Текст книги "Weak for Him"

Автор книги: Lyra Parish

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Ten

Mr. Felton and I didn't cross paths for weeks. The memories of getting naughty in his office were just that, memories. Mistake memories, if I were to term them correctly.

Training sessions, one after another, continued to bore me to death. I never knew there were so many forks and spoons, or that there were proper ways to eat spaghetti, sip wine, or cut steak. Sitting up straight and making sure to act like a lady were top on my scold list along with learning to speak only unless spoken to. No swearing, biting nails, or making ugly faces. Act interested in what the clients have to say. Men do not like women who act like barbarians, my coach said after I ate fried chicken.

Barbarians? She would die in Texas, where everything was bigger and the trivial things didn't matter. Where we walked around with barbecue sauce on our T-shirts because it was easier than changing, and being barefoot was natural. Texas, where the sun always shone, and where everyone worked hard until their dainty hands had calluses.

Coach demanded practice in four-inch high heels, taught me to laugh genuinely at stupid jokes, and flirt with my eyes. Twice a day, exercise was required, cardio in the morning and afternoon with weight lifting every other day. I essentially attended princess training. Where the hell was my prince?

The contract stated I would have a dedicated week of training, but I didn't expect mannerism school. I expected to watch porn, learn how to give hand jobs, blow jobs, and to pop my ass out when I walked. My views on being a call girl were steadily changing.

Lori laughed when I told her that. Her response was, "The Elite are classy individuals, Jennifer. Not whores that are picked up on the side of I-10. You have to make the men feel important. It's easy, really. Our clients act like gentlemen, and they do nice things to make a girl feel special. I have a great time with my Number One, you know, the man I'm most compatible with out of all the clients," Lori said.

I loved her. She was my saving grace. Although I kept my deep secrets to myself—more specifically the ones about Mr. Felton—she knew most things about me, and I her. She was no Abbie, but was the closest alternative, and would be returning from a business trip the next day. Until then, I would be alone in the lion's den.

After I strutted my way through hell, also known as Jennifer's mannerism training, I was given a manual with dating guidelines for The Elite.

Trust between client and employee must not be broken.

Never kiss on the lips because it's too intimate.

No blow jobs, hand jobs, or any sort of sexual acts on the first date.

All dating curfews must be followed.

And the list continued with more No's than Yes's. Of course, the fine print stated that if agreed upon beforehand or if the price was right, some of the No's could become Yes's. Each case would be reviewed and approved on an individual basis. Along with the guidelines, we were given specific to-do's such as checking our email each day. Most correspondence from Mr. Felton arrived that way. Nothing personal like a phone call, or a text, but rather a group message sent to every girl. Tomorrow would be the night that I met one of my matches.

The email clearly stated the instructions:

The limo will arrive at eight. All girls will be escorted to the corporate office's convention center, which will be setup for the client meet and greet.

Below was a reminder of how everyone was matched:

Both client and employee must take the match survey to see if they have fully compatible personalities.

The client must decide if he is attracted to his matches, and then a bid is placed.

The highest bidder is granted access to the employee. Documents will be signed between both parties, creating a legally binding contract.

Lori would be back in the morning.

She would help calm my nerves before the big night.

* * *

The group of women lined up against the walls. We were handed specific numbers and were instructed to place them over our left breast. Before sticking on my number, I peeked. Lucky number thirteen.

The doorway at the end of the hallway opened.

Mr. Felton.

He was dressed in a navy blue fitted suit jacket with straight-legged trousers. It had to have been designed by Brioni because only James Bond himself could pull off that look. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes to the ground. His voice, confident and smooth, traveled down the hallway with the directions. But we knew what to do; it was in every manual we were required to read.

Turn around and face the wall so blindfolds could be attached. Don't speak unless spoken to.

We were never to know all the clients that used Mr. Felton's services; it was a part of the nondisclosure agreement. So, everything was done behind closed doors and blindfolds.

The softness of the material rubbed across my cheeks and eyelashes. I squished my nose a little and peered down. I had moved the material a quarter of an inch, and if I tilted my head a tad, I could see. It was directly against the rules—rules that I had just broken.

Lori, and another one of the girls whose name I didn't know, grabbed my hands and all the women were escorted to the main room where a stage awaited us.

Curiosity killed me. I lifted my head and caught glimpses of men of different ages and sizes. They sat around circular tables eyeing their forms, which included headshots and the numbers of their personal matches. The men were like cattle herders, but they all wore expensive suits and ties, the most sophisticated of gentlemen, the upper class, the only ones that could afford The Elite.

Mr. Felton's voice reverberated through the room over a sound system.

"Thank you all for attending tonight. As you can see, each one of my girls has a number attached to her chest. Please circle the one that you most desire on your compatibility form. Once completed, please return your bid slip to me. Assignments will be given once the bidding has finished."

His voice, so British and sexy, articulated every word carefully. I memorized how this worked: the highest bidder would be assigned to a girl and then the meet-and-greet would commence. There would be no sex. The Elite believed that two people should have a common chemistry before any sort of sexual act took place. Tonight was nothing more than an Elite speed-dating event that could eventually end in sex, one day. It didn't seem so bad, considering.

I licked my red lips and pressed them together because I knew what was coming next.

"Virgins step forward, please."

I did as told and moved forward for everyone to see the one and only prized virgin. Murmuring increased, and I knew they were excited. Tilting my head, I could see the clients searching their forms for lucky number 13. Some had me, and others didn't.

"Thank you," Mr. Felton said, not speaking into the microphone. And I moved back into place.

I almost could hear my heart beating. And before I let my thoughts take over, the line traveled from the main room back into the long hallway. We were instructed to face the wall until Jesse removed our blindfolds.

"You did well," Mr. Felton whispered in my ear as he removed mine. So gentle, his touch and the way he brushed my hair from my shoulders. I tried not to smile and continued to look forward. As he walked by, I turned my head slightly and positioned my body to see in my peripheral if he undid anyone else's.

He didn't. I held a breath.

Lori grabbed my hand and squeezed, and we both shared a smile.

"Turn around," Jesse demanded.

Like robots, each woman turned in synchronicity and Jesse walked down the line passing out slips of paper with our man of the evening's number attached. As she handed me mine, she dropped it on the floor, gave an overly sarcastic oops and then kept walking.

Bitch.

I opened my paper and inside read, No. 26—Luketon Brand.

Lori opened hers and smiled. Every woman seemed happy with her selected match. Feeling out of the loop, I flashed my card towards Lori. She gave a smile and thumbs up, and then whispered he's fucking hot. I laughed and then immediately turned it off as Jesse glared at me.

The secretiveness of the process kept the integrity of The Elite call service. The men didn't want people to know who they were, and we weren't allowed to speak of it with another person. That would be easy for me. I had no one to tell.

Lining the walls of the convention area were tinted windows with numbers on the doors. Room twenty-six awaited me.

Mr. Felton spoke with Jesse by the exit. He pointed around the room and wrote a few scribbles in a small notebook. Jesse shook her head several times, and he nodded his. Mr. Felton continued to talk, almost scolding her, and then ended it with a smile. I kept my eyes on them while I went to meet my match. His jade greens caught sight of mine, and I didn't look away. He watched me until I couldn't take it anymore.

Outlined in gold and filled in with red, the number twenty-six held the man that wanted me: Luketon Brand. With a pinch of confidence, I opened the door and saw dark hair, blue eyes, and a set of plump lips. He stood as I entered and waited for me to sit, and then he followed.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Luketon Brand, but you can call me Luke."

"Jennifer Downs, nice to meet you."

He grabbed my hand and kissed the back ever so slightly.

"The pleasure is indeed mine."

Another man with a mesmerizing British accent. I thought I might lose it.

"So, Jennifer, won't you tell me about yourself?"

I traveled back to the office with Mr. Felton, and the result of the same question. I trashed the thoughts.

There are specific questions that a match can ask. I had the answers memorized as not to give away too much.

"I'm twenty-two, a Virgo, only child. I like fast cars, and hate taking walks on the beach."

He chuckled.

"Really? Duly noted. I have a confession to make."

He leaned in closer.

"I despise the beach as well."

I smiled and cocked my head.

"The sand is terrible, isn't it?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me before I could agree.

"Would you like to ditch this joint? I also despise formalities, and ties, and boring business meetings."

"So we can leave?"

"You're mine for the next few hours. We can do whatever our little hearts' desire, and I can guarantee that does not include long walks on the beach."

He stood and placed his hand on the small of my back and led me from the cramped space of box number twenty-six.

Luke found Jesse and Mr. Felton at the exit.

"We are leaving. Be back before curfew."

I heard a slight edge in his voice. The three of them turned and looked at me. Jesse rolled her eyes just to confirm that she still hated me. Mr. Felton lifted his eyebrows as if to ask if leaving was okay, and I nodded my head. Why the hell did he have to look at me with such intensity? Fucking Finnley Felton fucking with my feelings. Or maybe it was my emotions playing tricks on me?

Luke left Mr. Felton with a firm handshake and headed toward me with a smile on his face.

"Since that's settled, where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere but here."

He opened his arm for me to link onto. Before we left, I looked over my right shoulder and saw Mr. Felton watching me leave. I winked at him and turned around.

Take that, Mr. Fuckton.

"Is everything okay?" Luke asked.

"It is now."

Once outside, the cool air drifted across my legs, and I soaked in the fall breeze. He opened the door to the white Volvo, and I slipped in.

"I think I've got the perfect place for us to get to know one another a little better."

Within ten minutes, we were pulling into the entrance of a park. I lifted my eyebrows and turned to Luke.

"You'll love this place, I promise."

We walked toward a pond. Along the bank of the water were benches occupied with kissing couples. He led me one in front of the playground and then checked his watch.

"Just wait," he said.

A light breeze rustled the leaves behind us, and he leaned his shoulder into mine. The apple scent of his body mixed with the cool night air. Without warning, lights across the pond flashed and blinked. The trees branches glittered and danced like they were synchronized to music. Then the finale happened, and all the lights on the trees lit up at once and then slowly faded away to nothing.

"That was awesome! I've only seen things like that on television."

"Isn't it? I used to come here all the time when I was bored and contemplated life and love. If you play Chopin Nocturne Opus 9 as soon as it starts, it syncs nicely."

"Really? Classical music?"

"Yep. I love a good Chopin, Bach, or Beethoven. Occasionally Mozart. The music clears my mind whenever I'm working."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a painter."

He looked at me, and I looked back. Luke was pure man and pure sexiness. Weeks ago, I would've imagined this night to be full of sex, and sleaze, and everything nasty under the moon.

"Want to swing?"

I laughed, totally not what I expected.

"Um… sure."

I kicked off my heels, and Luke threw off his suit jacket and loosened his tie.

"Last one there is a rotten egg?"

I ran to the playground barefoot. Forget the etiquette. Forget the training. I hadn't been on a swing set since I was a little girl, and though the gesture seemed childlike, it felt nice to let go and push my feet toward the sky. The swings screeched and urged us to stop, but we didn't.

"You aren't like most of Felton's girls, you know."

"Really?"

"Not at all."

"Luke, what's your story? Why did you choose to use The Elite? You seem like the kind of guy who doesn't need a call service."

He lifted an eyebrow, contemplated answering me, and then continued. I wasn't supposed to ask questions like that, but I felt comfortable with him.

"Too many women have used me. They try to be genuine, but aren't. With The Elite, I'm able to find someone who I am compatible with on many levels with no hidden agendas. No lies. It makes it easy. We are all on the same page. Now it's your turn. Why The Elite?

We continued to swing on the hard plastic until we wore ourselves out. Gripping the cold chains, I thought about my life, goals, ambitions, and dreams.

"It was an accident, sorta. Something that just happened. I moved to Vegas with aspirations of becoming an accountant at Simon and Fitch."

"Really? What happened?"

"I didn't get hired. Actually, I was turned away at my interview for being one minute late."

"Who would do such a thing? Don't stop dreaming. You've got greatness inside of you. I can tell."

"No, you can't." I dug my bare feet into the sand.

"I don't have to know someone to be able to judge their character. This might sound crazy, but… I feel like I've known you forever, like a long lost friend that I was reunited with again."

"Yeah, I get that sometimes. I think it's the southern hospitality thing that's engrained in me."

"I've got another confession to make."

Luke completely stopped swinging and glanced over at me.

"I'd like to go on another date with you. I promise no beaches."

"I'd like that."

"Great. I'll arrange it with Felton when we return. Which"—he glanced at his watch—"we should probably head back."

After dusting off my feet and placing on my heels, Luke's suit jacket found its way around my shoulders.

The ride back to the office happened in slow motion. Luke's laughter was contagious, deep and hearty. The genuine smile he gave me, and the way his crystal blue eyes lit up as he looked at me, made me feel pretty.

He led me to Mr. Felton's office, and our images reflected on the glass. With tousled hair and clammy faces, we looked as if we experienced a night of wild sex.

Mr. Felton sat at his desk, fully focused on paperwork. When we entered, he didn't acknowledge us whatsoever.

"Here she is. Ten o' clock."

No response. He continued to write vigorously as if he would tear straight through the paper.

Luke turned my body away from my cheery boss and gave me the sweetest kiss on the cheek, then whispered in my ear, "Until we meet again."

He left me in Mr. Felton's office, a place I hadn't visited in weeks. I glanced at the floor, and then focused my attention out the window and watched the city lights. I stood firmly with messy hair and Luke's jacket on my shoulders.

I waited for Mr. Bossman to give the command to sit. Because as an Elite, we must be instructed before we can act, speak when spoken to. Follow Rules.

Minutes passed before he finished writing. Once he did, Mr. Felton shut the black notebook, put down the pen, and looked at me.

"Have a good time, did you?" The edge in his voice returned.

"I did, thank you."

"I assume you are still a virgin after your rendezvous with Luketon?"

"Your assumption would be correct."

"Are you sure? You look a little disheveled and flustered."

"If he did stick it in, I didn't feel it. So I guess you'll have to trust me, won't you?"

With the word trust, he gave a devilish grin.

"Trust. I've learned to trust those who are trustworthy. Is that you, Ms. Downs? Are you trustworthy?"

"Yes."

"You would do anything that I told you to and tell me the truth if I asked?"

"Yes."

"There is no reason to lie to me if I ask you a question, is there?"

"No."

"So, Ms. Downs, did you have a good time tonight?"

"Yes. I did, sir."

He stalked toward me with as much fluidity as a cat.

"What did you call me?"

He gave a chuckle as if he were experiencing an inside joke with himself.

"It sounds quite nice coming from your lips. Continue to call me that instead of Mr. Felton until I say. Do you understand?"

"Yes… sir." I hesitated.

I did it to be sarcastic, and now, he wanted it as if it turned him on in some fucked up way.

"Did he kiss you?"

"No." He cleared his throat. "Sir," I added quickly.

"Did he touch you in inappropriate places?"

"No, sir."

"Did you want him to?"

I hesitated again. I hadn't thought of Luke touching me anywhere throughout the whole night. The date wasn't full of sexual tension and getting naked. It was innocent and fun.

"Answer me." Harshness blanketed his tone, and I flinched.

"No, sir. It wasn't like that."

Mr. Felton walked toward the window and peered out at the busy streets and groups of people pounding the pavement.

"You may sit, Jennifer."

I sat in the chair across from his desk, and waited for him to address me, but he seemed lost in the city.

"Luketon will ask for another date. And you may go if you would like. But you can refuse the offer if you'd rather not."

"I would like another date… sir."

"Great," he said flatly. "You can leave now."

I pushed the chair under the desk and laid the coat jacket on the back. Mr. Felton would see Luke before I did.

As I turned the doorknob to leave, he grabbed my hand. I turned, but refused to look into his eyes. His jaw clenched, and he lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. No words exchanged between us, just a weird electricity as if our bodies were speaking in a language that neither one of us understood. He released my wrist, and flicked his head insinuating I should leave.

Once inside the elevator, I recouped my thoughts before pressing G.

What the hell just happened?

I honestly didn't know.

Eleven

Charlie dropped me off at home, where only a few exotic cars lined the driveway. I really needed to purchase a new car. It was on my list of things to do. Although the Honda's tire was fixed, I didn't feel like driving it. I had outgrown my college vehicle.

I thanked Charlie and headed toward the door. I punched the code into the keypad, but the door didn't open. Thinking I must have pushed an incorrect combination, I tried again. I had no key.

"Fuck," I whispered.

"Is that an offer?" Mr. Felton asked.

He must have driven around the backside of the house because I didn't hear him or V arrive but I wasn't paying attention.

"Umm."

He reached over my shoulder and punched in the code, but it didn't work for him either. Ha, I thought.

Without saying a word, we walked around the house, and he used his key for the back door. Inside was completely quiet. Everyone must have been out for the night or in bed. Only the virgin had a ten o'clock curfew.

Not paying attention, Mr. Felton walked into a lamp that sat in the corner of the sunroom. It shattered into a million pieces.

"Damn it," he said, whispering.

I barely made out his form by the faint moonlight that shone through the windows. He bent down and picked up all the little pieces of glass.

"Why in the world would anyone put that there?" I asked.

I wasn't familiar with every aspect in the house yet and had no clue where the switch would be. My luck, there would be a remote, just like every other damned light here. I pulled my phone from my clutch to give him some light. He laughed.

"Really?"

"What?"

"Your wallpaper, it's silly."

"What's silly about kittens? They're cute and make me smile."

"Right."

After unplugging the lamp from the wall, I bent down and helped.

"Careful. Picking up broken pieces can be dangerous," he said.

I whispered "Yes, sir" with sweet seduction in my voice. He stopped, but I continued picking up shards of glass with great care, but not carefully enough.

Pain pierced my finger and warm liquid dripped. Blood. The cut, although deep enough to hurt and bleed, was not deep enough to need stitches. Mr. Felton grabbed my hand and shined the kitty wallpaper on my finger. He immediately took his tie from around his neck and placed it on the wound.

"Come on. Before you bleed out on the wood floor," he said, leading me to the bathroom around the corner. Cold water washed the pain away.

Mr. Felton opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a small first aid kit. With great care, he doctored the nick. Neosporin and a Band-Aid and the small cut was sealed to heal.

"And I'm the softie?" I sarcastically asked.

He slightly puckered his lips and gave a laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"I want you to tell me about your sexual fantasies."

My mouth dropped open. I closed it and swallowed.

"Okay," I said, trying not to stutter.

My nerves tugged and pulled inside of my stomach. I had never spoken about my fantasies openly before. Not even to Lori or Abbie, and they were my best friends. Mr. Felton leaned against the sink, waiting.

"I don't know."

"You're bound to have some sort of fantasy. If you could have anything in the world, sexually, what would it be?"

He lifted an eyebrow at me. I cleared my throat.

"I might like being tied."

"Kinky little virgin." Mr. Felton chuckled.

"Maybe spanked, if it wasn't too hard. I don't want to bleed or anything. Oh, I always imagined having sex in water would be interesting."

"I want to know your dark fantasies."

He straightened, and moved closer to me.

"The ones that you keep secret from everyone. The ones you've never spoken out loud."

My throat went dry. Thoughts of being spanked, bound, and blindfolded floated in my mind. I would be willing to try anything, be willing to explore the dark side at least once.

"I want to be taken," I whispered.

"Taken. Mmm. Tell me how."

A piece of hair fell in front of my face, and Mr. Felton tucked it behind my ear. His touch was so gentle and slight as if I was a glass doll and would break. I blushed, and my face went warm. The conversation wouldn't end until I told him what I wanted. I had learned that in his office.

"Trust, Jennifer. Rule number one."

"Trust isn't the issue. I just don't know what I want, and it's kind of embarrassing," I said. We spoke low enough that our words could have been lost in a cool autumn breeze.

"Don't be embarrassed if you don't know what you want. It's not allowed," he said, his voice smooth like honey. I nodded my head.

"I'd like my arms to be held down or tied where I can't move them. Or even a scenario with blindfolds, and ice. My best friend told me about one of her exes. How he would spank her, bind her, and speak dirty to her while he was fucking her hard. Then he teased her with ice around her nipples and up her legs. It sounded hot. Hot enough for me to want to do it."

"My little experimental virgin."

His touch trailed down the outside of my arms, leaving goose bumps along the way. The talk about my secret fantasies made me want it.

"I think your real training will start tonight."

His fingers ran through my hair and down my neck. My body responded instantaneously. Grabbing my hand, Mr. Felton led me down the hall to the basement. But before entering, he stopped.

"You're ready, yeah?"

"As I will ever be." I peered into his eyes, thinking I might get lost in them.

"Do you want to obey me?"

"Yes… sir."

The truth was, I did. I wanted to know what it felt like to lose control, and be controlled. And to experience more of the person that placed my first orgasm in his pocket, the man who gave me Vegas and let me believe it could all be mine.

"I like that." He grabbed the bottom of my chin between his fingers. "Continue to call me that."

"Yes, sir."

"Trust, Jennifer."

He opened the basement door, and we walked down a set of stairs. A bed with fluffy blankets, a chair, floggers of all different lengths and sizes, ropes, blindfolds, and other things filled the room. I had no clue what half of it was or did.

My insides melted. I wasn't afraid of the training room, but curious. I stopped and tried to take in every inch. Without turning around, Mr. Felton gave the first command.

"Take off your clothes. Slowly. I want to watch you."

I took in a deep breath as he sat in a red suede chair with ropes slung behind them. A sparkle appeared in his eye, and I knew he enjoyed commanding me. Truth be known, I enjoyed being commanded.

The dress had long buttons down the front, and I worked my way from top to bottom, making sure to take my time.

"Look at me when you do it."

My eyes locked with his as I unbuttoned the last ones and the silk slipped off my shoulders. After a few more clasps, my bra fell to the floor. He groaned deeply with approval as he took me in.

One leg after another, I slipped out of my panties, lifted them, and then dropped them on the floor. I bent down to remove the straps from my heels until I wore absolutely nothing. He clenched his jaw and swallowed. My insides convulsed as I stared at him.

"Walk towards me."

Once in front of him, I could see the faint outline of the erection in his pants. Commanding me turned him on, and knowing that turned me on.

"Straddle me."

I swallowed and wrapped my legs around him.

Oh god. His hardness rubbed against me, driving me crazy.

"Move against me. As if you were having sex."

I drove my hips into him, and my breathing increased. New and different, and alive, so turned on that I wanted to go further. A moan escaped me from the simple pleasure of his friction between me. I ran my fingers through his messy hair as I grinded slowly against him. The more I moved, the harder I pushed myself onto him. With a swift movement, he grabbed my hands from his hair and held my wrists behind my back. I had lost control.

"You do as I say, not as you want."

Being restricted made me want it more. He leaned his head closer to my breasts and flicked each nipple with his strong tongue.

I couldn't help but let another moan escape.

"Mmm. I can smell your sweetness. Do you like this?"

"Yes, sir." The words fell from my mouth, and I became putty in his hands. With my arms still behind my back, I continued to move my hips on him. He released my arms.

"Go to the bed." Without hesitation, I removed myself from him. But I could feel the ache between my legs as I walked.

I wanted to be fucked.

"I want to see you touch yourself."

This was it, I thought. Heat rushed up my body and found my cheeks. Every bit of my face went warm as I responded.

"Yes, sir."

He smiled with sweet delight.

I let my hands slowly trail over my breasts, down my stomach, until they found themselves in between. Nervously, I opened my legs and let my fingers slide up and down, feeling the wetness. Mr. Felton did this to me. Made me want to be taken.

"I don't want you to come until I tell you to and when you're close, back away."

I took my time as I explored and learned my body. He watched me search and pleasure myself sexually. His eyes were on me, and I took my time touching, moaning, and allowing my toes to curl when I got close. But I didn't come as he instructed although I wanted to so bad. Each time I hit my peak, I panted and pinched my nipples, hoping my body would calm down.

I had never been so turned on.

I tilted my head to get a good look at him. He took off his shirt, and I couldn't stop staring at his lean stomach muscles that looked as if they were chiseled from rock. Mr. Felton walked to the bed and forced opened my legs. Pushing his erection onto me, he slammed my wrists above my head. The roughness, a pure sexually driven act of dominance that mingled with lust, was bad news. The desire to let loose and be completely physical overcame me as he trailed his fingers along my collarbone. Then he was touching me in all the right places, allowing my orgasm to build, my pulse to race, and my breath to quicken.

"Please, sir. Give it to me." My body begged for satisfaction. I begged for satisfaction.

Mr. Felton was on top of me, his body above mine, and he was staring into my eyes.

"Is this how you imagined it? Being taken?" He didn't move, but the pressure on me, encouraged me to wrap my legs around him.

"Exactly," I choked out, breathless.

"You're so wet, so turned on, so ready to be fucked," he whispered, soft and sensually, in my ear. His lips were close to my neck, trailing up and down, taking little nibbles along the way. The smell of fresh soap and man lingered.

"I want it so bad," I whispered in his ear. "I can barely stand it."

"Good," he said, deep and raspy.

He lay next to me on the bed and propped himself up with one elbow and trailed his fingers over my body lightly before pulling something out of the drawer next to the bed. He returned with a black silky material in his hands. With great care, he wrapped it over my eyes and the room went dark.

With soft fingertips, he trailed up the side of my body and stomach. The feel of his touch intensified because I couldn't see him. I almost lost myself in it. With one finger, he crossed my mouth and traced my bottom lip with his, and then continued down my jawline. My body instantly responded. The next thing I knew, one nipple was in his mouth, and his tongue circled the tip and flicked it around. I almost couldn't handle myself. Handfuls of sheets and blanket were in my grasp. He pulled away, groaned, and kissed down my stomach with his soft, luscious lips. Behind this tiger of a man was someone gentle, sensitive, and sexually driven.