That’s it. One line. No rules, no safe word, nothing but a need and want.
I shove the note in my pocket with shaking hands. There’s a weird feeling in it…relief and terror. Whoever’s waiting doesn’twant a show. She just needs to feel chosen. Well, I can definitely do that. Shit, maybe that’s the only thing I can do right.
I stop at the bottom of the grand staircase, heart in my throat. The soft light from the lounge casts shadows through the railings, turning everything gold and dark.
Upstairs, someone’s waiting for me. Wants me. Well, maybe not me, exactly, but the illusion of someone who can make her feel like she matters.
I steady my breathing and try to focus on that.
Tonight, I won’t let her down.
I grip the banister hard enough that the edge bites into my palm, but I don’t let go. Every step up I take, the more I feel the buzz of adrenaline smother the fear in my chest. My shoes barely make a sound on the plush carpet.
Once I get where I’m going, I pause in front of the door, For a second, I stand there and stare at the handle. My chest is so tight I think I might break a rib. The note’s still in my pocket, a reminder.
Make her feel wanted.
I turn the knob and step inside.
Holy shit. It’s like stepping out onto a cloud.
Everything is white. The carpet is thick and soft. The curtains float around the windows, glowing in the soft light. Even the bed glows, silk sheets that turn her naked body into a living breathing angel.
She’s on her side, knees curled up a little, hands fisted in the sheet like she’s afraid it’ll fly away. The blindfold’s pure white, tied neat at the back of her head, golden hair spilling out across the pillow like something out of a dream.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
I can’t stop staring at the strip of bare skin running from her shoulder to her ass, freckles and all. The sheet barely hidesanything, and what it covers just makes me want to pull it off slow and make her wait for it.
Her chest rises and falls, a little quicker than normal, making her breathing shaky under the weight of my gaze. I think she senses something, but I don’t think she knows I’m in the room yet. She’s there, exposed, hoping someone will decide she’s enough.
Seeing her there, exposed and raw, waiting for someone to decide is she’s enough, makes whatever nerves I brought up those stairs melt into raw heat.
I want her.
The need settles deep, way down in the parts I usually keep locked up. Even my hands feel different. They're itchy, desperate to touch, to explore.
And I plan on doing just that.
I step forward, staying quiet, my eyes locked in. Her arms are crossed over her chest, but she’s not hiding. She wants to be seen like this, on display, waiting.
God, she’s perfect.
All smooth skin, a flush creeping down her neck. I let myself imagine how she’ll sound when I finally run my hands up her sides, grip those hips, spread her out under me until she begs for me to take her.
She wants to feel wanted?
I’m going to fucking ruin her for anyone else.
My cock is already so fucking hard, and I haven’t even laid one finger on her. There’s no pretending on my part. No acting. What I’m feeling at this moment is pure hunger, loud and unfiltered. My pulse hammers in my ears, and the only thing I want more is to make sure that she never doubts what I’m about to do to her is real.
I take another step forward. The floor muffles everything. I’m so close to where she is, I could reach out and trail my fingersup her thigh. Brush her hair back, just to watch her shiver under my touch. I could tell her exactly what I see, and how much it’s fucking killing me not to touch.
But I don’t. I want to wait. Give her a second longer, let the anticipation grow.
She shifts.
By now, I’m sure she feels me watching.Good. I want her to.
