I did.
“Then you should know that I never let my enemies have what they want.”
Before I can respond and process those words, his hands are busy undoing my restraints. They’re gentle as they unknot the fabric with careful precision, first my wrists and then my ankles.
I flex my hands, feel the blood rushing back into my fingers, and slowly push myself up from the grass. My muscles are stiff from the position, my skin tingles like someone hooked me up to a car battery, and even the lightest breeze threatens to send me falling on my knees.
I reach for the blindfold.
“No,” he says. “You don’t get to have your eyes back yet.”
I stop, obedient.
Whatever comes next, I’ll experience it blind.
Then his arms are around me.
He scoops me up—naked and blindfolded—and I press myself against his chest, my body seeking the contact that he has denied me.
He carries me back inside the chateau, and the sounds of the outside muffle away in the distance. His heartbeat thuds against my ear and echoes in my body.
Gravity shifts, and I have the distinct feeling he’s carrying me up the stairs. We turn, and then I find myself being lowered gingerly onto something soft.
A bed.
Once I’m settled, his hand brushes my cheek and his lips press to mine.
The kiss is nothing like what preceded it. It’s light and warm. His tongue licks across the inside of my upper lip, and I deepen the kiss to let him taste himself on my mouth. He pushes me into the bed with his mouth, swallowing the light moan as he does so.
My hand reaches forward and finds him hard again. He doesn’t stop me from touching him, but he doesn’t move his hips forward.
I never let my enemies have what they want.
That’s okay, I think, as my hand starts to move. He’s given me enough. My other hand reaches up, threads through his hair, and finds the back of his neck. I rise up to kiss him harder and stronger.
My hand around his cock moves faster and faster, and I hold him to my lips as he empties himself on my hands, my thighs, and the quivering lips of my drenched pussy.
Then, and only then, do I dare to let him go.
And as he pulls back, he kisses my cheek gently.
“Good night, Bella,” he whispers. “You can have your eyes back when you hear the door close.”
The warmth pulls back completely, and a moment later, I hear the unmistakable click of a door.
I’m alone again.
I lie there for a long moment, feeling the expensive sheets against my bare skin, my body still humming with the aftermath. Then I reach up and pull the blindfold away.
The room swims into focus. The room is dark and lit only by the starlight filtering through gauze curtains.
I get up slowly. My legs are unsteady, and I have to brace myself against the bedframe before I can stand properly. There’s a door on the far wall, and when I push it open, I find a bathroom.
I walk to the sink and look in the mirror.
Jesus.
My hair is wrecked—tangled, wild, sticking up at angles that defy gravity. My lips are swollen and red. My mascara has smeared beneath my eyes. Angry red marks line my wrists and ankles.
