Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I shake my head, trying to banish thoughts of Jack from my mind. This isn’t about him. This is about me, about exploring a vital part of myself that I’ve kept locked away for far too long. I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves.
Nine forty-five. Fifteen minutes to go.
I can’t wait any longer. With trembling hands, I pick up the blindfold and secure it around my eyes. The world goes dark, and my other senses immediately heighten. The chill of the air against my skin feels more pronounced, the sound of my own breathing louder.
I position myself on the bed as instructed—legs spread, ready, waiting. The silk sheets beneath me feel cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat coming from my body. I try to steady my breathing, but it’s impossible. My heart is racing, my mind a whirlwind of anticipation and fear. Every sound makes me jump. Is that him at the door? No, just the house settling. A car passing outside. The neighbor’s dog barking.
Time loses all meaning in the darkness. Has it been minutes? Hours? I resist the urge to remove the blindfold and check the clock. Following his instructions is crucial. It’s all part of the game, the surrender of control.
It’s just me and my thoughts right now. Did I shave my legs well enough? I rub my heel on my shin to test the smoothness. Yes, I did. But what about—
The sound of knocks on the door, just as he said he would, jolts me from my thoughts. I tense. Three knocks. Slow, deliberate.
I know I have to wait two minutes now. That was his dictate. His rules.
Two minutes. It feels like an eternity. My body shakes, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. I count the seconds in my head, trying to keep my breathing steady. One hundred and twenty seconds. That’s all.
All this counting, all these numbers.
I hear the door open, then close. Footsteps, slow and measured, make their way through my house. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. The footsteps pause, then continue, growing closer. He’s in the bedroom now. I can sense his presence, feel his eyes on me.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice low and husky. It almost sounds as if he needs to clear his throat or cough. It’s not natural. His voice is familiar, but different than when I heard it at the club. I can’t quite put my finger on—
The bed dips as he sits beside me, his warmth radiating against my skin.
I spread my legs even wider, showing off how much of a good girl I am.
His hand touches my cheek, fingers trailing down my neck, across my collarbone. I gasp at the contact, my body arching involuntarily toward him. His hand moves lower, tracing the curve of my breast. I bite my lip, stifling a moan. Every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s on fire, hyperaware of his touch, his presence.
He isn’t speaking. I wish he was. Maybe I should speak. What will I say?
My breath hitches as his hand splays across my stomach, the heat of his palm searing my skin.
He shifts on the bed, and suddenly I feel his breath on my inner thigh. I tense, anticipation coiling tightly in my core. His lips brush against my skin, soft at first, then more insistent. He kisses a path up my thigh, maddeningly slow, each touch sending sparks through my body.
He spreads my thighs apart even wider. His hands grip my thighs firmly as he settles between them. I can feel his hot breath against my most sensitive area, making me squirm with need. But he doesn’t touch me there, not yet. Instead, he places light, teasing kisses along my inner thighs, occasionally nipping at the tender skin.
I whimper, frustrated by his teasing. “Please,” I whisper, my voice breathy and desperate.
His tongue finally makes contact, a long, slow lick that has me gasping and arching off the bed. He takes his time, exploring every fold and crevice with meticulous attention. It’s maddening and exquisite all at once.
As he works me with his mouth, one of his hands slides up my body to cup my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple, causing it to harden into a tight peak. He pinches it lightly, the slight pain mixing with the pleasure building between my legs.
I’m lost in a haze of sensation, my hips moving of their own accord as I chase my release. Just as I’m about to tumble over the edge, he pulls away. I cry out in frustration, my body nearly vibrating with need.
I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. He’s undressing. Oh God, if only I could see. The wait is almost unbearable as I lie there, listening to the soft sounds of clothing hitting the floor.