Chapter 24 The Buttercup Blindfold Solution
KADE
I watch the movie.
But not really.
Because the entire time, I’m watching her. The way her face softens as the story unfolds, the way she tilts her head just slightly, completely absorbed.
She’s so fucking happy. And God, I missed seeing her like this. Whether she was having the best day of her life or the absolute worst, this was always her movie of choice.
I remember it like it was yesterday. How it came on the television in one of our hotel suites.
How she mouthed the words under her breath, quoting along without even realizing it.
How she laughed, even though she’d seen it a hundred times.
How, by the time the credits rolled, she looked a little lighter.
Back in Vegas. Back when she was mine. Back when I was allowed to hold her like this.
And now?
Now she’s curled into me, tucked against my side, completely at ease.
And I want it.
All of it.
I want to be her Westley.
I want to be her fairy tale.
I want to fix what broke between us.
Because somewhere along the way, her story changed. She’s been wandering through that flaming swampland alone, and I wasn’t there to guide her. But that all ends today.
The credits start to roll. She doesn’t move right away. She just sits there, smiling, eyes bright, lost in whatever memory this brought back for her. There’s a hint of a tear in the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t wipe it away.
Doesn’t need to.
I’m still holding her. Still wrapped around her like I never let go in the first place.
And fuck—I don’t want to move.
I don’t want to break the moment. Because for the first time in eight years, she looks at peace.
Finally, she speaks. “You did all this for me?” Her voice is soft, quiet, almost disbelieving. She turns toward me, shifting slightly against my chest. “You rented out an entire theater—one that, admittedly, no one goes to anymore—just to play my favorite movie?”
I don’t move.
Don’t want to take my arm away from her to type out a response. So instead, I nod and hope she understands.
She looks at me, her gaze still soft from the afterglow of the movie, still a little glassy from that one tear she didn’t wipe away.
And then she says something that shatters me. “I want to kiss you.”
My chest tightens, and before I can even process it, she keeps going, pushing the knife in deeper, twisting it in a way that only she can. “Not just kiss you. I want more. And can you please, please take the helmet off?”
Fuck.
I want to. God, I want to.
I want her to see me.
I want her to know.
But she’s not ready.
Not yet.
I pull out my phone. She watches as I type, her breathing uneven, her fingers twitching slightly against the armrest between us.
CHAD
Do you trust me?
She exhales a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s a stupid question. I’m here, aren’t I?”
I wait.
Her smile fades slightly. She looks at the screen, then back at me. And then—she nods. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I do.”
I reach into my back pocket for the blindfold. The soft white silk one that looks just like the one Buttercup wore in the movie.
Her brow furrows. “What are you—”
Her breath catches as realization dawns. “Oh my God.”
Her voice is barely a whisper. She doesn’t stop me when I reach forward. Doesn’t pull away when I carefully tie it over her eyes. She just breathes. I watch her lips part slightly. Watch the way her chest rises and falls with each unsteady inhale.
My pulse pounds in my ears. I wave my hand in front of her face, but she doesn’t react. And then slowly, carefully, I lift my hands to my helmet.
I unbuckle the strap.
I take a breath.
And then, inch by inch, I pull it off.
Her lips are parted, her breath uneven, her hands curled against her lap like she doesn’t know whether to reach for me or hold herself back.
I lean in close and brush my lips against her ear. I lower my voice, like I did when we talked on the phone in her app, making it deeper, rougher, something she wouldn’t recognize, and I whisper, “As you wish.”
Her entire body shudders. I can feel it—the way she’s bracing, anticipating, on the very edge, and I’m about to push her over. I let my lips hover over hers, just barely brushing.
A tease.
A taste.
Like I have all the time in the world.
She makes a soft, frustrated noise, shifting just slightly, and that’s when I take.
That’s when I kiss her.
It starts slow, like I’m reliving the way she tastes, relearning every soft curve of her lips, every subtle movement of her body.
She tilts her head just slightly, the barest invitation, and I take it.
I part her lips with mine, deepening the kiss, drinking in the soft, breathy noise she makes when I lick into her mouth.
Fuck.
She melts so easily, like she was meant to be here, pressed against me, kissing me back like she’s falling, too. I tangle my fingers in her hair, pulling just enough to make her tilt her chin up for me.
The kiss grows hungrier, more desperate.
I let my hands roam, slipping under the hem of her shirt, feeling the warm, soft skin beneath my palms. She gasps, just slightly, but doesn’t stop me, so I keep going.
I push her shirt up, lifting it higher and higher until her bare breasts are exposed to the cool air of the theater.
And then—
I take my time. I brush my thumb over her nipple, feeling it tighten under my touch.
She shivers.
I smirk.
Before she can protest, I lower my head and take it into my mouth. She gasps, her body jolting. I groan against her skin, sucking softly, then harder, pulling her deeper into my mouth, flicking my tongue over her.
Her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging in just slightly. Her breath is coming faster, more uneven.
“Someone will see,” she whispers, her voice half breathless, half panicked.
I pull away just enough to speak. I press my lips against her ear, whispering, “I’d never allow that, baby doll.”
She stills. I let my teeth graze her earlobe, feeling the way she trembles beneath me.
“No one will bother us.”
She swallows. “You’re sure?”
I smirk. I know for a fact that’s true, because this theater is technically closed. Because I broke in, fixed a projector, and got the damn popcorn machine running just to play her favorite movie.
But I don’t tell her that. I just kiss her again, and this time, she doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back. She’s breathless beneath me.
I can’t stop watching her.
Not that I’ve ever been able to stop watching her.
But now?
Now she’s laid out for me, half undressed, completely at my mercy, blindfolded and waiting.
Fuck, I missed this.
Missed her.
The way she feels under my hands, the way her breath catches every time I move, the way her body reacts before she can even think about stopping herself. I trace my fingertips over her bare skin, down the soft curve of her waist, lower, until I reach the waistband of her pants.
She squirms, sucking in a sharp breath. I smirk against her throat.
Good.
She’s impatient.
Desperate.
And I’m just getting started.
I hook my fingers into the fabric, slowly sliding it down her hips, letting it pool around her ankles. Her breathing hitches as the cool air hits her bare legs.
She’s already shaking slightly, her body tense, waiting. I drag my knuckles up her bare thighs. I press closer, whispering against her ear, “Still worried someone will see, baby doll?”
She shudders.
“No,” she breathes. “Just—just touch me.”
I chuckle, dragging my fingertips higher, pushing her thighs apart slightly, letting my palm rest at the juncture between them, feeling the heat of her.
I already know what I’ll find when I touch her. Already know how wet she is for me, but I want her to say it. I slide my thumb over the lace of her panties, just barely pressing against her clit. Her body jolts, a gasp ripping from her lips.
“Chad—”
Fuck.
It’s not the right name, but even still, hearing her plead like that, desperate, it nearly undoes me. I press a little harder, circling slowly, feeling how slick she is through the fabric.
Her hips shift, chasing the friction. “More,” she gasps. “Please.”
I groan, pressing my forehead against her temple, my cock so hard it’s fucking painful.
I missed this. Missed the way she begs, the way she loses herself when I touch her, the way she has no shame when she wants something.
And fuck, I want to give it to her. I want to push her panties aside, slide my fingers deep, feel her stretch around me, make her come hard and fast and completely undone.
But not yet.
Not fucking yet.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them aside just enough. I press my bare thumb against her clit, no barrier between us now. Her sharp inhale cuts through the dark theater.
I circle slowly.
Not enough.
Not yet.
I feel her tense, her thighs tightening, her body trying to force me to speed up, to give her more.
I don’t.
“Chad,” she moans, and fuck, that sound alone could make me come.
I keep my pace torturously slow, barely pressing, just teasing. She’s already close. I can feel it, the way she’s shaking, the way her breath is coming in uneven gasps, the way she keeps arching into my touch, trying to chase it.
I keep my voice low, rough. “You want my fingers, baby doll?”
She nods wildly, whimpering. “Yes, please—please, I need—”
I cut her off with a deep, slow stroke of my thumb, pressing just right.
Her whole body shakes, her head falls back, her hands clutch at my arms, her nails digging into my jacket.
“Fuck,” she gasps.
I press harder, faster, working her clit just the way I know she likes, the way I know will push her over the edge. Her breathing stutters, breaks.
She’s right there, and I need to see it. “Come for me, Amanda.”
She does.
Hard.
Her entire body tenses, her thighs shaking, her nails biting into my arms. She gasps, head thrown back, mouth parted in a silent moan.
Fucking perfect.
I work her through it, dragging it out, making sure she feels every last pulse. When she finally slumps against me, breathless, boneless, spent, I press my lips against her temple.
I’m so fucking hard for her, aching for more, but I don’t rush.
Because I finally have her right where I want her.
And I’m not going to ruin it now.