Sue me.
"You can say no, or stop, or red. Those are all good, and I will always listen. But the clicker is a bit more reliable. You can use it even when you find you've lost your speech," he explains calmly.
I nod.
He stands and walks to the closet, and returns holding a black box.
"What's in there?"
"You'll find out," he says, and sets the box on the bedside table.
He takes out a blindfold.
"I'm going to put this on you now," he says, and his voice is low, husky.
"Okay."
He lifts it to my face, and the silk is cool against my skin.
I hear him shift, and then feel his warm hands on my cheeks, his lips on mine.
The kiss is deep and hot, and my body comes alive, straining against the ropes, trying to get closer to him.
But he's already moving away, his weight leaving the bed.
The mattress dips again, and then his hands are on me, and he's running them down my body, over my arms, my ribs, the undersides of my breasts.
His touch is soft, gentle, and he lingers over every part of me, stroking the backs of his fingers over the tops of my breasts, circling my belly button with his index finger, trailing his fingertips along my hipbones.
The strong afternoon sun coming through the windows makes my skin hot, and the lightest breeze makes me shiver.
I hear him shift, and then his lips brush over mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth, his fingers tracing a line from my sternum to my belly, and then lower.
It feels good, the sensation heightened by the darkness and the inability to see.
I don't know where his touch will land, and the anticipation is a low thrum through my body.
He teases me, tracing his fingertips over the sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs, then stroking over my mound.
But he doesn't touch me between my legs, and I squirm, wanting him to.
"Please," I whisper.
"Please, what, Elena?"
"Please, touch me," I beg.
"I am touching you," he says, and his teeth graze my shoulder, his mouth trailing lower.
His lips circle my nipple, his tongue teasing, and the sensation goes straight to my core.
"You're not—not where I want," I pant.
He pulls back. "Oh? Where is it you want me, Elena?"
"Between my legs," I beg.
"There?" he asks, and slides a finger through the wetness there.
