Novel Square
Chapter 27
I hate Christmas.
Those are the words I’d easily say when this holiday season started. In fact, I could easily say those words ever since the car accident that took my parents. But not right now. Right now, I’m rushing around my house, trying to do last minute decorating in preparation of my blind date with a stranger. An almost stranger.
I watched a Christmas movie! That has to be saying something.
With tinsel in hand, I frantically drape it over the mantle, cursing under my breath as I snag my sweater on an errant hook. The clock on the wall ticks mercilessly, each second bringing me closer to the moment he’ll arrive.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.
Ten o’clock, he said. Be blindfolded, naked, legs spread, and waiting for him.
My heart races as I glance at the clock again. Nine thirty. I’ve wasted too much time on these pointless decorations. What was I thinking? This isn’t about Christmas cheer. It’s about following his instructions to the letter.
I hurry to my bedroom, shedding clothes as I go. The sweater falls to the floor, followed by my jeans and undergarments. Goosebumps cover my legs and arms from anticipation and nerves.
The blindfold sits on my nightstand, a strip of red silk that will soon plunge me into darkness.
I glance at the time again. 9:36.
Is time even moving? I can’t exactly stand here naked and wait for twenty-four minutes.
Impatience grips me, and I start to pace. What if he’s early? What if he’s late?
I force myself to take a deep breath. I need to calm down. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? To feel something other than the emptiness that’s consumed me since the accident. To push my boundaries, to lose control.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers tracing the silk blindfold, I try to soothe the manic raging within. The material of the red silk is cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat building within me.
9:38. Yeah . . . time is nearly frozen. It has to be.
I get up to check the front door to make sure it’s unlocked. It’s only the seventh time I’ve done this, but why not be sure?
As I reach for the doorknob, a rational thought occurs to me. What if someone else walks in? What if it’s not him? What if he arrives with a gang and— I shake off the paranoid thoughts and confirm the door is indeed unlocked. Returning to my bedroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror.
I’m naked. I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me—eyes wide with a mix of fear and fire, cheeks flushed, hair slightly disheveled from my frantic decorating. Is this really me? Am I really going through with this?
What would Jack say if he saw me like—
What. The. Fuck.
Why is Jack entering my thoughts? I haven’t even heard from him since our Chinese food and movie date. Our date was so sweet, so much fun and so . . . vanilla. The man didn’t even kiss me. When was that going to happen? Was it even going to happen at all?
I shake my head, trying to banish thoughts of Jack from my mind. This isn’t about him. This is about me, about exploring a vital part of myself that I’ve kept locked away for far too long. I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves.
Nine forty-five. Fifteen minutes to go.
I can’t wait any longer. With trembling hands, I pick up the blindfold and secure it around my eyes. The world goes dark, and my other senses immediately heighten. The chill of the air against my skin feels more pronounced, the sound of my own breathing louder.
I position myself on the bed as instructed—legs spread, ready, waiting. The silk sheets beneath me feel cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat coming from my body. I try to steady my breathing, but it’s impossible. My heart is racing, my mind a whirlwind of anticipation and fear. Every sound makes me jump. Is that him at the door? No, just the house settling. A car passing outside. The neighbor’s dog barking.
Time loses all meaning in the darkness. Has it been minutes? Hours? I resist the urge to remove the blindfold and check the clock. Following his instructions is crucial. It’s all part of the game, the surrender of control.
It’s just me and my thoughts right now. Did I shave my legs well enough? I rub my heel on my shin to test the smoothness. Yes, I did. But what about—
The sound of knocks on the door, just as he said he would, jolts me from my thoughts. I tense. Three knocks. Slow, deliberate.
I know I have to wait two minutes now. That was his dictate. His rules.
Two minutes. It feels like an eternity. My body shakes, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. I count the seconds in my head, trying to keep my breathing steady. One hundred and twenty seconds. That’s all.
All this counting, all these numbers.
I hear the door open, then close. Footsteps, slow and measured, make their way through my house. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. The footsteps pause, then continue, growing closer. He’s in the bedroom now. I can sense his presence, feel his eyes on me.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice low and husky. It almost sounds as if he needs to clear his throat or cough. It’s not natural. His voice is familiar, but different than when I heard it at the club. I can’t quite put my finger on—
The bed dips as he sits beside me, his warmth radiating against my skin.
I spread my legs even wider, showing off how much of a good girl I am.
His hand touches my cheek, fingers trailing down my neck, across my collarbone. I gasp at the contact, my body arching involuntarily toward him. His hand moves lower, tracing the curve of my breast. I bite my lip, stifling a moan. Every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s on fire, hyperaware of his touch, his presence.
He isn’t speaking. I wish he was. Maybe I should speak. What will I say?
My breath hitches as his hand splays across my stomach, the heat of his palm searing my skin.
He shifts on the bed, and suddenly I feel his breath on my inner thigh. I tense, anticipation coiling tightly in my core. His lips brush against my skin, soft at first, then more insistent. He kisses a path up my thigh, maddeningly slow, each touch sending sparks through my body.
He spreads my thighs apart even wider. His hands grip my thighs firmly as he settles between them. I can feel his hot breath against my most sensitive area, making me squirm with need. But he doesn’t touch me there, not yet. Instead, he places light, teasing kisses along my inner thighs, occasionally nipping at the tender skin.
I whimper, frustrated by his teasing. “Please,” I whisper, my voice breathy and desperate.
His tongue finally makes contact, a long, slow lick that has me gasping and arching off the bed. He takes his time, exploring every fold and crevice with meticulous attention. It’s maddening and exquisite all at once.
As he works me with his mouth, one of his hands slides up my body to cup my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple, causing it to harden into a tight peak. He pinches it lightly, the slight pain mixing with the pleasure building between my legs.
I’m lost in a haze of sensation, my hips moving of their own accord as I chase my release. Just as I’m about to tumble over the edge, he pulls away. I cry out in frustration, my body nearly vibrating with need.
I hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. He’s undressing. Oh God, if only I could see. The wait is almost unbearable as I lie there, listening to the soft sounds of clothing hitting the floor.
The bed dips again as he positions himself over me. I feel the heat of his body, so close but not quite touching. His breath fans across my face, mingling with mine. The scent of him fills my nostrils—a mixture of cologne and something uniquely male that makes my head spin.
His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip. Without thinking, I part my lips, my tongue darting out to taste his skin. He groans softly, the sound sending a pulse of pleasure straight to my exposed, and very wet, pussy.
His lips crash onto mine, hot and demanding. The kiss is intense, passionate, stealing my breath away. His tongue invades my mouth, exploring, tasting, claiming. I respond hungrily, my hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
This kiss will be my undoing. His lips move against mine with a familiarity that catches me off guard. There’s a tenderness beneath the passion that I wasn’t expecting. My mind races, trying to make sense of the conflicting signals.
His hand slides down my body, fingers trailing fire across my skin. He positions himself between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against my entrance. I arch up, silently begging him to take me.
“Not yet,” he whispers against my lips. I can barely hear him as he issues his command.