I went to him and took his hand, then rose up to brush a kiss over his lips. “In that case,” I said, “I’m even more glad you had Jahn.”
We headed out, and to my surprise, Evan stopped the elevator on the lobby level instead of descending all the way to the parking garage.
“No car?”
“It’s reasonably close. We’ll take a taxi.”
“Close,” I said, running various options through my head.
“Don’t even try. I’ll only be disappointed if you manage to guess.”
I laughed. “Fair enough,” I said as a taxi pulled up in response to the call light. Evan stepped off the curb to open the door for me, then walked around and got in on the opposite side.
“One thing I forgot to mention,” he said, as he settled in beside me. “I’d like you to put this on.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black sleep mask with an elastic strap.
I peered at it dubiously. “Seriously?”
He just looked at me, not answering.
“Evan!”
“Hey, if you don’t want to …” He trailed off, then leaned forward and told the taxi driver to take us back to the condo.
I goggled at him. “What are you doing?”
“Rules are rules.”
“Fine,” I said, snatching it out of his hands. I slid the mask on over my eyes. And in the moment before the world disappeared from sight, I was pretty sure that I caught the driver’s smirk in the rearview window.
“Better?” I asked.
“Much,” Evan said.
“And you’re not going to even give me a clue?”
“Not even,” he said.
“I know this area pretty well. I could probably count stops and turns. I’ve watched enough espionage thrillers to know how that works.”
He laughed. “Good point.” He sat silent for a moment, and then I felt him drape something across my lap. “You look a little cold,” he said. “Let me warm you up.”
I started to tell him that my legs weren’t cold, but in that same instant I felt his hand upon my thigh. I realized as he gently stroked my skin—easing his fingers higher and higher toward the mid-thigh hemline of my dress—that he hadn’t put the jacket there to keep me warm, but to give us privacy.
He eased the hem higher, and it was all I could do not to whimper. I felt on fire, my thighs craving more of his touch, my sex so sensitive that even the slight rubbing of my panties against my flesh in time with the movement of the car was making me hot. And, so help me, the fact that I was blindfolded and we were in the back of a taxi, not four feet away from some anonymous driver made the whole thing that much more arousing.
“Evan,” I said, because we should stop even though I didn’t want to. Even though I wanted this rush. This heat.
“Hmm?”
“What are you doing?”
“Distracting you so you can’t count turns,” he said, even as his finger slipped under the tiny strip of material that made up the thong part of my teeny-tiny panties.
“Oh.” My breath was a gasp, the word forced out even as he slid his finger inside me. “Oh, well, um, okay.”
He chuckled. “Just relax, sweetheart. We’re close.”
“Yes,” I said, because he was right. I was close, so damn close, but he was keeping me on the edge, slipping his finger in and out, making me wetter and wetter, playing and teasing and trailing a soft fingertip all over my sex, between my legs, on the soft skin between my cunt and my thighs. But though his touch fired my senses and made me crave more, it was more that he denied me.
He was deliberately avoiding my clit, and I had no way of complaining. I couldn’t say a word—I couldn’t even shift my hips and writhe in silent demand—unless I wanted to advertise what was going on to the driver. And, yeah, he might already be clued in, but since I was blindfolded I was happy to live in the fantasy that he was completely oblivious.