting nothing get to him. He attempted to act like the cool guy he so obviously wasn’t, to bond with him. Unable to keep it up, he failed the test when his girlfriend dumped him, the effect like a blow to the head and ego. Especially when he found out another guy was involved.

  The combination of alcohol and low self-esteem led to him pouring out his heart to Benedict, of all people. A sad state, as you never knew if Benedict was even listening. He always seemed a bit distracted, a bit distant. Matt realised he was listening as Benedict’s closed face showed both surprise and anger, before his mask slipped back into place. He had been different since his return from holiday, still distant but somehow more present. Matt had never seen Benedict lose control, nothing seemed to touch him. He didn’t get nervous at exams; he didn’t get drunk at parties; he was a complete enigma.

  ***

  Benedict

  Puzzled by Matt’s distress, Benedict strived to help his friend without understanding there was no solution. He forgot the solution to pain was time. Time would heal the psyche; time would heal the heart, and only time would provide a distraction. Perhaps in the form of a new girlfriend who would love Matt and make everything that was previously wrong, right.

  Benedict did not understand or reconcile himself to his friend’s heartache because he'd no experience of it himself. He didn’t do girlfriends, but equally he was no stranger to betrayal, he had his stepmother to thank for that. As he did not involve himself with his friends’ peripheral lives, he did not know Matt’s girlfriend. Probably a good thing, with the awakening of Benedict’s emotions, he now registered anger.

  After he graduated, Benedict spent the next few years working around the clock to build up his architectural business. He started small, working from a tiny office. Although financially secure, his inheritance did not allow access to large sums of money, so he budgeted well, rapidly gaining a reputation for outstanding design and personal service.

  Bold and aggressive, he would bid on large projects that he didn’t get, but dogged determination meant he didn’t give up, and he started winning some smaller contracts. His business went from strength to strength. He moved out of his tiny office into larger premises. Something else drove Benedict. The kiss and whose lips they belonged to consumed him, and he returned to Marbella again and again, with no success. He enquired about the villa, but it was on the market after the death of its owner. Contacting Will, he asked if he knew of a different venue, but his friend didn’t, he thought the whole thing had stopped with the death of their host. This forced Benedict to take matters into his own hands. Again he was to start small until at last he achieved his goal.

  Chapter 4

  THE BRAILLE CLUB

  Braille Club, London, Present Day: The Braille Membership Card is finished in high gloss cream. It feels substantial when you pick it up and it comes with a protective case. Completely blank except for a series of dots, it has a small chip in the top right-hand corner. The centre is cut out like a buckle. This accommodates the black ribbon wound around its centre that protects the bell nestled beneath. A little part of The Braille Club members can take home to use together, in private with their very own set of rules.

  Benedict sat staring at The Braille Club’s complex booking system on his computer and smiled. They were at full capacity, and membership was now closed. With a substantial waiting list, he had unusually granted a night pass for a special guest. Having done it before, these visitors paid an exorbitant price for the privilege of one night only but they seemed to think it was worth it. Busy searching for new locations, he had hardly been in London over the last few weeks. But London was his first base. It’s where he’d started and would always have a special place in his heart, he realised with surprise. He did not form attachments but was
pleased he had in this case. With plans for a global business and more Braille Clubs; he knew the demand was there.

  He considered his special royal guest. Royalty through his doors. He had, in fact, contemplated turning down the request due to the security risk. His guest wanted complete anonymity, to enjoy the experience without the ever present body guards. Tricky, but that was his guest’s problem. Elysian would guarantee privacy; after all he’d had guests just as illustrious in his club before. He picked up his phone and asked his secretary to schedule a meeting with Guy.

  Guy ran The Braille Club and Harrison’s. Ex-police and an IT expert, he benefited from a super-efficient and well-trained team behind him. Strict but fair, he expected the best from his staff. His standards were high and staff that didn’t perform didn’t last long. But those who did were rewarded. He built his team utilising a broad and diverse skill set until, through a process of elimination, he had the best.

  Although initially surprised by Braille, he was behind many of its unique features. Collaboration with others had produced the vibrating keys, the timed security code, the computer booking system and all the sensory equipment they used.

  Knowing how unique the equipment was, Benedict had patents for them all. His members wanted to purchase them and although tempted, he knew it would affect the business. This exclusivity had members booking and begging for more. His office was above The Braille Club with direct access via a private elevator. Most members didn’t know Benedict, as Guy was the face of his London Club. Guy was his right hand man and ran both clubs simultaneously, but operated different management systems. He managed both with precision and professionalism under Benedict’s direction. Benedict wanted it to stay that way; he had his reasons. Although he had a successful architectural business, the private members club had always been his personal obsession, and it was all down to Siena.

  Marbella, 2012.

  They met in Marbella, his attraction to her instantaneous. Used to women responding to him, he became aware she was different. Siena was the most beautiful woman Benedict had ever laid eyes on, but that’s not why he wanted her.

  Desire for a woman was a new and unusual experience for him. Women had come to him his whole life. His looks meant he didn’t even have to try; in fact, he had never pursued a girl. He was about to go into uncharted territory and felt apprehensive. They’d had an intense connection that night in Puerto Banus, their dancing erotic and he had been entranced, until she disappeared. He’d pushed through the crowd in search of her, but she was gone. He gave up looking after ten minutes, the club crazy busy as he walked slowly to the bar. As he approached, the bartender started to pour him a whisky.

  “This is for you sir, compliments of the lady: Macallan Single Malt; she hopes you like it.”

  “But where is she?” Benedict demanded.

  The bartender shrugged. “I was told to give you this card.”

  Benedict regarded the A5 card in his hand; it was cream with a thick black ribbon wrapped around it, a bell at the centre. It tinkled as he lifted the card. A familiar scent surrounded him as he brought the card to his nose and drank in the smell. His memory prickled again tantalisingly. He sighed in frustration before smiling, the effect startling Matt, whom he had abandoned earlier but who stood with him now at the bar.

  Matt whistled. “Wow, that girl might have found a chink in your armour. Benedict Harrison on the dance floor, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  Benedict scowled but said nothing. They left shortly afterwards. After a short and silent cab journey to their hotel, both men seemed relieved to be heading to their rooms.

  “Benedict, I’m sorry if I was out of line,” said Matt quietly

  “I’m just tired, Matt,” replied Benedict, his face drawn.

  Opening his door, Matt paused. “Yeah, me too. Well, good night.”

  Benedict lay awake, staring at the card on the bedside cabinet, thinking about the girl he’d danced with. Something familiar about her bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He hadn’t seen her before, he would have remembered her face; she was stunning. No, it wasn’t that; he picked up the card, and the bell tinkled again. He hadn’t heard it before with the noise of the club, and combined with the perfume wafting up from the card…he froze. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he had never forgotten. Then his phone started to ring.

  Astonished he stared at his mobile, his mind racing when he saw the number was withheld. Benedict, obsessively private, realised only a handful of people had his number. He breathed out as his phone went to voicemail and then beeped; saying he now had one new message. He checked his watch; it was after three a.m., so who on earth was calling him? Lifting the phone to his ear, he punched in his voicemail.

  “You have one new message,” said the electronic voice. “Press one for messages.” Benedict pushed the number one digit on his phone and listened. There was only music; it was familiar, with its slow sensuous beat and sexy rhythms, and Benedict was back in that room. He closed his eyes, shivering with the memory and jumped as his phone started to ring again. Fascinated now, he took the call.

  “I want you to do exactly what I tell you, if you ask any questions I’ll hang up,” said the silky voice. “I want you to put me on speaker phone.” Benedict hesitated but felt his pulse start to quicken.

  “Okay,” his throat was dry as he did as she asked.

  “Do you still have my card?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Please unwind the ribbon from the card.” She waited several minutes before continuing. “Once you have the ribbon in your hand you will see it is joined, pull it apart now.” Benedict pulled, and the ribbon came apart.

  “Now lie back on the bed and secure your hands.”

  The first elasticated ribbon parted revealing two loops that he slipped onto his left hand and then onto his right. Tight and secure, the bell tinkled in response to his movements.

  “Now place the second ribbon over your head and eyes.”

  Heart thumping, he fumbled with the second elasticated ribbon. It was more difficult with the cuffs on, but they did stretch allowing him to fold it out and clumsily pull it over his eyes. Although rudimental, it did the job, and he was plunged into darkness. Her voice soon orientated him.

  “Do you remember the rules?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, refresh my memory,” said Benedict, breathing harder now.

  “You must not remove your blindfold, and of course, you must not speak,” said the voice sternly. Benedict held his breath.

  “Are you ready to play?”

  Benedict knew better than to reply, and it seemed like an eternity before she spoke again.

  “Good, let us begin. I want you to picture me undressing in front of you. I am untying my dress that is sticking to my body, and letting it drop to the floor. Naked underneath, my skin glistens with moisture.”

  Benedict’s mind filled with images of Siena, her naked back, her long legs, the swell of her breasts—his breath quickened.

  “I want you to picture me close to you. I want you to feel the heat of me and the smell of me. My finger is covered in lip balm. It is soft and slippery and sweet.” She gave out a little sigh. “Imagine my fingertips softly brushing against your mouth. They trace around and around your bottom lip, going back and forth.”

  Benedict started to bite his lip as her voice continued.

  “I put on more balm, it feels so nice. I’m moving my fingertips to your top lip now. Moving them slowly, exploring its contours as they glide back and forth. They are swollen and slippery now. I can’t resist, so I pop my fingertip into your mouth and brush your tongue. It’s so soft and moist and hot.” Her voice is huskier now. Benedict let out a soft moan.

  “I am pushing my finger further into your mouth. Can you feel me?” She gasped. “Oh yes, you are so wet and slippery. That feels sooo good—do you want to suck me?” she panted. “Please, I want you to suck me hard!”

&nb
sp; Agitated, Benedict used all his restraint to keep still. But she was still in his ears, that silky voice pushing him further and further.

  “I am tracing my fingers down your skin; they are wet and slippery from your mouth. Slowly, up and down your neck, my naked body leaning close to you. I want to kiss you so badly. I want my body against yours.”

  Benedict nodded, he wanted that too, more than anything. He moaned, his face flushed and warm.

  “I am kissing your face and your jaw. You taste delicious, like I knew you would. I’m taking my time working round to your ear. I start to suck on your left lobe, it’s nice. Then you’re right, but a little harder this time before I give it a little bite. You like that, don’t you?”

  Benedict, fully aroused, was finding it harder and harder not to move.

  “I’m getting impatient, so at last…I return to your mouth.” Her voice was ragged. “I devour you, my tongue plunging deep inside your mouth. I am on fire as our kiss deepens and my hands find your shoulders, they’re tense as I push them down before ripping my lips away.” Benedict scowled as he tried not to move his body.

  “I return to your neck, my lips starting to suck harder and harder, so I mark you. I want to touch you now, my hands slowly making their way down. Your body is wonderful and hard. I am unbuttoning your shirt, and your skin is soft but firm. I’m hurrying now; I’m so greedy. My hands explore, and I like what I find. My lips return to yours, and now you devour me.”