But never had she opened the door to him like this. Her fingers shook as she unlocked the chain and turned the knob to the right. The heavy door creaked, the soundtrack to her own nervous system and to her wildly beating heart.
Her breath caught in her chest. He stood in the hallway wearing charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt, and the navy tie. Her fingers itched to unknot that tie. He was rolling up the cuffs on one of the sleeves. A businessman at the end of the workday—that’s what she would’ve named this photograph of him that she took in her mind’s eye.
“Did you open the box?”
She shook her head. He entered her apartment and she let the door fall shut behind them with a click.
He strolled casually to her kitchen, leaned against the counter, and tapped the wood.
She understood. The game was on. They were playing their parts. Joining him in the kitchen, she grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured him a glass, doing her best to keep her hands steady. She watched his every move as he knocked back the amber liquid. She imagined the burn in his throat. He set the glass down. It was nearly empty.
She stood near him, keenly aware that it was his move next.
This was a chess game, and she barely knew how to play. She swallowed dryly. Waiting. Uncertain.
She wanted a burn in her throat too. That would be better than all these nerves. She grabbed his glass and finished it.
“Do you want to open the box now?”
She nodded, grateful to have been given his direction. “Yes. I do.”
He tipped his forehead to the L-shaped couch in the living room.
She nodded briefly, and walked over to the couch. She sank down into the soft material, stretching her legs out in front of her on the lounge section, crossing them at the ankles. He joined her in the living room, choosing to sit on an ottoman, his knees spread, his hands resting on his thighs. “Open it now, Casey.”
Leaning forward, she reached for the black box and untied the bow, letting it fall to the floor. Gingerly, with nervous fingers, she lifted the top, shimmying it off. In seconds, she’d know what he’d planned, and a ribbon of excitement unfurled inside her from the possibilities. She wanted to say something, but words escaped her at that moment. She wasn’t sure how to vocalize all these unsteady feelings thrumming through her body.
Or if he would even respond.
Nate had always been easy to talk to. He’d always been chatty. But the man was wearing steely silence like a new coat. All his moves were measured, chosen carefully, designed to keep her guessing as to what he had in store for the evening.
She put the top of the box on the table, and the guessing game ended when she dipped her hands inside the box and withdrew a long, silky scrap of fabric—a blindfold. Next, she reached for a soft object, retrieving a feather tickler from his collection of goodies. Finally, there was a small riding crop, as if it had been made in miniature. Perhaps, so it didn’t seem so scary. She glanced up at him. His eyes seemed dark brown tonight. Gone was that warm golden color, replaced with a heat, a sensuality and blazing desire for her.
She trembled. “What do you want to use first?”
He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he issued an instruction. “Lie back. Close your eyes.”
She did as told, scooting into the couch. She hadn’t even turned on music, so she was keenly aware of every sound. Of the low hum from the refrigerator, of the far-off din of traffic, of the stirrings of a breeze. But there were no words from him. The silence vibrated between them as she waited, the world dark behind her eyelids.
His fingers found their way to the top of her stockings. Gently, he rolled them down, one by one, removing them, along with her shoes. “Don’t get me wrong. These are unbearably sexy, but I need your bare skin.”
Her world went pitch black. He had pressed the silk blindfold over her eyes. “This is about you. About all the things you can feel if you let go. With this on, all you can do is feel,” he said, low and husky, near her ear. Oh God, she was feeling everything. She was feeling the tight coil of desire deep inside her, and the fervent hope that he’d take her to the far edge of pleasure. That’s what she was feeling.
She drew a quick breath at the soft fluttery touch from a feather running along the inside of her calves. The feather brushed across her knee. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. Her skin felt electric as the feather travelled across her body, visiting her belly, teasing her breasts, trailing along her sides. When the sensations stopped briefly she wanted to ask what happened, until she felt the feather once more.
He was tracing the shell of her ear, and she gasped.
Warmth spread inside her body. She had no idea that being touched on her ear would be such a turn on. She had no notion either that she’d arch her back, seeking closeness, willing him to touch more, when he ran the feather down her arm, inside her elbow and across her wrist. “Your whole body is a playground,” he instructed. “For now, until you learn to thoroughly give up control, it will be my playground. Isn’t that right, Casey?”
She nodded and moaned her agreement in a voice she didn’t even recognize as her own.
“Then hike up your skirt for me,” he told her.
Instantly, she responded to his request. She reached for the hem, pulling it up. Her skirt was now bunched at her waist. He stopped, and hissed in his breath. His audible reaction to her body drove her arousal. They were a feedback loop of desire. She’d move; he’d admire. He’d say a dirty word; she’d heat up. They fed each other with this fevered kind of lust. She pictured him drinking her in, memorizing the way she looked half-undressed on her couch.
Then, she was alone again as she heard him rustling through the box. She knew what was in the box: three things. She was wearing one of them. The other one he had already used. That left only the one she feared. She tensed, waiting for soft to change to hard. For tenderness to turn to a sting.
She emitted a small cry at the first smack. He had flicked the crop once against the flesh of her outer thigh. He shifted to the other, flicking her there. She let out a tiny yelp. Reflexively, she closed her legs. She wasn’t sure if she liked the crop. She parted her lips to speak, but then his fingertip pressed softly against her mouth. “Shhh,” he said. “I can tell you don’t like it.”
In a second, he was trailing the crop down her chest, underneath her bra, and along her rib cage.
Then it was gone.
He must have lifted it in the air again, and she waited nervously for him to swat her. But instead, she felt something hard against the wet panel of her panties. He was using the riding crop against her clit, like a toy, turning something she hadn’t liked into something she enjoyed immensely now. He rubbed one end across her throbbing bundle of nerves, stroking her, sending the temperature inside of her through the roof. She sought more friction, more contact, lifting her hips closer. When he stopped, she heard a whooshing sound in the air, then a smack against the hardwood floors. He’d tossed it away.