Wave after violent wave rip through me.
“Fuck yes—take it—” he growls, his fingers working me through the convulsions, dragging the orgasm out until I’m sobbing senseless.
When the last tremor fades, I’m limp. Just utterly boneless. A ragdoll slumped underneath him. Panting against his neck.
His fingers slip out slowly, and I feel the obscenedrip-dripbetween my thighs.
When I can breathe again, not to mention think again, I realize he’s watching me with a mixture of possessive and tenderness.
“I want to try something,” he says.
I blink at him. “Somethingelse?”
After that??
Not sure how much more I can take.
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a silk pocket square. Navy blue.
“A blindfold?” I ask incredulously.
“If you trust me.”
Do I?
The question hangs there between us. After everything we’ve been through, after all the walls and secrets, do Iactuallytrust him?
You’re about to let him tie a silk handkerchief over your eyes and do god knows what to you.
So I guess the answer is yes.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He folds the square carefully, then ties it over my eyes. The fabric is soft, blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights. Suddenly I’m super aware of every sound. The hum of the air conditioning unit, the distant crash of waves outside, Corin’s breathing close to my ear.
“Can you see?” he asks.
“No.”
“Good.” His hands find my waist, lifting me onto the desk. “Now listen carefully. If at any point you want me to stop, you double-tap my thigh. Understand?”
I nod.
“I need to hear you say it, Amara.”
“I understand. Double-tap if I want to stop.”
“Good girl.”
There it is again.
That phrase that shouldn’t work on me but absolutely does.
I hear the rustle of movement. Fabric shifting, his breath hitching.
Anticipation coils low in my belly.
He hikes my skirt higher, bunching it around my waist. Then his fingers hook into the sodden lace of my panties.
