Chapter 11 Pip
ELEVEN
PIP
He moves deliberately. No rush. No hesitation.
His free hand emerges from his pocket, holding something black—silk, smooth, folded.
A blindfold.
My breath catches. I know what this means. “You want me to wear this?” I ask, my voice shakes.
He nods, his thumb caressing my hands as he holds them firm against him.
“You won’t hurt or unalive me?” I press, eyeing him.
He shakes his head slowly, crossing his heart with his finger. Even though I cannot read his face or see his eyes, his actions feel sincere. He allowed me to explore him, to confirm he wasn’t the monster I thought him to be.
I exhale a sharp breath and nod, giving him the control. “Okay.”
He reassuringly squeezes my hands before releasing me to tie the blindfold. My breath quivers when his hands leave me, fear of the unknown. When his hands return, he cups my face gently, his gloves now removed. As he drags his thumb across my bottom lip, I hear a husky groan of approval.
His fingers glide down my jaw to my neck, dancing lightly against my skin.
I suppress a shiver, feeling my skin pebble from the combination of his touch and the cool air outside my door.
He traces his fingers across my shoulders, down my arms, and guides my wrists up around his neck.
I briefly feel his minty breath on my face as he moves closer to me, his palms grazing my waist, over my ass.
He plants a slow kiss on my neck, confirming he’s removed his balaclava. He grabs the back of my thighs, lifting me, securing my legs around his waist. His face and soft lips are now hovering just out of reach of mine.
He walks forward, sliding my door closed and flicking the latch.
I’m blindfolded, being carried by a stranger into my home, and he’s locked us in. This is insane! A logical person would never entertain this, but I can feel wetness pooling between my thighs.
He comes to a stop, lowering me onto what feels like my dining table. I have a moment of panic as he pulls away from me, grabbing his wrist as it leaves my leg. He cups my face with his free hand.
“Shhh,” he hushes, lightly nuzzling my hair with his nose and pecking a kiss there.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. I hear my fridge open and shut, followed by a cabinet, and next, my cutlery drawer. What the hell is he doing?
When he returns, I hear him place whatever he carries next to me.
He strokes my lips with his thumb and pushes it into my mouth.
I suck, hollowing out my cheeks, letting out a satisfying pop when he pulls it out.
I hear his low growl, and he nips playfully at my ear.
I feel the throb of his hard cock as he leans into the apex of my thighs.
He grabs my arm, turning my palm up. I hear clinking in a glass next to me before he runs what feels like the back of a spoon up my arm.
Hot! It feels hot! I hiss and attempt to recoil, only to be held in place as his mouth skims over the site with ice between his teeth.
I gasp, and a moan escapes me. I feel the bristles of stubble as he smiles against my skin.
Oh fuck. He’s literally carried me straight out of an exchange of trust into sensory play.
He leans forward and runs a long, slow lashing of his ice-cold tongue from the top of my cleavage up to the juncture of my neck.
My back arches involuntarily as an arm wraps around me, pulling me closer.
The hardened peaks of my nipples graze his chest through my thin t-shirt, and my clit throbs with the need for more.
Placing his hands on my hips, he begins running them up my ribs, slowly lifting my shirt. I’m in nothing but panties and a thin T-shirt! I move to protest, only to be silenced again.
“Shhh.”
I swallow down my nerves. This feels so wrong. But, oh so right!
The rational side of me is screaming. I’m ignoring so many red flags. So many possible dangerous – and potentially fatal – outcomes. Girls end up on the news from scenarios like this all the time.
Yet, the energy free-falling from this man is… familiar. Oddly safe. But foreign.
Grayson is a complete enigma wrapped in a conundrum to me in this way. Could it be him? Would he reveal himself to me? Would he lower his steely bravado and finally let me in?
Could this stranger be his secret twin I’ve yet to meet? Fuck, that’s a fantasy I didn’t know I needed.
As I ponder this, he guides my shirt over my head, pulling my arms behind my back and twisting the material into bondage. I shiver against his cool breath as he pauses a moment. Is he stalling? Or admiring? I’m completely exposed to a stranger in my own home. Vulnerable.
He answers my question without warning; a cold mouth sucks at one of my breasts while the other is caressed with his free hand. I moan loudly at the sudden explosion of sensation as my arousal perfumes the air.
Nipping and teasing, he showers my body with attention as he descends lower.
Taking ownership of me.
I whimper.
God I’ve wanted this.
He lifts my leg, forcing me to lean back and place my foot on his shoulder.
I hear clinking again—my only warning—before the hot, smooth metal runs the length of my leg up to my thigh, closely followed by his mouth clenching an ice cube.
When he reaches my center, he lashes his cold tongue along my wet panties, making me buck against his mouth.
A loud gasp slips past my lips. This is actually happening!
He huffs a chuckle, nipping the inside of my thigh as his hand navigates to move my panties aside. Running his thumb in circles around my throbbing clit, his cold tongue lashes at me once, twice, and then penetrates me.
The man feasts like a ravenous animal, fucking me with his tongue.
Slow. Then fast. Then slow again. He teases the nerve endings of my very sensitive bud.
He inches me closer and closer to release then denies my entry into oblivion to my verbal protests, only to lead me back again.
I’m a quivering, shivering, panting, whimpering, motherfucking begging hot mess. I love it.
My head spins. I need release. I need so much more than this. I need him inside me. I ache to be filled by this man. I need to be fucked brutally into another dimension!
I dig my nails into the varnished timber table top, anchoring myself. He grips my waist with bruising force while burying his face in my pussy. His other hand tightens its grip on my make-shift restraint.
In my mind, it’s Grayson. His stubble and deliciously chiseled profile covered in my arousal. Worshipping me with the devil’s smile. Christ, that smile. It’ll be the death of me.
I quiver at the thought when he switches up the angle of his jaw and –
“Oh fuck!”
He ends my torture, bringing me the hardest orgasm I’ve ever experienced. Riding out my high, he gently kisses and leaves lingering long tongue strokes, savoring me until I come down from my delirium.
When he’s satisfied, he untwists my make-shift bondage, pulling it back over my head into place. He holds me to his chest, kissing the top of my head. His heart is pounding against my ear.
I feel a lightweight object draped over my head and hung from my neck. He cups my face once more and pecks a kiss on my nose before his presence leaves me. I hear my door unlocked, opened, and closed. Then… silence.
I wait a few beats to pull off the blindfold. Next to me are two drinking glasses, one of ice, the other with hot water, and a spoon as suspected. Around my neck is the silver chain I’d left in the box on the table. Hanging from it now is an intricate brass key with a filigree deer head detail.
A doe.
I’m left empty, but full. Confused, but answered. Horny, but spent! But above all, in need of much, much more.
And a cold fucking shower!