“Fuck me,” I repeated as I tugged his hand, tumbling him down on top of me.
“Fuck me,” I cried, as he drove himself into me, deeper and harder, taking everything I had to give and then some. My body was open to him, wild for him. I’d never known anything like this. Freedom mixed with fear, wildness tied to desire, lust keyed on just one man.
“Tyler,” I moaned, as the building orgasm whipped over me, pulling me up and out of myself, and then—finally—spiraling me off into the night, and into the stars that rained like a firestorm down upon us.
Chapter Eighteen
I awoke to the aroma of coffee and the sensation of something soft brushing over my naked abdomen. I opened my eyes, only to find that I still couldn’t see.
Blindfold.
I shot up, spurred into motion by the burst of fear. My heart was pounding, and my fingers grappled at my face—then were suddenly stopped by strong warm hands gently pulling my fingers free before I could rip the blindfold away.
Tyler.
“Tyler, please.”
“Shhh. You’re not tied up. You’re safe. You’re still in bed, and you’re safe.” He brushed a kiss over my lips. “I want you to leave it on. If you have to take it off, I won’t stop you. But if you can do this, I know that you’ll enjoy it—and I’m damn certain I’ll take you places you haven’t gone before.”
I swallowed, still edgy, but I trusted him, and I was calmer.
I wiggled my arms and legs as if to reassure myself that I could run.
“Anytime? I can rip it off anytime I want to?”
“Of course.”
I managed an ironic smile. “Last night you wanted me to see the stars, and now you won’t even let me see the room?”
He laughed, obviously understanding that my words were my acquiescence.
“Sight is an amazing thing, Detective. It makes it so much easier to appreciate a woman’s lovely curves.” I heard him move around the bed, could almost feel his eyes upon me. “To see more vividly all of her delights …”
Gently, he took my ankles, then spread my legs.
I squirmed, still so easily embarrassed, despite everything we’d done. But it was different somehow since I couldn’t see his face, could only imagine his expression and the heat in his eyes.
“Don’t,” he said gently. “Do you have any idea how lovely you are? How hard it makes me just knowing that you want me? How incredibly exciting it is for me to see just how much you want me?
“Sight,” he continued, and I gasped as his finger stroked slowly over my sex, dipping inside me just enough to tease and make me squirm again, this time in a silent demand for more. A demand he ignored and instead withdrew his finger. Withdrew his touch altogether.
“And taste and smell,” he added, his voice now near my ear and his finger brushing my lip. “That’s it. I want you to know just how sweet you taste to me, how much I crave the scent of your arousal.” He traced his finger over my lip, then under my nose.
“There are words, too. The sound of my voice, telling you soft things. Or maybe my words are rough. Hard. Telling you I’m going to stroke you with a featherlight touch or fuck you until you scream.”
I could feel my sex clenching, and knew at the change in his tone that he saw it.
“Keep your legs spread for me, arms, too,” he said, and I whimpered in protest, certain that if I could rip off the damn blindfold I would drown in his expression of smug satisfaction.
“Please,” I said. “What about touch? It’s a sense, too.”
“So it is. Is that what you want?”
“I want you to touch me,” I said. “I want you inside me.”
“Soon,” he promised. “But until then, I think we can make you want it just a little bit more.”
I felt something whispy and soft graze my skin.