The Blindfold

Excerpt:
I sat in the uncomfortable, metal folding chair, my wrists bound behind my back, my body naked, chilled and aroused by the raw feeling of helplessness. This is me and had been me since my lover broke it off and I gave up on trying for the real thing. Even though a man I desired stood nearby and was about to have his way with me, I figured I’d still be helpless and alone afterward—still searching for that thing I thought I had once. I wore a blindfold and could discern changes in light, but not much else. I didn’t struggle. I wanted to be here, needed to be here. Every dark dream and erotic fantasy I envisioned before this moment about Marcel had prepared me. A door clipped shut nearby. The light dimmed. A shadow crossed before my limited field of vision.

“Are you ready?” the voice asked, a man’s voice, low and strong, with a hint of decadence in it.

“Yes.” I loved that about Marcel. The man exuded sex appeal. He always wore his button down shirts open at the top, revealing a chiseled chest and the hint of curled hairs. I envisioned his brown eyes, sharp, knowing, and able to hold everyone’s attention. I imagined those eyes examining my naked body. My cock, stiff with need, awaited the tortuous seduction soon to come. Was Marcel staring at it? Comparing it to his own length? Did it turn him on? I shivered at the delightful thought of our first secret meeting.

“Do you dream about me?” he whispered against my right ear. His lips brushed over my skin, hot, soft.

“I have ever since I met you at the party that first night.” I thought over our chance meeting. Marcel had crossed the room in a rush, his martini in hand. I stood still in the midst of the crowd of people trying my best to be invisible. The tall, dark seducer had bumped into me by accident, spilling the remains of his drink over the both of us. We had laughed over it.

“What do you dream?” Marcel questioned, drawing me from the memory. Lips moved down to take in an earlobe, to suckle it with a wet tongue.
My tiny nipples hardened. I squirmed and immediately regretted it when Marcel pulled away. “I—I dream of you doing things to me. Kissing me, holding me.”

“Taking you?” he pressed, that lascivious tone tantalizing me. Footsteps, muffled by the rug, shushed as Marcel paced.
“Yes. I dream about that, too.”

A chuckle.

Fingers traced one knee in ticklish circles. Rough, experienced and manly, they massaged up my inner thigh. A whispered touch caressed the head of my erection before he retreated, leaving me to catch my breath.

“I won’t take you this time,” he said in a whisper. “You have to earn my affections. You have to work for them. I want a man who knows how to please me and whose body I can explore and know before I become a part of him.”

“But, I want you to take me tonight.” I said it without pleading, with truth, because I did want it. I needed to feel him buried inside me, thrusting, filling me. I shivered at the delicious thought.

Marcel moaned. “You’ll have to learn patience.”

Footsteps again, closer now.

Fingers returned to my thighs. His heated touch roamed over prickling skin, up and impossibly slow back down to my knees. Up again. I eased back in the chair, calming my breathing, enjoying the sensations of being teased.

The massages continued for some time before Marcel paused and popped open a bottle of something.

“What’s that?” I muttered, still floating above myself in relaxed bliss.

“Lotion.”

Hands rubbed together with wet sounds.

Warm, moist cream slicked over my legs. I groaned my frustration and longing. “You’re cruel.”

“No.” Fingers moved higher, circling my hardness, but never touching long enough. “I’m spoiling you. You’ll see. Taking you is not as good as pampering you.”

“I want you to take me.”

Palms, hot and soothing, explored the muscles of my abdomen. A finger toyed in my bellybutton, making me snort out a small laugh. Hands worked and molded, sending my mind away from my desires and into a world of darkness with touch...only Marcel’s touch.

A body soon wedged between my spread legs. I wanted more contact and scooted forward until Marcel’s bare chest pressed against my cock. He bucked once, the closeness intense.

He laughed, his voice near my heart. “I like your body,” he said, and kissed my nipple. Soft kisses, warm and tenuous worked across my skin to the other nipple. “You take care of yourself. How often do you work out?”

“Couple times a week,” I answered. “You could come with me.”
A chuckle again, devious and making me realize the double meaning in my words. “Not this night. This night it’s all about you. I’m not coming and you’re not going…anywhere.”

His cheek grazed along my side, down the abs I’d worked so hard to keep toned. A hint of stubble scratched my skin, but it felt good, like something that shouldn’t be allowed.

The blindfold heightened my senses of him. His every caress and press of his body set the fire ablaze in my loins.



Author Bio:

Anastasia Rabiyah is an author of erotic romance and fantasy. She often blends the two genres to create magical worlds of romance portrayed in a dark light. Enter her imagination, a place filled with demons, secrets, magic and star-crossed lovers. She writes in every spare moment, haunted by her muses.

www.RabiyahBooks.com