Lila
We step inside our temporary lodging and remove jackets and boots, shake out the sand, do all these very domestic things.
I head to the bathroom, go pee and take a glance at myself in the mirror.
I’m a windblown mess but aside from a quick finger-comb of my hair and a dab of lipgloss, I let it be.
It is what it is. I suck in a big old breath and exhale before heading back out and to the kitchen.
My bare feet pad across the carpet of the bedroom, then out to the cool floors of the kitchen, my belly flipping right along with each step.
I’ve never felt so oddly nervous like this, and it’s all because I’m pretty sure Simon and I are finally, finally going to have sex.
Enough with the build up, already. I need to see this man’s penis (oh my God, I haven’t even seen it yet?), and now I’m freaking out because what if it’s super small or crooked or something and that’s why he’s taken all this time?
No. I’ve seen him in gym shorts. It’s not small. Like, at all.
Maybe he’s worried I won’t be able to take it?
Oh my, I’m losing my mind.
I mindlessly wander up to Simon and he grabs my hand, startling me out of my thoughts. “Hey, you alright?” he asks. I look at him in his black long sleeve shirt, dark jeans, bare feet, maze tattoo on his neck screaming to let me do delicious things to it.
“Um, yes! Yes. What now?” I smile in a way I hope is flirtatious, but I fear might be more maniacal.
Simon drops my hand, smiling mischievously but backing away from me. “Why don’t you pour us a drink?” he says, nodding toward the kitchen counter.
I laugh nervously. “We should have brought tequila.”
“Ask and you shall receive. Open the cupboard.”
I step forward, passing him to do so. I open one door, see glasses and pull two down.
I open another and sure enough, a delicious looking bottle glimmering invitingly looks back at me.
“How would you like—” I start to ask, turning around to question him, but Simon’s disappeared.
I hear him shuffling around in the room so I decide to look for some ice in the small freezer, thankful when I open and see a tray with little blobs of frozen cubes.
I pull it out and drop it on the counter.
My hands are still freezing so I rub them together before resuming my work.
I’m tempted, like really tempted, to take a quick shot to calm my nerves. Why am I so nervous for this? It’s far from my first time.
But I decide against it. I want to be present for this, so I pop the cubes in the glasses, hearing a delightful ting as they drop in, and then pour a conservative amount of the tequila in each glass.
I vaguely remember telling him at some point that it was my drink of choice, and I’m flattered he remembered.
I see a couple green limes as well (he thought of everything!) so I shuffle around to find a cutting board.
After slicing and squeezing the juice in the glasses, I lick the tart juice off my fingers.
I hear his footsteps behind me, but before I have the chance to turn around I feel fabric on my eyes.
Oh my.
I gasp a little, then hum and instinctively reach up for the blindfold covering my face.
He’s behind me, securing a tight knot and I can smell the masculine pine and tobacco scent on him.
I feel his fingers on my hair by my neck, pulling strands aside.
I hear his low voice whisper in my ear, “Come up with a safe word, Lila,” and fuck if my belly doesn’t do a thousand more cartwheels at that.
My heart’s pounding in my chest with anticipation, and a throb pulses between my legs.
I laugh out loud, though. I can’t help it. “You’re kidding. A safe word? For real?” I bite my lip, fighting the urge to say something smart.
“Yes.”
“Why, because you’re going to cause me so much pain? Are you planning on whipping me?”
“No. It’s because I’m going to cause you so much pleasure, you’ll need a safe word to tell me to stop.
” I feel his lips on my neck, the gentle scratch of his scruff and a flush of heat passes over my entire body.
“I was thinking about you touching yourself that whole time on the beach.” Another kiss.
“And now.” A kiss. “I can no longer keep myself from you, Lila. I’ve imagined being inside you a hundred different times. ”
“Only a hundred?” I breathe out.
He growls a low grumble and I feel a small bite on my side, just above my hip. “A safe word,” he repeats.
I whimper out and grip my hands so tightly on the edge of this counter I think I might bleed. “Why don’t I just say ‘stop’?” I whisper.
He grazes his nose up my back, along the back of my neck, through my hair, moving his face from one side to the other.
Once again I feel his fingers move aside my hair to expose the skin of my neck, and he kisses again.
I press my back into him, against his chest, wanting so much more than this tease he’s giving me.
“Safe. Word. Lila.”
“I…” I can barely concentrate, all because of a damn blindfold that’s igniting the rest of my senses and the simple act of his lips on my neck. “I’ll just say stop.”
With an abruptness he presses his body more firmly into mine, pinning me against the counter, my hipbones digging in.
“No. That’s not enough. Sometimes when pleasure is so good, we can say ‘stop’ because the word is right there.
But we don’t really want to stop. If we can push through, we can reach pleasure of levels we’d never imagined.
” He grabs both my wrists and pins them behind me, a thing I’m gathering he really likes to do, and I really like him doing it.
My wrists pinned in his one hand, I feel his other on my throat, his touch firm and so incredibly erotic.
He whispers in my ear. “And I plan to give you pleasure of that level. So…Your safe word,” he commands.
I can’t even think straight because I’m already dizzy just in this compromising position here in this darling little cottage kitchen. I imagine the sweet little old couple that must be our hosts, baking us that lovely cake, leaving us lovely teas.
And here we are, defiling the place with blindfolds and tequila I haven’t even sipped yet and safe words. “October,” I blurt out. It’s all I can think of. The goddamn month we’re currently in. I’m sure there’s something more clever or sexy, “red” or whatever the standard is, but it’s all I got.
“Good. October, then,” he says. He removes his hand from my throat but leaves my wrists in his grasp.
I feel his body lean over to the side for a moment, then back again directly behind me.
Then something cool on my lips. “Open,” he commands, and I do.
I taste the lime slice on my tongue, laced with…
the tequila, I realize. He must have dipped it in the drink before placing it on my lips.
It’s fucking delicious. I’m amazed at just how heightened all the rest of my senses are, having now lost the sense of sight.
I suck and moan in appreciation, loving everything happening in my body right now, at the hands of this man.
I don’t have to do a single thing, it’s like there’s no work involved at all.
Just let go and experience, feel all these sensations, and it’s magical.
A sense of ease and relief like no other sexual encounter I’ve ever had before.
He removes the lime from my mouth and then moments later I feel his finger in my mouth, the taste of lime and tequila on it. I swirl my tongue around, then he replaces his finger with his thumb, and I repeat.
I hear a bird tweet outside the window and smile at the sweetness of it. Can this bird see what’s happening in here? Does it sense the thick air of sexual tension? I smile and ask Simon his thoughts on it.
“A bird is the farthest thing from my mind,” he grumbles out, and I laugh in appreciation.
He reaches a hand up my shirt, straight up to my bare breast and grazes my nipple ever so softly. “Well done, you took my advice,” he says.
“The bra was uncomfortable, that’s all. I did it for me, not you,” I say, and he squeezes hard on my nipple. I cry out, loving the sensation. I drop my head back into the crook of his shoulder, wanting to melt my whole body right into his.
“Sly little fox, you are,” he says, releasing my nipple to fully cup his hand over my breast, pressing me into him.
He walks us backward and out of the kitchen.
I’m disoriented but completely devoid of resolve to attempt any control, just blindly allowing him to guide us wherever.
I feel the floor on my feet change to the cushion of the carpet, my indication that we’re now in the bedroom.
He releases me and I hear the sounds of fabric, then a strong whiff of his scent within the tiniest gust of air consumes me.
I think he’s in front of me now, but I’m not sure.
I feel him reach for my hands and he presses them up against his chest. There’s bare skin and a sprinkle of chest hair beneath my palms. He drops his own hands, leaving mine on his torso, and I tentatively explore his skin, his shoulders, his biceps.
I imagine the black ink on them and smile.
“I like your skin,” I tell him, not even caring that that’s a funny sounding line.
He says nothing, just kisses me briefly before pulling my shirt over my head, careful not to disturb my blindfold. He unbuttons and unzips my jeans and pulls them down along with my panties. I’m completely naked now, and I feel him gently guide me backwards. The back of my legs hit the bed.
“Sit,” he instructs, and I do. My bare ass feels the smooth fabric of sheets. The original blanket top must be off the bed. “Further back,” he says, and I scoot my body back a bit, then more until he tells me to stop. “Now lie down,” he says, and I do.