There’s a creak on the stairs. I jolt upright. My heart rate picks up speed as I realise in my sleepy haze that the dog only barks when he sees people in my kitchen or hanging around my property.
The pulse in my neck throbs as I scramble for my phone on the bedside table. In my haste, it falls down the back of the table. I throw the cover off me as I climb on all fours to reach down the back of the unit.
The door clicks open. My heart hammers in my chest. I spin back around on the bed, frozen under a large shadow. Before I can take another breath, a strong man is on top of me. The full weight of him presses me into the mattress.
I wriggle underneath him. In my head, I’m screaming, but the room remains silent. Only the sounds of heavy breathing and the squeaks from the bed fill the space.
I claw at the ribbed wool on his balaclava mask. Underneath, he’s breathing heavily as he grips my wrists and pins me down.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whimper in defeat. My lungs gasp for air.
He dips his head, the outline of his nose trails along my cheek and into my neck. His warm breath seeps through the fabric of his mask as he shushes me.
“I’m not here to hurt you, nightingale,” he whispers.
My body stills. A shiver runs the length of my spine straight to my centre. His voice echoes in my brain as I try to place it. Without the voice distortion, he sounds familiar.
He holds my wrists with one firm hand while he reaches into his back pocket. In the darkness it’s hard to see what he retrieves, but when he secures my hands to the metal bars on the headboard, the hard plastic of the zip tie digs into my skin. He pulls it tight against my wrist as I writhe beneath him, still trying to claw my way free, but now it’s to pull off his mask so I can get a good look at the man who’s been haunting my days.
In a deep raspy whisper, he says, “Do you have a safe word?”
Disorientated, I can’t think straight. “No. I’ve never needed one before.”
“Pick one.” He ties my other wrist to a vertical pole that makes up the headboard. The weight of his body digs into my thighs, holding my legs in place.
“Flatline.” I cringe, scrunching my nose. It’s the first thing that came into my head.
His leather covered hands glide down my arms, now both my wrists are secured to the headboard. “If you want this to stop, you say flatline, and I’ll untie you and disappear.” His raspy tone sounds different to when he’s online, like he’s trying to keep himself under control and not show any emotion. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” There’s something familiar about him, but there’s a fog in my head, making it difficult to think. A battle of emotions fight each other inside my mind, knowing I should bescared. I shouldn’t want this man, but every fibre in my body craves him. His touch, his praise, his lips.
With that deep gruff, raspy tone again, he says, “You can say it now if you want to. I’ll untie you and leave without touching you further. Just say the word.”
It’s as if he wants me to stop this before we go too far, but I’ve fantasised about this moment. The words linger on the tip of my tongue, my mind willing me to say them, but my body won’t allow me to speak. I may not know who he is, but I know I can trust him.
“Last chance, nightingale.” His gloved hand glides over the ink on my thigh. A groan rumbles through the balaclava as his fingers reach the crease between my thigh and my pelvis. “I’ve waited a lifetime to touch you like this. Tell me to stop.”
I can’t tell if he wants me to tell him to stop like we’re playing a game or if he genuinely wants to give me a way out and leave, so I stay silent, afraid of the latter.
I don’t need to see his eyes to know they’re watching my every move. The mask he’s wearing seems thicker in real life, and he’s much larger in person than I thought he was. But despite his weight and tight grip, he’s like a gentle giant.
He pulls out a black cloth from his pocket, then covers my eyes, tying it behind my head. I couldn’t see much before, but now I’m in complete darkness, all my senses heightened. Every breath he exhales against my skin leaves a path of goose bumps from my neck to my breasts.
My back arches as his warm mouth engulfs my nipple through my cotton nightshirt. When he comes back up over my chest, his lips press against my skin. He must have taken off his mask. I writhe again, trying to rub my blindfold against my arm or the bed, anything to dislodge it so I can get a peek at my predator.
His body shakes. Puffs of air leave his lips as he continues to kiss my collarbone. With his mouth hot against my flesh, he says, “You can writhe all you want. That blindfold’s not coming off until I’m done with you.”
“Wha…what are you going to do?” I say between panting breaths. My body thrums with each kiss. His scent catches in my nose, and I inhale more of him, trying to figure out what it is. A mix of tobacco and mint.
His lips reach my ear, teeth tug on my earlobe before he whispers in a gravelly voice, “Whatever I want. Tonight you’re mine, nightingale.” He sucks below my ear, sending tingles all over my body, igniting the blood in my veins. His mouth doesn’t let up on my neck until I’m burning inside.
I whimper as his hand slips under my nightshirt, over my round stomach until he reaches my breast. His rough fingers tug on my nipple. It’s a different sensation to the gloves he wore a moment ago. But I love it. The rugged roughness of his hand contrasts to the gentle softness of his lips.
His mouth surrenders my neck, only to hover over my cheek. I turn my head to feel his lips against mine. They touch ever so slightly. Electricity pulses between us, but he doesn’t kiss me. He just hovers, brushing his lips against mine. It’s torturously teasing. We’re both still fully clothed, but this has to be the hottest, most sensual and exhilarating experience of my life.
I lift my hips, wriggling under him to feel something between my legs. His cargo trousers with side pockets scratch the inside of my thighs, but I need more friction. I need more of him, his weight, his body, his lips. This man is an enigma to me, but I can’t get enough.
He smiles against my mouth. “Does your pussy need some attention?”
