The loss of stimulation leaves me panting.
“There’s one last component if you’re up for it,” Leo says. I can almost hear the twisted pleasure he’s getting from denying me his cock and his calculated touch. “This last strip is for your mouth. It’ll muffle your cries and moans and sighs.” Then comes a light brush of something soft—the fabric strip, probably—across my right nipple. I let out what will likely be my final groan. “Some people love it, removing the ability to speak. I’ll be in control. I’ll cater my touch solely to your physical reactions.”
This whole time I’ve had my eyes closed, but now they rush open only to be met with blurry blobs of dark purple. I’m having a hard time deciphering if the pounding in my chest is anticipation or fear of this last element.
This is all new to me, so my limits aren’t set.
Leo, clearly taking my extended silence seriously, says, “If this is too much, we can stop. You say the word and I’ll untie you. I want this to be enjoyable for both of us.”
“It is,” I say. “It will be. At least, I think it will. I just...”
“What? Tell me.”
I gulp back my own reservations. “What if I don’t like it after you do it? How will I let you know?” Buckley was very consistent with sex and in life. He rarely deviated from the tried-and-true formula that made his world march on at an even, steady pace, which was to be expected from an accountant.
This newness for me, all at once, is confounding, yet I don’t want to let the opportunity to explore, especially with someone I know I can count on, slip away.
The rebound of the bed lets me know he’s shifted. His hand finds my right one. “Can you snap?” I try from this position and, sure enough, I can. “Snap at any point. I’ll ungag you.”
My worries ripple away and get replaced by bravery. “Let’s do it.”
A ball of fabric lands on my tongue first and the ends of the fabric get strung over my ears, pulled taut around the base of my neck. There is a comfort in the restraint. The lack of motion lays me bare, drains me of apprehension.
Am I doing this right? Am I making him feel good? The insecurity can’t find me when Leo’s making my body his personal play toy. Respectfully, of course.
The wet lap of his tongue starts between my nipples and runs down through my happy trail. At the base of my erection, he kisses, causing my groin to pulse and grow larger. “Somebody likes that,” he says. All I can do is grunt into the gag because he’s right.
I listen as he slicks his palm and grips my shaft. He pumps me in his fist, evidently relishing the stop and start, the tease and retreat, until his hand wanders lower, parting me with efficiency. His already slippery fingers find my hole, tease the rim, tip inside but only slightly. Still enough to make me bite down on the gag in ecstasy, so engrossed and needy.
After a few minutes, he plunges his fingers into me. My head rolls back as I let him penetrate me farther, deeper, gloriously. The blindfold is no longer a hindrance. It’s spangled with starlight, constellations of Leo and me in every position imaginable, as if our union was predestined by the sky.
Leo hikes my legs up with a growl and tongues me where his fingers were. He performs slow, luxurious circles at my entry point, similar to the ones he did with his finger around my belly button. He knows where all my hot spots are, and he doesn’t hesitate to push them time and time again.
How does a man I’ve known for only a handful of days understand how to uncork me so expertly?
He answers that question by lifting my legs up over his shoulders with ease. The tip of his lubed, condom-covered erection presents itself at my hole. If I weren’t gagged, I’d beg. I’d barter. I’d steal to have him inch closer to me, let me feel that exquisite stretch I desperately want.
But the gag demands my patience, and my patience pays off because Leo whispers, “It’s time to take me inside you, baby.”
I can’t help but surrender completely and think: I never want to give this up.
Nineteen
Sex works up an appetite.
The hotel bar stays open late most nights, so after showers, Leo and I sit at the mostly empty counter downstairs, nursing beers and splitting a cheeseburger.
It’s incredible how natural this seems, as if we’ve been doing it for months or years. I thought after what transpired between us, how heady and kinky and wild I felt all bound up and gagged, I’d be too embarrassed to look Leo in the eyes. When he took off the blindfold, I swore I’d blink back the light and turn away from him for fear he somehow saw me differently. That he unlocked a part of me that he wouldn’t like.
It seems the opposite is true.
We knock elbows side by side at the bar, laughing over stupid jokes and melty cheese and making up backstories for the patrons who sit in booths across the way. I haven’t felt this carefree since I don’t even know when. I want to say since Buckley and I split, but a part of me senses that isn’t true.
“Aside from your student loans, what else do you plan on doing with the winnings?” Leo asks with his mouth half-full.
“Like you, I guess I’ll get my own place,” I say. “Give my dad a break after four weeks of crashing at his bachelor pad. Oh, shit!” I reach into my pocket for my phone and check the time. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell him we got cast on the show. Do you mind if I do that now while I’m thinking about it?”
“Not at all,” Leo says with a smile. “But I can’t promise the rest of the french fries will be here when you get back.”
