Chapter 9
The scent of garlic and rosemary fills my apartment as I pull the chicken from the oven, nearly burning my fingers on the hot pan.
Perfection matters for Sebastian’s first real visit. No fever this time, no playing nurse.
An actual date where I’m conscious enough to enjoy every moment with the Alpha I’ve been texting non-stop for the last two weeks, which is how long it took for our schedules to align.
I set the roasted chicken on a trivet, steam curling toward the ceiling. The recipe demanded exact timing, and somehow my ADHD brain pulled it off. A rare win in what might as well be the culinary Olympics.
My fingers tap a nervous rhythm on the counter as I survey my small dining area, which I transformed with a thrift store tablecloth to hide the scuffed surface.
I arrange my two unmatched wine glasses, the least chipped plates in my cabinet, and silverware polished with the sleeve of my hoodie. A pair of purple candles stand tall in the center, surrounded by a handful of fresh flowers I splurged on from the bodega up the street.
“You’re overthinking this,” I mutter to myself, stepping back to assess my handiwork. “He’s seen you unconscious and drooling. The bar is low.”
My fifteen-minute timer goes off, and my heart flutters as I head to my bedroom, where I laid out the lingerie I plan to wear tonight. Purchasing it took a chunk of my emergency fund, but I wanted to wear a new outfit for Sebastian, not something someone else bought for me.
I strip off my cooking clothes and step into the delicate garment, the cool lace gliding over my heated skin.
The mirror reflects back my flushed cheeks, pupils dilated with anticipation, and hair that I styled with actual product instead of my usual finger-combing.
The emerald lace makes my green eyes pop, which Sebastian will have to imagine behind my blindfold, but he won’t need any imagination to admire the way the lace hugs my hips and chest.
A small patch of self-consciousness bubbles up when I turn to check the view from behind. Does my ass look good enough? I’ve never worried before about what my viewers think of my body. They get what they pay for.
But Sebastian isn’t coming here tonight as a client.
With a deep breath, I crush my insecurity and reach for the robe hanging on my closet door. The black faux-silk slides over my shoulders, cinches at my waist, and falls to mid-thigh with just enough coverage to maintain some mystery until the right moment.
On my way back to the dining area, I grab the blindfold from my nightstand drawer. The black silk has become our strange token of trust, a connection point in our unconventional relationship. I place it beside my place setting, ready for when Sebastian arrives.
When my two-minute timer goes off, I dim the lights and light the candles, transforming the apartment into a warm, intimate space, the flames casting flickering shadows across the walls.
Right on the dot, three firm knocks sound at my door.
My pulse skyrockets, blood rushing so fast through my veins that I hear it in my ears. I take a deep breath, straighten my robe, and run a hand through my hair one final time.
“Who is it?” I call, though I know the answer.
His deep, rich baritone penetrates the wood between us. “Sebastian.”
Warmth curls through my stomach as I grab the blindfold from the table. “Coming!”
At the door, I secure the blindfold, the padded silk blocking out the candlelight.
Reaching out, my fingers find the deadbolt, then the knob. I turn both and step back, allowing space for him to enter. “The door is open.”
The hinges creak, and the shift in air currents as the door opens causes the hem of my bathrobe to flutter at my thighs. Then his pheromones reach me, familiar now after days wrapped in the bedding where he slept while caring for me.
The door clicks shut, and a moment of silence stretches between us before large hands cup my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. I lean into his touch, drawn by the scent of him.
“You’re lovely tonight,” Sebastian murmurs, his breath warm on my lips.
Before I can respond, his mouth captures mine in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs. His lips move with confident pressure, neither demanding nor tentative. Perfect. My hands find his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his expensive sweater.
When we break apart, my face burns beneath the blindfold. I touch the collar of my robe. “I have a surprise for you underneath.”
His hand slides down my arm to find my fingers, entwining them with his own. “I look forward to discovering what that might be.”
A ding from the oven startles me from the moment.
“The potatoes!”
I spin toward the sound, misjudging my position in the room, and my shin connects with the footstool I’d moved to vacuum earlier and then forgot about. Pain shoots up my leg as I pitch forward, arms flailing for balance.
Strong hands catch me before I hit the floor, one arm wrapping around my waist while the other steadies my shoulder.
Sebastian pulls me against his solid chest. “Easy. Let me help you.”
My cheeks burn hotter with embarrassment. “So much for appearing graceful and seductive.”
Sebastian’s chuckle rumbles through his chest and into mine. “I find your enthusiasm endearing.”
He guides me away from the footstool, his hand at the small of my back, sending heat curling through me.
“The table’s straight ahead,” he murmurs. “About five steps.”
I follow his direction, letting him steer me toward the dining area.
“Let me handle the rest.” Sebastian directs my hand to the back of a chair. “The table setting looks very nice.”
The praise draws a pleased purr from me. When I planned tonight, I aimed to show him I can be domestic as well as seductive.
“I hoped tonight would be special,” I admit as he helps me into my chair, his hands gentle on my shoulders.
“It already is.” Sebastian squeezes me before he moves away, the sound of his footsteps heading toward the kitchen to rescue my forgotten potatoes.
My nervousness dissipates as I sit in the darkness of my blindfold, listening to him move through my apartment with familiar ease. After so long catering to everyone else’s whims, being cared for by him is a rare kind of peace.
“These potatoes smell delicious.” Sebastian’s footsteps return to me, followed by the light thud of the pan settling on the waiting trivet. “Do you want a little bit of everything?”
“Yes, please.” I wait while he prepares my plate, then guides my fingers to my plate.
“Your plate is arranged like a clock,” Sebastian explains. “Chicken at six o’clock, potatoes at two, and vegetables at ten. Wine glass at one o’clock, about four inches from your plate.”
I map the table in my mind. “This is like a trust exercise.”
“In many ways, it is.” The sound of a chair sliding closer reaches my ears. “May I help with the chicken?”
I give him a teasing smile. “Are you going to feed me again?”
His leg brushes mine beneath the table. “Only if you want me to.”
“I think I can feed myself this time.” I hook my foot over his. “Though, I do like you taking care of me.”
“I enjoy taking care of you, too. Let me cut your chicken, then.” Lips brush my cheek before he straightens, and the quiet sounds of metal scraping ceramic fills the air as Sebastian cuts my food.
A gentle clatter as he sets down the knife and fork follows. “All set.”
I reach forward, fingers searching for my fork. When I find it, I stab at what I hope is a piece of chicken and bring it to my mouth. The tender meat falls apart with barely any encouragement, seasoned to perfection with garlic and rosemary.
“This is delicious,” Sebastian comments. “Did you follow a recipe?”
“My neighbor’s. She took pity on me when I confessed I was planning to order takeout for our first real date.”
I reach for my wine glass and misjudge the distance. My fingers catch the stem, tipping it precariously.
Sebastian’s hand shoots out, catching the glass before disaster strikes. “Got it.”
Our fingers tangle around the stem, his larger hand enveloping mine, and a laugh bubbles up, breaking the tension. “I promise I’ll grow used to this. I’m not normally this clumsy.”
“You’re doing well.” Sebastian guides my hand, helping me right the glass. “I’m sorry about this whole situation. The blindfold, I mean. I’m working with my therapist to become more confident.”
His apology catches me off guard. My free hand reaches up, touching the silk still secured around my eyes. “Don’t apologize. I want this.”
“You shouldn’t have to eat dinner blindfolded because I’m—”
“Because you’re what?” I interrupt, turning my face toward him. “Self-conscious? We all have insecurities, Sebastian. Mine are just easier to hide behind a screen.”
Silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft clink of his fork on his plate. When he speaks again, his words hold a note of vulnerability. “Thank you for understanding.”
I reach out, palm up. “Hand, please.”
His warm fingers find mine, entwining as if we’ve been doing this for years instead of days.
“When you’re ready to show me your face, I’ll be here,” I tell him. “Until then, I’m happy with your voice, your hands, and whatever other parts of yourself you’re comfortable sharing.”
His thumb traces circles on my wrist, sending pleasant shivers up my arm. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Probably not,” I tease, breaking the heaviness of the moment. “Now pass the wine before I spill it again.”
The tension dissolves into comfortable conversation as we continue eating.
Sebastian tells me hilarious stories about his pregnant brother-in-law and his over-protective brother, avoiding specifics that might identify them.
I share stories from my early camming days, the humorous mishaps that come with learning to perform for strangers.
His laughter fills my apartment, the sound wrapping around me.
“More wine?” Sebastian asks as our plates empty.
I shake my head, already warm from the single glass I managed not to spill. “I want to stay clear-headed tonight.”
I hear Sebastian’s breath catch, and when he speaks, it comes out as a growl. “Let me clear the dishes.”
As his chair scrapes back, I stand, gathering my plate and silverware before he can take them. “I can help. It’s my apartment, after all.”
“Micah, you don’t need to—”
“I insist.” I keep hold of the plate, turning toward where I believe the kitchen to be. “The sink’s straight ahead, right?”
“A little more to the left,” Sebastian corrects.
I adjust my course, stepping carefully to avoid any more furniture collisions. The sound of Sebastian collecting his own dishes follows me.
Three steps forward, I pause, uncertain about the distance remaining to the kitchen counter. “How close am I?”
“About two more steps,” Sebastian answers from behind me.
I take another tentative step, then another, and my hip bumps the counter, orienting me.
Relief washes over me as I reach out, finding the sink and setting my handful down. “See? Perfectly capable.”
I turn to face where I think Sebastian stands, and my foot catches on the uneven kitchen tile that I keep meaning to fix, throwing me off balance. I stumble backward, arms windmilling, and collide with Sebastian’s solid form.
His arms wrap around my waist, steadying me, but the momentum carries us both backward. Sebastian lands in one of my kitchen chairs, pulling me down with him. I sprawl across his lap, my back pressed to his chest.
“Are you okay?” Sebastian asks, his breath a warm caress on my ear.
“Fine,” I manage, trying to ignore the new position we’ve found ourselves in. “You’d think, after living here for so many years, I’d be able to navigate this place better while blind.”
“You’d do better if you weren’t thinking about it so much.” Sebastian’s hands settle on my waist, and I become hyperaware of his solid thighs beneath mine, his chest rising and falling quickly, and the unmistakable hardness beneath my ass.
My breath catches, and heat floods my hips as my body responds to his arousal. I shift, grinding down on him, and Sebastian’s sharp intake tells me everything I need.
His hands tighten on my waist, not pushing me away but not demanding more, either. “Micah…”
Emboldened by his reaction, I repeat the motion. “Problem?”
“Not at all,” he responds, a rumble rising from him that vibrates through both our bodies. “But perhaps we should discuss where this is heading.”
I turn my head toward him, shy despite my provocative position. “I want you. But…”
His hold loosens. “But?”
“I’m a little intimidated,” I whisper. “By your size, I mean. I know I have a wide range of toy sizes, but I’ve never actually used any of the ones as big as you. I’m afraid of pain.”
Sebastian’s chest expands against my back as he takes a deep breath. His hands slide around my waist, one dipping lower to trace the hem of my silk robe where it rides up on my thighs.
“We don’t have to rush anything,” he murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive skin below my ear. “There are many ways to be together.”
I wiggle on his lap. “Show me.”