THERE WAS PERSPIRATION on her forehead above the blindfold, tiny strands of black hair plastered to her skin and perspiration on her upper lip and throat too. The most beautiful flush extended from her face, down her throat and ran over her chest, heating up all those stars scattered across her.
The scent of her arousal was heavy in the air, a sweet musk that had my heart pounding and the blood in my veins rushing. I desperately wanted to bury my face between those pretty thighs and taste her, make her jerk and writhe, make her beg in that gorgeous, husky voice.
I’d had no conception of just how sexy I would find her when she’d walked in. Of just how badly I would end up wanting her.
Of how much difference it would make to be with a woman I knew, rather than the blindfolded strangers I preferred to use.
Oh, she didn’t know me, but I knew her. And when she said she wanted me I knew it wasn’t an act. She hadn’t said it because that was what I wanted to hear or because she was hoping for a tip. That was the problem with profiles and the women I hired. They provided a service and they wanted tips. They could see my profile, they knew what I liked, and they acted accordingly. They never faked their orgasms, of course, and I could tell by their physical reactions that they genuinely enjoyed what I did to them.
But I knew that behind their blindfolds they were thinking of someone else. Fantasising about someone else. It wasn’t me that that they wanted, not really. I’d always thought that didn’t matter. That as long as they said the words I didn’t care. I didn’t particularly want them, either, so why would they want me? We were both getting something out of it, but not together, which was the way I wanted it.
No complications. No messy emotions.
Yet it was different with Vee. When she’d stopped touching herself and told me that she wanted me to find her sexy, that my opinion of her mattered and that she wanted me, I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that this time it was actually me that she wanted.
No other man had made her feel this way, she’d said, which I’d thought was impossible. She was so sexy and interesting that surely there had to have been at least one? What about the one she’d come here to forget? But she hadn’t mentioned him. No, it was me that made her feel that way. Me that had made her take her clothes off and touch herself in front of a stranger.
I couldn’t think what I’d done to make her feel that way about me, but the fact remained that I’d done something. And that her little confession had made me even harder than I already was.
She wasn’t lying, either, or at least not about getting aroused—not when her pussy was so slick and wet and so hot she just about burned my fingers.
Was it me, though? Or was she thinking of someone else? Was she fantasising about some other guy touching her the way all the rest of the women I bought did?
It shouldn’t have mattered. I didn’t want to be fucking special. But I couldn’t shake the hungry, possessive feeling in my gut. The one that liked being the only man who’d made her feel like this.
I’d never thought of myself as a possessive kind of guy—I didn’t let myself feel strongly enough about anything to be possessive—but I was feeling pretty fucking possessive now.
She’s always been yours, though. Hasn’t she?
I ignored that thought. She was no one’s but her own, still less mine.
All the same, she was fantasising about someone, and I wanted to know who it was for reasons I couldn’t have explained.
Her lower lip was red and slick from her teeth worrying it, her breath rushing in and out. And her body moved restlessly on the chair, her hips lifting insistently against my hand. But I kept my thumb pressed to her clit, providing her with just enough sensation to keep her on the brink yet without friction to push her over.
I could keep a woman on that fine line for as long as I chose, making sure it remained pleasure and not pain—or at least, not unless she wanted it to become pain—drawing out that pleasure for as long as possible.
‘You,’ she panted. ‘I’m thinking about you.’
No, that couldn’t be right. They never thought about me. I was sure of it. Not that I cared. They could think of anyone they fucking wanted as long as they were enjoying it.
Yet the way she’d said it...
‘You’re lying.’ I kept my grip tight around her wrists, holding them down on the arm of the chair as I feathered the fingertips of my free hand down one thigh. Her skin was smooth, very warm and silky. Christ, I’d always loved touching a woman.
She writhed on the chair and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. How could she think that she wasn’t beautiful? That she would somehow touch herself wrongly? I couldn’t understand it.
Then again, Vee hadn’t had many people in her life who’d seen what a talented person she was. How gifted she was when it came to art, and how perceptive when it came to other people. She’d only ever had people tell her what she was doing wrong, that she’d never measure up. Either that or they’d ignored her completely.
It made the sympathy that sometimes stirred inside me stir again, creaky and rusty with disuse like an old gate that nobody opened.
‘I’m not lying.’ Her hips twisted, following my hand. ‘I’m thinking of you watching me. Touching me.’
‘You can think about any guy doing that.’ I had no idea why I was pushing this. What did it matter what guy she thought of? ‘It doesn’t have to be me.’
‘I know that.’ Her back arched as I varied the pressure on her clit just the tiniest bit. ‘But...it just...is you.’
‘You don’t even know what I look like.’
‘That doesn’t matter, though. Isn’t that what you said?’ She let out a shaken breath, her cheeks bright red now. ‘Please, ace... I want...’
‘I know what you want, but a “please” isn’t going to cut it.’ I leaned down, closer now, inhaling her scent, warm and musky and so fucking erotic.
The blindfold was inches away and I could imagine those deep, midnight-blue eyes staring at me from behind it. Christ, if she only knew who had their finger on her clit, who was leaning over her like this, torturing her...
For some reason that made it even more intense, even more arousing. Which was wrong, but right now I didn’t care.
‘Why me, little girl?’ I asked softly. ‘What about me has got you so fucking hot?’
She was shivering, her whole body trembling as I held her on the edge. ‘Your...your voice is so s-sexy. It’s all rough and deep and it’s like I can...feel it in my chest.’ She took a panting breath. ‘And you smell so good. Your aftershave makes me want to press my face against your neck and breathe you in. But it’s not just your a-aftershave. There’s something more... You smell like someone reassuring and I l-like it.’
My voice? She like my fucking ruined voice? And my aftershave? I’d had that comment before and, yeah, it was expensive, which was why it smelled good. But reassuring? No one else had said that to me. No one.
A strange feeling settled inside me, one I didn’t recognise.
‘And you’re p-protective,’ she went on. ‘You got angry when I wanted to stay and you tried to send me away. You didn’t want me putting myself at risk.’
It was true. But I’d also done it to protect myself.
I didn’t know what to say to that. I hadn’t had a clear vision of myself since losing everything I’d had. My health, my looks, my family, my entire fucking future. Every second since then I’d been taking it a moment at a time, building each minute on each minute until it become an hour. And the hours became days, the days months, and so on. Until I’d built a new future for myself. A future that was all about me and what I wanted, not one based on other people’s expectations.
These days I was no one’s meal ticket but my own.
But, in spite of the blindfold, Vee had seen me anyway. The ghost of the man I’d once been. Perceptive woman.
Sadly for her, I wasn’t that man any longer.
My cock ached and she was so fucking beautiful. So fucking sexy.
I didn’t want to talk about this any more. I’d lost my taste for it. Instead all I wanted was to immerse myself in her scent and her taste and her heat. To be blind to everything else but sensation, the way she was.
So I let her go and pushed myself away from her.
She was still for a second, breathing fast and hard. ‘Ace? You’re...not going to leave me like this are you?’
I dropped to my knees in front of the chair, the desperate note in her voice like the most pure aphrodisiac. ‘No,’ I said roughly.
She sat in front of me, legs hooked over the arms of the chair, her thighs spread wide. Her pussy was pink and slick and glistening in the spotlight overhead.
Little Vee was not so little any more. She was all woman and I wanted a taste.
I slid my hands beneath the luscious curves of her ass, lifting her slightly, loving how she shuddered. Then I leaned in, inhaling her scent before breathing out, and making sure she felt it.
Her whole body was trembling, as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff, caught on that fine balance between falling over it and stumbling back.
The most exquisite place to be.
‘Put your hands on the arms of the chair,’ I ordered, not taking my gaze from that sweet little tangle of black curls. ‘And hold on. Do not, under any circumstances, touch me.’
‘O-okay,’ she stuttered, her voice raw. Her hands reached for the arms and held on, her knuckles white. I didn’t move for a second, enjoying the agonising moments of anticipation, her quickened breathing, the fine tremble in her thighs.
I loved this part, where a woman waited for me, not knowing when I would touch her, taste her. Her awareness on nothing but me and what I would do. Because this gave them the most powerful orgasms. The ones they’d remember for months to come, after the night was over. They’d remember the stranger in a hotel room who had made them come harder than any man ever had or ever would.
The stranger who wasn’t Elias Hart, scarred and broken but a hugely successful billionaire.
A faceless man. Nameless. A man who could be anyone and no one. A man with no past and no future. With no expectations but the ones he determined for himself.
In this moment, I could be whoever I wanted to be.
And this time, I chose to be the man who made her come. I lowered my head and covered that pretty little pussy with my mouth.
She arched in the chair as if I’d electrocuted her, her whole body going stiff, a cry of agonised pleasure escaping her. The taste of her orgasm flooded my mouth, honey and salt mixed with a tartness that I hadn’t expected.
Fucking delicious.
I kept my mouth there, unmoving as she writhed in my grip, panting and gasping, riding out the climax with her, my own cock straining the front of my pants.
But I was an expert at ignoring my physical reaction so I ignored it now as I knelt there, very still, letting her come to a trembling sort of quiet.
I gave her a minute to get her breath back.
Then I got to work.