She stood near the bed, her breath shallow, anticipation curling through her like a slow-burning flame. She didn’t know his name. Not yet. They had met barely an hour ago at the bar downstairs—her, sipping a red wine, him, watching her with quiet intensity. He hadn’t approached immediately, just observed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. When he finally moved, he did so with purpose, sliding into the seat beside her like he belonged there.
His voice had been deep, smooth, confident. "You have the kind of lips a man wants to worship."
A shiver had traced down her spine at his words, at the way his eyes darkened as he studied her reaction. By the time they finished their drinks, her pulse was thrumming in time with the quiet music drifting through the bar. She had followed him upstairs without hesitation, desire simmering beneath her skin. Now, she was here, standing before him, barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a black silk robe, the tie loosely knotted at her waist.
He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on his knee, the other lazily tracing the rim of a crystal glass filled with amber liquid. His gaze traveled over her body like a slow caress, taking in every curve, every inch of exposed skin. The air between them was thick, electric.
"Take it off," he murmured, his tone soft but unmistakably commanding.
Her breath caught. He wasn’t in a hurry. He wanted her to feel it—to savor the moment, to let the anticipation coil tight inside her. She hesitated for just a heartbeat, watching him, before her fingers moved to the knot at her waist. A slow tug, and the silk loosened, sliding down her shoulders in a whispering glide before pooling at her feet.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes darkened. "Good girl."
Heat licked at her skin, her pulse a wild drumbeat in her throat. He stood, his movements fluid, measured. As he stepped closer, she felt the shift in energy—the weight of his presence, the quiet authority he exuded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of black silk.
Her breath hitched. A blindfold.
"Trust me?" His voice was a velvet promise, threaded with something deeper, something dangerous.
She swallowed hard and nodded.
"Say it."
"I trust you."
His lips curled slightly, satisfied. He stepped behind her, the heat of his body radiating against her bare skin. His fingers grazed her arms as he lifted the blindfold, brushing it over her eyes before tying it snugly behind her head. The darkness was immediate, heightening every other sense.
"Lie down," he instructed, his voice a husky murmur against her ear.
She obeyed, sinking onto the bed, her body stretched out against the cool sheets. She heard the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of his glass being set down. Then, silence.
The anticipation was exquisite.
The mattress dipped as he joined her, his presence hovering just above. She felt the heat of him, the whisper of his breath against her collarbone before his fingers trailed down, featherlight, from the hollow of her throat to the curve of her breast. She sucked in a breath, arching slightly, but he was patient, methodical.
His fingertips skimmed lower, tracing the delicate slope of her stomach, pausing just above the waistband of her lace panties. He lingered there, pressing a palm flat against her belly, feeling the quick rise and fall of her breath.
"You want me to touch you," he mused, amusement lacing his tone. "But I think I’ll make you wait."
A small, needy sound escaped her lips.
He chuckled, dark and knowing. "Patience, sweetheart."
A whisper of motion, and then his lips pressed against her hip, a soft, teasing kiss. Another, lower this time. His tongue flicked out, tracing slow, lazy circles against her skin. Every touch was deliberate, calculated to make her squirm.
She felt his fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her legs in a slow, torturous motion, exposing her completely. The cool air kissed her bare skin, but it was the heat of his breath against her most sensitive places that made her thighs tremble.
Then, finally—finally—he touched her with his mouth.
A long, slow lick.
She gasped, her back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through her like lightning.
"That’s it," he murmured against her, his tongue swirling, teasing. He worked her with skill and patience, alternating between soft, fluttering strokes and deep, deliberate movements that had her gasping his name.
Her fingers fisted in the sheets, the tension coiling tight inside her, the pleasure almost unbearable. He pushed her closer and closer, his mouth relentless, until she was teetering on the edge.
"Let go," he commanded, his voice firm.
And when he sucked her clit into his mouth, she shattered.
Her cries filled the room, her body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her. He held her down, his strong hands gripping her thighs as he wrung every last tremor from her body, his mouth unyielding.
Only when she was breathless, utterly spent, did he finally pull away. He pressed a lingering kiss to her inner thigh before reaching up and removing the blindfold.
Her dazed gaze met his wicked smile. "Now, sweetheart," he murmured, eyes gleaming with promise, "I’m not nearly done with you yet.
...Next part when it happens...