MY HEART WAS beating so hard I thought it might come out of my chest. Shivers chased themselves all over my skin, and I was intensely aware of the smooth leather of the chair beneath me, now warm from my body. Warm at my back too. Aware, also, of the stretch of my inner thighs, the arms of the chair holding them wide.
I ached, burned. The dragging, heavy pressure between my thighs, deep in my sex, was getting worse by the second.
But most of all I was aware of him, standing in front of my chair. Him. The man I’d been helplessly in love with for half my life.
The tangled mess of feelings in my chest hadn’t untangled themselves yet, but right now the main emotion I’d chosen to go with was joy. Utter joy in the moment. That he was here with me. And that he’d kissed me. And it was as amazing as I’d always fantasised it would be.
I could still feel his mouth on mine. Still feel the imprint of his lips, warm, firm and effortlessly masterful. Could still taste him, mint and dark chocolate, so delicious. Like I’d imagined but better, so much better.
Gorgeous Eli, whom I’d never forgotten, no matter how many times I’d tried.
And I’d figured out why he’d sounded angry earlier, why he’d wanted to send me away. He was trying to protect me because he’d always been protective like that, making sure I was okay, so seeing me here must have been a huge shock.
But he hadn’t told me who he was, not when he’d arrived in the room and not as we’d talked. And he hadn’t told me when I’d argued about leaving or when I’d taken my clothes off. He’d stayed silent. Even when he’d held my hand down on his zipper...
Which could only mean one thing: Eli Hart wanted me.
A full body shiver coursed through me, my thoughts tumbling around in my head.
Finally, after so many years, Eli Hart wanted me. Me. Not a cheerleader or a football groupie. Not someone beautiful or curvaceous. Not one of those bright, glittering women he’d always seemed to prefer. Not much of anything at all.
Just me. Shy and awkward and plain Vesta the virgin.
I could barely breathe, intense excitement filling me, my most treasured fantasy happening right here in this room. It was not some faceless man helping me put down Eli’s ghost, blindfolded so I could impose Eli’s face over his, but Eli himself. The actual man.
Eli, wanting me. Eli, desperate to have me.
Me. After so many years of me wanting him.
I focused on him standing in front of my chair, focused on him to the exclusion of everything else. He was so clear in my memory, the Eli I’d completely fallen for. Broad shoulders, wide chest and lean hips. Blond hair and the perfect, masculine beauty of his face. High cheekbones and forehead, straight nose, a beautiful mouth that curled at the corners in his flat-out beautiful, easy smile. Then his eyes, golden-brown and emerald-green, fringed with dark gold lashes. Warm and full of amusement.
He was breath-taking and no wonder his future in the NFL had always seemed so certain. He played like a god and his face was pure endorsement material. He was on his way to being king. At least, that was how everyone else saw him.
But I saw the only person who’d ever noticed me. Who’d ever thought I was something special. Who’d told me that I wasn’t stupid, that I was a star. A rose. That I was smart and talented, and that I could be whoever I wanted to be.
My chest was tight with emotion, a thousand questions in my head. But it wasn’t the time for questions, and the demands of my body were getting to be too much to ignore. He was there, right there, and I could feel the pressure of his gaze. It was as intent as a predator watching prey, and now I was his prey. He was so hungry for me...
I’d never done this before in front of someone, much less him. There might have been a few fantasies or two back when I’d been younger—him accidentally walking into my bedroom while I was touching myself—but I’d never thought those fantasies would become reality. Never imagined it actually happening.
Now it was. And, really, I thought I’d be much more nervous, worried about disappointing him. Worried that I wouldn’t be enough in some way, not as pretty, as experienced or as sexy as those other girls.
But I wasn’t nervous. I had his full attention and I knew he was here for me. And he wanted me. I’d felt the evidence of that want and, besides, he’d told me what to do himself, hadn’t he? All I had to do was that.
I ran my hands down my thighs, quivering slightly at the touch of my own fingers on my skin. I imagined they were his hands, his fingers lightly stroking. His perfect features would be set in hard lines of hunger and his eyes would be glittering with desire. He wouldn’t be able to tear his gaze away.
I stroked down between my thighs, finding slick flesh, making pleasure curl through me. A soft sound escaped and I shuddered as I found my achingly sensitive clit, teasing it gently. The pleasure increased, becoming sharp as I circled it with the tip of one finger, my thighs trembling.
I imagined it was Eli’s hand. Eli going down on his knees in front of my chair, watching as he touched me, the focus of his complete and utter attention.
He was silent. I couldn’t even hear his breathing. But I knew he was looking. I could feel him watching. Were his eyes golden with heat? Was he desperate to touch me? Was he still hard and aching? Or was this little show I was putting on for him leaving him cold?
A sliver of doubt wound through me, cutting through the heat. Perhaps this wasn’t sexy for him after all. Perhaps this was like reading and maths and I wasn’t doing it right. Perhaps I was making a fool of myself after all.
My hand faltered, the wonderful, warm pleasure beginning to slide away.
‘Did I say you could stop?’ His voice sounded vaguely shocking, rasping and rough. ‘You can answer me.’
‘No,’ I said huskily.
‘Then why did you?’
‘I...’ I didn’t want to tell him the truth. I didn’t want to reveal myself so completely. Then again, I was naked. How much more revealing could I get? Plus, there was something freeing about him thinking I didn’t know who he was. Anonymity without actually being anonymous.
This night wouldn’t come again and when it was over we’d leave with him believing I thought he was a stranger and me getting to have him as my ultimate fantasy. He’d go back to his company, doing whatever it was he did, and I’d get on with expanding my tattoo business. And, if there was a time when we met again, we’d never speak of this. We’d both pretend it had never happened.
Really, what would I lose if I told him the truth? Nothing.
‘Well?’ The word was a whip-crack, making my breath catch.
‘I couldn’t hear you,’ I said hesitantly. ‘And I didn’t know if you liked what I was doing. I thought you might not find it sexy or I might be...doing it wrong or...’ I trailed off, cringing inside at how pathetic it sounded.
He didn’t speak, the silence gathering thick and hot.
Then he said, ‘It isn’t possible for a woman stroking herself to orgasm to not be either erotic or sexy, understand me? And I know—I’ve had a lot of women. And how can you do it wrong? The only way for it to be wrong is if you don’t get any pleasure out of it.’
A tight sensation I hadn’t realised was there eased in my chest somehow. Stupid to care so much, but there was nothing I could do about it. I’d always cared about what Eli thought of me. Always.
‘I... I know,’ I said huskily. ‘But I...’
‘Did you enjoy what you were doing? It certainly seemed as if you were.’
‘Yes,’ I admitted.
‘Then what does it matter if I find you sexy? The important thing is whether or not you got pleasure out of it.’
How could I tell him that it mattered because he mattered? I couldn’t, of course, not without revealing that I knew who he was.
‘I just...want to be beautiful. I want to be sexy. I want...’ I stopped, breathing fast, staring into the darkness of the blindfold. ‘I want you to be turned on by me. I want you to be desperate for me.’
‘Why? You really value the opinion of a complete and utter fucking stranger?’
‘You’re the only man who’s ever made me feel this way.’ In this I was able to tell him the complete truth. ‘Of course your opinion matters.’
‘Me?’ His voice had deepened, impossibly so. ‘There must have been other—’
‘No.’ My turn to interrupt now. ‘There hasn’t.’
‘What the fuck makes me so special?’ He sounded almost...angry. ‘You don’t even know me.’
The tension that had been there before, the cold sliver of doubt, was sliding away, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because of his anger. People were only ever angry about stuff that was important to them, and if he was angry about being special to me then it meant that he cared about it. That, for whatever reason, it mattered to him.
For the first time I wanted to push up my blindfold and see his face, look into his eyes. Try to understand what was going on here, because something was. I was sure of it.
But I didn’t.
‘I don’t know why you’re special,’ I lied. But I didn’t lie about the next part. The next part was absolute truth. ‘I just know I haven’t felt this way about any other man before. Not once.’
He was silent, but this time I could feel frustration and anger seething in the air around me. And something else too: hunger.
The silence lengthened, deepened. And once again I became aware of the way I was sitting with my thighs spread, the dragging ache between my legs becoming acute.
‘Keep going,’ he said at last, roughly. ‘And think only of what I told you to do, nothing else. I want that hand on your pussy. I want to see you getting hot and wet. I want to see you desperate to come. And I do not, under any circumstances, want to see you stop. Tell me that you understand.’
It was obvious to me, now I was paying attention to his voice, that there was a thickened heat in it, melted honey coating all that gravel. And that, even more than what he’d said, made the doubt slip away entirely.
He was turned on. He really was.
I moved my hands, gently easing one finger inside me, then another. I was so wet there wasn’t any resistance, and I gasped softly at the wave of pleasure that swamped me at the feeling. My hips shifted on the seat, rocking gently as I slid my fingers in and out slowly, before getting a little faster.
‘Good girl,’ he murmured. ‘That’s what I like to see.’
God, it felt so good, knowing he was watching. That he was staring at me. It made everything feel amazing.
My eyes squeezed closed even tighter and I increased the pressure, pleasure sweeping through me and moving out, an unstoppable wave. I was slick and hot now and the cool air on my skin only intensified the sensation.
Eli, I whispered in my head. Oh, my God, Eli...
My toes were curling in my sandals, the orgasm bearing down on me. I bucked my hips, my fingers pressing harder.
And then suddenly a hot, strong grip clamped around my wrists and my hands were pulled away. ‘No,’ I gasped, my body trembling, unsatisfied and aching almost to the point of pain.
But he was too strong.
He transferred both of my wrists into one powerful hand, holding them down on the arm of the chair next to my thigh. And I felt the brush of his fingers on my inner thigh.
Oh, my God. He was going to touch me. Eli was going to touch me, and I knew if he did I was going to come apart.
‘Oh, yes,’ I groaned aloud, unable to help myself. ‘Please...’
He didn’t speak, his touch light as it stroked down my inner thigh, tracing my slick flesh. There was pressure on my clit, and I thought I would come straight away, but I didn’t. He knew how to touch me without sending me over the edge, damn him.
I lifted my hips, pressing against that pressure.
‘More,’ I murmured. ‘More. I need...more.’
‘You’re thinking of someone, aren’t you?’ His rough voice was close, his breath on my throat. He must have been leaning over me, watching my face even as one of his hands played between my legs, the other holding my wrists fast. ‘Tell me who.’