As I kneel in my darkened bedroom, naked and wet between my legs, the noise in my brain begins to quiet. I’m singularly focused on him. My gaze never strays from its focus on the floor near the door, on the swath of light that comes from the hall. My heartbeat grows heavy with anticipation.
Minutes pass and I hear a door close. Did he leave?
I fight with myself, wanting to stand up and go to the window and see if he’s left, but my body demands I stay put. So I continue waiting in my spot and several minutes later, I hear him. Footsteps coming closer.
When he enters the room, he’s carrying some type of small black leather bag. My heart riots in my chest.
He calmly crosses the room, all but ignoring me, and sets the bag on my bed. I don’t know if I should watch, but I can’t help my eyes from following him. He removes his suit jacket and neatly folds it, placing it on the table beside my bed. He unzips the bag and removes a black strip of fabric, and then turns to face me.
“Those greedy little eyes want to see everything, to form an opinion on it all, yes?”
I don’t answer. My breathing grows shallow as I continue watching him.
“The only thing I want you focused on is sensation, feeling. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I want to show you what you’re capable of. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I say again. I’m not sure why, but I do. And trust me, I’m aware it’s absolutely insane.
He stands behind me and fastens the silk fabric over my eyes, tying it behind my head. It blocks my vision entirely. My heart rate increases as the realization that I’m in total darkness sinks in.
I listen closely and hear him walk toward the bed. Then I hear a match spark to life, and my entire body stiffens. His footsteps cross the room, and I’m about to ask what’s going on when the faint scent of sandalwood and black currant greets me. He’s lit a candle, I’m pretty sure. Maybe this is all part of a ritual for him. Nothing is rushed, everything is calculated and planned out, and I like that he’s taken so much time and care into planning my lessons.
I hear one loud thud and then another. He’s removed his shoes, I think.
“Hands behind your back.” He’s directly in front of me now. I can feel the heat emanating from his body.
I do as he’s asked and lace my fingers together at the small of my back. The new position pushes my breasts forward and out. I imagine what I must look like naked, blindfolded, and kneeling on the floor, bathed in the soft flicker of candlelight. Well, this is new.
“Such a pretty sight, peach.”
As he strokes my cheek with his thumb, I lean in toward his touch, feeling approval in every stroke of his fingertips. His hands continue their soft caresses, trailing down my neck and through the long tresses of my hair. His touch is gentle, restrained, as if he’s holding himself back. For now, at least.
“We need to discuss your limits. Are there things you’re uncomfortable with, Brielle?”
I’m not sure how to answer, because while there are things that make me nervous, a small voice inside me says that’s the entire point. I want to grow in confidence and in experience, and the only way to grow is to push myself outside my comfort zone.
I recall the quote taped to my fridge: Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.
When he trails his hand down my lower back, I realize I haven’t responded yet. My ass is exposed in this position and he takes full advantage, brushing the pad of his thumb over my backside and stroking me there.
“Is this fair game?” he asks, his voice rough.
His warm finger in a forbidden place causes little fractures of heat to radiate down my spine, and butterflies take flight in my belly. Since I couldn’t form words right now if I wanted to, I merely nod.
“Hmm. Naughty thing,” he says under his breath. He pulls his hand away and lifts my chin, even though eye contact is impossible with the blindfold. But perhaps there’s something he needs to see in my expression, in my reactions to him.
“You need to choose a safe word. Something easy to remember. If I do something you don’t like, use it and I’ll stop. Understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper, the need growing inside me.
“So, what’ll it be?”
“I-I’m not sure. Any suggestions?” I ask.
“It needs to be something easy to remember when you’re getting your ass handed to you—literally.” I can hear the playful smirk in his voice.
The word is on my lips before I have time to process it. “Peach.”
“Perfect,” he says adoringly.
I hear a zipper being tugged down slowly. A faint trace of soap tickles my nose, along with masculine musk. All of my senses are finely tuned in to what’s happening just beyond my reach.
“I’m going to show you how to pleasure a man with your mouth, Brielle. Would you like that?”
The sound of skin rubbing together sends my mind spinning—I imagine he’s freed his cock and his hand is sliding up and down. His breathing grows harsh, and I can feel myself getting wet.
I told him at our first meeting that performing oral sex makes me uncomfortable, which is probably why he’s making that our first lesson. “Y-yes, please.” I don’t know who this woman on the floor begging to suck his cock is, but there’s complete honesty in my reactions to him. It seems his dominant nature brings out a side of me I didn’t know existed until this very moment.
“Open for me,” he says.