“Correct. You indicated that electricity was a zero on your checklist. Don’t lie to me again.”
My mouth falls open. “You’re testing me.”
“Of course I’m testing you. I need to be confident that you will trust your body and that you will be honest about your limits, just as you need to trust that I know your body and will respect said limits.” I hear the sounds of him retreating, then a drawer opens and closes again. “You’ve earned yourself a spanking.”
“For what, Sir?” I grumble.
“For lying.” He hums then says, “Perhaps that will be two spankings,” only this time, he’s right behind me again.
I shiver at his closeness, at the threat of his hands on me, punishing.
Pleasuring.
I close my eyes and wait for the smack of his palm.
“I think I missed out on something special this evening,” he says, his voice a low, robotic growl. “I should have been here to unwrap you. Starting with your skirt, I would have slowly unzipped it. Then I would have slid my hands inside, touching your skin as I eased it down your legs.”
Yes, please.
“I bet you undressed in a hurry, eager to please me, but I would have moved slowly, taking my time to explore the curve of each leg, the soft, delicate space behind each knee.”
I whimper as I imagine his hands on me, feeling every brush of his palm as if he was actually doing each thing now, touching me the way he describes… the way I crave.
“I’d taste you, dragging my tongue up the length of first one leg, then down the other.”
My breath is shaky as I drag it in.
He stalks a slow circle around me, and the longer I remain blindfolded, the easier it is to follow the motion of his steps, the brush of denim on denim between his legs, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The brush of something soft teases at the back of my knee and I shiver.
“If I worked my way up these perfect legs, what would I find, hm?” Whatever he has in his hand tickles its way up the inside of my left leg.
I lick my lips, pressing them together to keep from speaking. If this is truly a test, I won’t fail again.
“Look at that sweet cunt,” he says, brushing the feathers or whatever they are against my inner thigh. “Beautiful. You’re already weeping for me.”
My thighs tense as my pussy throbs. Knowing he’s staring at such an intimate place should make me uncomfortable, but all it does is heat the blood in my veins.
I feel greedy and ready to demand that he touch me.
Another shiver shakes my shoulders as it travels the length of my spine.
“If I brushed my tongue over your clit, what would I find? Would you be sweet for me? Like honey? Salty? Perhaps both.”
I swallow hard, pressing my thighs together as that pulse again builds between them.
I’m floored by the way this man can unravel me without even touching me. How his words, that rumble of his voice modulator can send rivers of heat to pool between my legs. Howjust his solid, warm presence is enough to twist my groin into delicious knots.
“I would have stripped you out of your shirt next, pulled your arms up over your head.” He punctuates this statement by circling both wrists, then lifting them above my head.
I suck in a breath as my body sings from his closeness.
Finally!
He grips both wrists in one big hand, holding me still as he allows the silence to linger.
Each beat of my heart marks time passing, time without his hands and mouth on me.
