I take the scarf from her hands and run it through my fingers.
“Stop means stop,” I remind her.
I step behind her and gather her hair to one side, draping it over her right shoulder. Then I fold the scarf once, press it againsther closed eyelids, and tie it behind her head. Snug but not tight. Two fingers fit beneath the knot when I check.
“Can you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Good. Don’t move.”
I circle to face her and pause. She’s standing in the middle of the bedroom with her hands at her sides and her chin slightly raised, waiting. Trusting. The scarf covers her eyes but leaves her mouth and jaw exposed, and her lips are parted just enough that I can see the quick rhythm of her breathing.
It’s sexy as hell.
I start with her collarbone. One fingertip, tracing from the hollow of her throat to the point of her shoulder. She shivers and tilts her head to give me room. The same path on the other side, slower this time, and she bites her bottom lip.
“Pyotr—”
“Patience.”
I unbutton her shirt from the top down, taking my time, and letting the fabric fall open in stages. When the last button gives, I push the shirt off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Her bra is black lace. I unclasp it with one hand and add it to the pile.
Without the scarf, she’d be watching my face and reading my reactions the way she always does. Blind, she has nothing to focus on except the places where my skin meets hers.
I drag the back of my knuckles down her sternum, between her breasts, and across her stomach. Goosebumps follow every inch. When I reach the waistband of her jeans, I undo the button andpull down the zipper one tooth at a time. She grabs my forearm to steady herself as I work the denim down her hips.
“Hands at your sides.”
She obeys. I can see the effort it costs her, the way her fingers flex against her thighs.
I kneel and kiss her hip bone. She jolts, and a sound escapes her that she tries to swallow. My lips cross the flat plane beneath her navel before I hook my fingers into her underwear and peel it down her legs. One step frees her, bare in front of me with nothing but the silk across her eyes.
I rise and guide her backward until her calves hit the mattress. “Sit.”
She lowers herself to the edge of the bed. I press one hand flat against her sternum and ease her back onto the pillows. Then I strip off my pants and settle over her, bracing my weight on my forearms.
“You good?”
“I’m good.”
I start at her ear, grazing the lobe with my teeth, then the spot beneath it that makes her pulse jump under my tongue. From there, I trail down her neck, collarbone, and the valley between her breasts.
I remain at each spot long enough to feel her react, to feel the hitch in her breathing or the arch of her spine. Without her sight, every response is magnified. She grabs fistfuls of the sheets beneath her and twists them when my mouth finds her nipple.
“Tell me yes,” I murmur against her skin.
“Yes.”
I drag my mouth lower. Across her ribs. Over her stomach. Along the crease of her hip where her thigh meets her torso. She’s trembling, and her hips are lifting off the mattress before I even touch her where she wants me most.
I slide my hand between her thighs instead, using two fingers to trace through slick heat without giving her the pressure she’s chasing. She groans and angles toward my hand.
“Stay still,” I order.
“I can’t?—”
“You can.” I press my palm against her hip and hold her down. “Trust me.”
