BLIND: A Mastermind Novel (41 page)

Once she settled he continued. “When the gift of sight is eliminated, all other senses are heightened. We hear more acutely, scent more clearly, tastes become more defined, and touch is beyond sensitized. Anticipation proliferates dramatically the longer we’re blind, as we’re no longer granted the visual cues that tell us what to expect.”

Her chest expanded, as she digested his every word, tasted it, savored it, let each comment sing to her need until she experienced the blossoming anticipation he so eloquently described.

“When I chose your blindfold, Ms. Farrow, I took care to select the softest fabrics. The lace accentuates your delicate complexion, yet the velvet lining is dark enough to block out all light. When you first came to me, you suffered acute fear bordering on claustrophobia. Are you still battling such fears?”

Licking her dry lips, she answered, “No, Mr. Stone. The darkness doesn’t scare me anymore. Sometimes I crave it. It reminds me of you.”

“You’ve embraced the darkness, Ms. Farrow. It’s liberated you to share secrets you’ve kept from even yourself. In a strange way, I believe the darkness has brought your true self to light.”

He was absolutely correct. Their courtship was a masterpiece of emotions only a true artist of human nature could create.

Delight grabbed hold, tightening every organ, asphyxiating every hope as his clothing rasped and steady footfalls approached. She waited for his affection, breathed for it, and anticipated it more than any tangible gift.

The gravelly scrape of his deep voice seeped into her, anesthetizing any nervousness.  “You look beautiful, Ms. Farrow.”

Her hair ruffled slightly as he drew closer. His finger ghosted down the side of her throat, drawing her off her heels and to attention. His phantom touch shaped a manifestation, blacking out the details she didn’t know—didn’t
need
to know. So long as it was he touching her, any superficial details were irrelevant.

His patient manner only intensified her wanting as it always did when he drew out their intellectual discussions, pushing her another degree. But she would wait as she’d waited through every prior encounter, tortured by curiosity, aroused to a point of near lunacy, because the end would mark the beginning—a future with this incredible man.

He aroused her on a cerebral level no other person had ever come close to, stimulating her, pressing her, and undoing her until she craved his total possession. He exposed her in a way no one else could.

He adored her so devotedly, her only worry that remained was the difference in their social class, but she sensed no pity from him. Although she sometimes surmised the blindfold played a part there as well. She shoved the troubling thought away, not wanting it to interfere with their precious time together.

“I’ve placed four gifts before you, Ms. Farrow. Reach out and familiarize yourself with them.”

Her hand shook as she steadied her balance, fingers creeping into the abyss of darkness until her fingers stumbled over something cool and smooth. “May I lift it?”

“You may. Use your senses available to familiarize yourself.”

It was heavy, like glass. Lifting the item in her palms, she carefully ran her fingers over it. Sleek and phallic. Her cheeks heated as she fondled the blunt end and compared it to the smooth rounded tip on the other side.

“What are you holding, Ms. Farrow?”

Breath escaped in a choppy exhale. “I think it’s a…phallus?”

“It’s going inside of you tonight.”

Her shoulders lifted as she silently panted and placed the glass piece on the floor.

“You’re blushing, Ms. Farrow. Are your embarrassed or excited?”

“It excites me, Mr. Stone.”

“Have you ever used such an item?”

Her lips were again dry. Swiping her tongue, she confessed, “No. I’ve never used anything but my own fingers.”

“Keep in mind, nothing happens without your consent, Scarlet. Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

“There are more items. Keep going.”

She nodded and reached for the next item almost passing over its delicate presence. Her fingers crept over the ground, tracing the long curved shaft running down the center, no wider than a thread. Finding the edge, she lifted the feather and smoothed the downy barbs over her cheek.

“How does it feel?”

“Soft. Teasing.”

“Good. Two more items.”

Replacing the feather, she reached forward. String caught her passing pinky. She gathered the slight filament, identifying it as soft elastic. As she elevated it, something weighted dangled from the end. It was flexible, covered in a jelly like skin. Two flat sections connected to a kind of thorax of sorts. Small ridges and bumps were molded into the design. “I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s a butterfly. The straps go around your legs so the vibrating element rests over your clitoris.”

Her lips twitched as she considered if that appealed to her senses. She was still having trouble picturing it, so she remained undecided.

“Identify the last item, Ms. Farrow.”

She replaced the butterfly with the other items and stretched for the last. Her fingers grasped something thick and flimsy. Using both hands, she held one end as her fingers traveled over its length. It was long and smooth, braided. “Rope.”

Her smile stretched. He’d told her something personal about himself with these items, shared a bit of his own desires.

“Do you wish for me to remove any of these items, Ms. Farrow? Say the word and they disappear. Your decision won’t disappoint me. I’m trusting you to be honest.”

“I’m curious.”

“Are you afraid?”

Was she? With anyone else she would be, but not with him. “No.”

“Would you like to play?”

Those words should have carried a juvenile effect, but there was nothing childish about what they were considering doing together. His hands would be touching her. Their breath would mingle. He would tease and torment her and she would likely leave here a different woman.

Raising her chin she distinctly vocalized her answer. “Yes.”

Silence.

After a long beat he slowly stood and approached. Her heart thundered with each nearing step he took. Something cool dragged over her shoulder, not his hand. “The rope is to keep your hands occupied. The blindfold must stay on, Ms. Farrow.”

She nodded, a touch proud of him for seeing where his own cravings might lead. The other night when he’d mentioned tying her up she sensed something in his voice, some dark yearning to explore such desires, a sort of innocence that told her he’d never done this before with anyone else and she liked that very much. It put them on even ground.

“Take my arm. I’ll help you stand.”

Her legs protested as he gingerly pulled her from the floor. Pins and needles rushed to her feet. His palms chafed her outer arms and she breathed in his scent, taking it deep into her mind.

“Give me your hands, please.”

She slowly held her wrists in front of her. His touch was gentle. His lips pressed to each proffered hand, placing a kiss over her thrumming pulse.

He wove the rope around her bones, making a series of knots until her palms were tied into place in an unbreakable clasp. “You look pretty wearing nothing but rope, a blindfold, and a rosy blush.”

His praise slithered into her, warm, coiling and heating her insides to near scorching. “Thank you.”

His thumb traced over her lower lip. “Such a beautiful mouth. I love how naturally pink your erogenous zones are.”

Brazenly, she closed her lips over his thumb, tasting him for the first time. A groan ripped from his throat, full of shared yearning, but he quickly plucked the digit from her mouth.

“I’m going to put the butterfly on you now.
”
He stepped away and returned a second later. Taking her tied hands, he placed them on his shoulder. “Balance yourself and step. Right foot first.”

Lifting her leg, he slid the elastic over her calf and up her thigh. Once he fed her other foot through, he adjusted the straps over her hips. The moment the butterfly touched her clit, her body awakened.

Standing behind her, his finger slowly traced down her spine, not stopping until he grazed the crease of her behind. “Have you let a man tie you up, Ms. Farrow?”

Her lungs filled to near bursting. “No,
”
she rasped.

“Have you ever contemplated it?”

“Not until tonight.”

“Do you find the idea tempting or unpleasant?”

“I find it… erotic.” So many sensations stimulated her in that moment. Her body was on overload and her brain was losing ground.

“I’m going to walk you to the bed now.”

The heat of his hands covered hers, sending shivers and goose bumps over every exposed inch of flesh. She walked slowly, the presence of the butterfly awkward, yet granting her a bit of modesty.

He turned her so they stood face to face. Sliding his palms up her waist, he lifted her onto the bed. The simple act was incredibly sexy. She’d never been lifted up or carried by a man, and knowing he possessed the strength to move her so effortlessly triggered something in her.

He adjusted her on the bed, resting her head over the fluffed pillow and tracing his hands down her tapered legs as if he were sculpting a priceless work of art. Lifting her foot, he placed a kiss on the arch. “Perhaps I’ll tickle these feet a bit tonight,
”
he whispered, placing her sole firmly on the covers.

He did the same with her other foot, leaving her thighs spread and her sex exposed. She realized he was looking at her there. He’d done it before. This time had the same exciting effect. Her body wept for him, arousal trickling from her folds, evident of how deep her craving for this man ran.

“You’re wet, Ms. Farrow. Dripping.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s the most erotic sight, so pink and glistening. Ready for me.”

Oh God.

“Shall we begin?”

“Please,
”
she begged. If he didn’t touch her soon she was going to shatter.

“Your wish is my command, Ms. Farrow.”

The first touch of the feather drew her nipples to attention. Her body arched, her back lifting off the bed as he dragged the soft plume over her breasts and down her sternum. The seductive tease of each caress fed her arousal, as soft, pleasant moans slipped past her lips.

“Your nipples are very hard, Ms. Farrow.
”
His finger flicked over the turgid tip and she whimpered. “Shall I play with them for a bit?
”
He seemed to be posing the question to himself. “My mark’s gone. Did you enjoy finding the souvenir I left you?”

“Yes,
”
she confessed breathlessly.

“Then I’d be remiss not to give you another.”

His mouth closed over her left nipple, his lips tightly holding the bud as his tongue teased the tip. Her heart beat rapidly as his other hand cupped her flesh, massaging roughly, his thumb treading over the sensitive skin.

She moaned and arched into him. Her tied hands pressed into the pillows as her feet dug into the mattress. His mouth switched to the other breast, his own moans of pleasure beating at her senses as his breath cooled her dampened flesh.

Closing his mouth over the supple curve of her breast, he sucked hard. “Yes!
”
she cried, savoring the image of him marking her.

He groaned and sucked harder. His hands squeezed, plumping her breasts, as his tongue dragged over the slope of her cleavage to her nipple. Her hips lifted, seeking his weight. Climbing between her thighs, his erection pressed through his clothing.

She ground her body into his and he became a man possessed with lust. His lips dragged across her stomach. His tongue traced each rib as his mouth closed over the sensitive skin below her breasts. He marked her again. And again. She’d likely look like a bruised piece of fruit when she left him, but she didn’t care. On the contrary, she relished it.