A knowing look crosses his face. “Turn around.”
When I fail to move, his large hands find my hips, rougher than before. He guides me into a half-circle until I’m facing the wall of windows.
“Don’t move,” he whispers against my ear.
I feel him walk away. The energy that surrounds him is gone, the air around me cooling immediately. I’m afraid to turn around, so I stand in my lingerie and heels and watch the lights blink outside. A few minutes later, I hear him moving about the room and then sense him behind me again. I listen closely, but hear nothing, and then, in a move that causes me to jump, I feel his hot breath on my shoulder.
He places a trail of kisses up the ridge of my shoulder to my neck and up to my ear. I toss my head to the side, giving him unbridled access. I need this contact. I need his touch. My entire body hums with desire, a ball of pent-up energy is wound so tight I think I’ll lose control as soon as he touches me for real.
“I want you to remember one thing,” he whispers.
“Mmm . . .”
“This is for you.”
“What?” I start to turn to face him, but he’s behind me again.
His arms stretch around me, his torso pressed against my back. A piece of silk dangles in his hands. “I’m going to put this over your eyes.”
“Why?” I ask, trying to turn and see him.
“Trust me.”
I half-laugh. “I don’t trust you. I barely know you.”
“Then consider this an exercise in trust.”
I’m bewildered. This is not the carnal fucking I expected. This is not the bent-over-a-chair-and-getting-rammed that I had imagined. I don’t know what to think, how to process this.
He lifts the fabric over my eyes. My hands reach for it immediately.
“Trust me, Brynne. If something gets uncomfortable, all you have to do is say so. But I promise you, you’ll enjoy this.” His mouth is right against my skin. “Tonight is all about you.”
Flustered, I drop my hands.
He ties the fabric at the back of my head and I can’t see anything. I can sense the light from the windows that I know is in front of me, but I can’t actually make anything out. I fight to control my breathing, to fill my lungs and blow it out evenly to deter the panic that’s starting to bubble in my stomach.
I feel his hands at the clasp of my bra and then the lacy fabric falling to my front. I shrug it off and it falls to the floor.
Fenton’s fingertips stroke my bare back, the rough pads of his fingers blazing a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they move up and down my spine. I move against him without thought, arching my back, leaning into him. Not being able to see makes his touch that much more potent.
I gasp when his path traces around my ribs and he cups my breasts in his hands. His thumbs massage my nipples as he lays kisses from one shoulder blade, across the back of my neck, to the other. I moan at the contact, my pussy throbbing. I need a release like I’ve never needed one before. My hand slips beneath the lace of my panties and he stops me immediately.
“No, Brynne.”
“Fenton, please. I’m dying.”
“You aren’t dying. You’re feeling.” His hand replaces mine at the hem of my panties. My breath hitches in my throat as one hand rolls a nipple and the other applies pressure on my clit.
“Fenton,” I plead, my head falling to his chest. “Please.”
“Do you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“Not the pressure. Not the pleasure. Do you feel how much I want you?” His hips roll against me, his cock, rock fucking hard, pressing against my ass. “Do you feel how desired you are? How beautiful, how sexy I think you are?”
My brain scrambles, his husky voice invading every brain cell I managed to keep clear. I can’t respond, only moan as bursts of pleasure wind through me.
In one swift movement, he steps away. We aren’t touching at all. I search for something to tell me he’s around, but I get nothing. Across the room, I hear something crackle.
“Fenton?” I ask, looking towards the direction of the sound but not seeing through the silk.
He doesn’t answer, but in a few seconds, he’s behind me again. He takes my hand and guides me forward until my knees hit something hard. I rack my brain and remember a table with a few books that sat off to the side of the sofa.
“Climb up there on your hands and knees.”
“I can’t see.”
“You don’t need to see.” He tugs me gently forward and I amble on top of the heavy stone piece of furniture. “Get on your hands and knees.”
I do as instructed, my face, I’m sure, is as red as the piece of silk over my eyes. I try to block out what I must look like in my panties and heels, spread out like this.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are.”
“Fenton, I . . .” A buzzing sound rips through the room, startling me. “What are you doing?”