When he winds the rope around his hand, the excitementsurges stronger, more urgent. Then he pulls out a scrap of what looks like black silk.
“Oh…” It comes out like a moan. This time, there’s an air of no holds barred, no limits, and I’m dying for it. And he’s calm, emotionless, staring at me, waiting.
Slowly, I strip naked, pushing the spaghetti straps of the summer dress down my arms, down my breasts, to my waist, and he watches me. Intently. Not saying anything.
When I step out of it, he approaches me.
There isn’t a command spoken about getting to my knees or assuming positions. In fact, he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he walks around me, inspecting, touching me lightly with his fingertips, lingering on the healed bullet wound, now just a faint red mark, and then he takes my chin, rubbing his thumb against my lip.
“Perfection,” he says and wraps the strip of black silk around my head to blindfold me.
The world plunges into darkness, and I focus on the sound of the blood in his veins, the beat of his heart. Every breath he takes.
It’s weird, breathing as a vampire. I’m addicted to it, the heightened senses, the rush it brings.
I stand, blind now, at his mercy, as he begins to wrap the rope around me. It’s sensual, the way his fingers glide with the rope, the soft touch of him and the tight bind and bite of every knot he ties. He moves down, my hands tied now, but left with limited movement.
I’m dripping, hot for him, and he slides the rope between my legs and knots it so that there’s a sweet, hard pressure against my clit and a knot pushing my pussy lips apart, like a cock is poised to enter me.
And then he moves me back, easing me down on his sofa. He spreads my thighs, then ties my ankles together. He hooks themon something, and next he pulls my hands above my head and hooks those over something else.
In my mind, I’m there, basically on a platter, naked, vulnerable, spread open for him.
And then…he stops touching me.
“Lucian?” I call out.
“No talking, Monty, unless I ask you a direct question. I’ve got a busy day, lots of meetings. On the phone and in person. And you…you are going to be a fucking hot vase of flowers to brighten the room.”
A thrill bites deep, but so does a thread of panic. He’s just going to let me hang here? Without fucking me? I don’t know about this.
He pauses and moves close; I can feel the currents in the air change, feel the pressure shift. And he says against my ear, “Would you want me to let others see you like this? Touch you like this?”
A moan breaks free and my muscles contract at the mere thought. “No. Just you.”
“Good.”
He doesn’t speak again. He’s silent as he moves about the room, shuffling various things.
It might be five minutes, it might be an hour, but goosebumps rise all over my skin at the thought of him maybe touching me…now…or now…or?—
Then there’s the lightest caress as his fingers move over me again, dancing across my shoulders, my arms, my neck. Then lower to my stomach, my hips. He moves the rope between my thighs an inch.
I’m so wet, it drips down my thigh, soaking my ass, and yet…he doesn’t touch me again. He doesn’t enter my pussy. Just adjusts ropes and drives me half out of my mind.
Then…he withdraws.
“That’s better” is all he says.
More silence. I don’t know now if he’s still here or if he’s left, but the elevator dings outside the room and voices float on the air.
I can’t breathe.
Lucian is talking to a man.
One I’ve met. One who’s touched me.
Fuck.
