I was starting to get a slightly odd feeling about Peter.
At first he insisted on driving me to his place in
his
SUV, saying it didn’t make sense to waste gas. I got his point, but reasoned that if I went with him, I wouldn’t be able to go home when necessary. He finally agreed to let me drive my own car, but he didn’t seem happy.
It wasn’t his suggestion that bothered me. It was the fact that he seemed upset that I didn’t want to ride with him.
Five minutes into the drive to his apartment, I pushed the feeling aside, telling myself that I’d likely misread his reaction. I was stressed about Peaches, and I think Peter was clearly feeling a little worried about our relationship, given that I’d walked out on him the night before. It was the first time that had happened, and I guess he was a bit unsure where he stood.
That had to be all that it was.
When Peter went to work on Monday morning, I went back to my place. I was glad for the breather, the time away from him. All through Saturday night and Sunday, Peter had kept me close to him, either always holding me or watching me keenly if I was out of his grasp.
Once, he’d come out of the bathroom and looked visibly relieved when he saw me still in the living room, saying he thought he’d heard the sound of the door opening.
He had, but it had only been the pizza deliveryman.
For lack of a better word, Peter seemed paranoid.
It had me wondering if he’d driven by my place on Friday night when Andrew had been there. Had he seen Andrew’s SUV in the driveway and jumped to the wrong conclusion?
More and more, I thought that was likely the case.
One thing was certain—things couldn’t continue much longer the way they were. Without me making some sort of decision. Peter’s feelings for me had evolved. Deepened. Andrew wanted me back.
And I was ambiguous.
On the one hand, I told myself that maybe I’d met Peter because he could be the next great love of my life. On the other, I wondered if all we really had in common was our sexual chemistry.
My heart was still tangled up with Andrew, that I couldn’t deny. It was hard to cut the ties after being with him for so long, but it wasn’t impossible. People moved on after divorce.
If
we got divorced.
It was all I could think about as I drove home, but once I got to my driveway, I put Andrew and Peter out of my mind. I hurried out of my car and rushed to my front door.
Peaches’s food and water remained untouched.
I was really starting to worry. It wasn’t like Peaches to take off and not return. Once, she’d been gone for more than twenty-four hours, but this was longer than that.
I consumed myself with painting so I wouldn’t have to fret about the cat. Not that I could truly erase the unease over my cat’s fate from my mind.
At five-thirty, Peter called my cell. “Where are you?” he asked me.
“I’m at home,” I said.
“No, I’m home, and you’re not here.”
“I mean my home. I’m at my house.”
“Why?”
“I had to see if my cat came home.”
“And did it?”
“No. She’s not here.” Her bowl of food on the front step remained untouched, a sure sign that the cat hadn’t been back. I didn’t want to, but I feared the worst. There was a lake not too far from our house, and I’d heard more than one rumor that a gator lived there, and that it was responsible for more than one pet’s demise.
“Maybe your husband took her.”
“He would have left a note if he did,” I said.
“Not if he wanted to scare you.”
“Scare me?”
“I don’t trust him,” Peter said.
I did believe that Peter didn’t trust Andrew, but not because of any real concern that Andrew might hurt me, or use the cat to get to me. Peter was clearly concerned that I was going to end up reconciling with my husband.
“I want you here,” Peter went on. “Where I can protect you. Will you come? Now?”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m on my way.”
I went mostly to pacify Peter, because for whatever reason, he was suddenly insecure about me and Andrew.
Peter opened the door for me before I could even knock, indicating he’d been looking out the window, anticipating my arrival. He pulled me into his arms and hugged me for several seconds before releasing me.
“Peter,” I said softly. “You seem a little—I don’t know—stressed, maybe? Like you’re worried about me.”
“Remember when I told you that I came to Orlando to meet a woman?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she left me. While I wasn’t at home. She packed up her things and left without so much as a goodbye.”
“Oh,” I said, for lack of anything better to say. “That was really lousy.”
“So yes, knowing that you still speak to your husband…I guess I am a little concerned.”
“I promise you,” I said, “that I would never do that to you.” At the very least, if I ended my relationship with him, I’d be mature enough to tell him it was over.
Peter gave me one helluva kiss, suctioning his lips to mine, tangling his tongue with mine, as though he hoped to fuse our mouths together. When we pulled apart, we were both breathless.
Taking my hand, he tucked it through his elbow. Then he led me to his bedroom where he proceeded to strip me out of my clothes. Slowly. Lovingly. When I was naked, his eyes roamed over my body with genuine tenderness in their depths.
“I love you, Sophie,” he said. “And I know that in your heart, you love me too.”
I didn’t answer. I don’t think he wanted me to, because he started to kiss me. Slowly, sweetly. With a level of emotion he hadn’t displayed before.
His hands played over my breasts, kneading my skin, tweaking my nipples to erection. I arched into his touch, moaning softly. Every time Peter touched me, I was convinced that in his arms was exactly where I wanted to be.
Peter lowered his head, suckled each nipple, then dipped his head lower to kiss my abdomen. He skimmed his fingers over my pussy, almost with reverence, then stood and kissed me on the lips once more.
“Turn around,
bella.
”
I did, feeling sexy and aroused by the fact that I was completely naked while Peter was still fully clothed. A shiver ran down my spine as he kissed the back of my neck.
When I no longer felt his hands or mouth on me, I turned to see what he was doing, and saw that he had a piece of cloth in his hands. Approaching me, he slipped the material over my eyes.
“Do you trust me?” Peter whispered, and a wave of sexual longing flowed through me.
“Yes,” I said.
He took my hand, led me to the bed. And then he left me there.
“Peter?”
In a moment he was back, taking one of my wrists in his hand. I felt him wrap something around it. Not a rope, but something silky. He pulled it so that it was tight but not painful.
Peter moved his body over me, and then he was on my other side, circling a piece of material around my right wrist.
Tugging on my left wrist, I found that I could move it only a short distance. He must have tied me to the headboard.
Whatever Peter had done to my left wrist, he did to the right one. And then he was off the bed.
I writhed around a little, pulling on my wrists as I did.
“You’re so beautiful.”
He took my right foot in his hand, kissed my big toe, flicked his tongue over it. Then he tied both ankles and secured me to the bed.
I could feel the heat of Peter’s gaze on my body, hear his heavy breathing, and desire coursed through my veins. He’d never blindfolded me, never tied me up. I’d never been quite at his mercy like this.
And my God, it was exciting.
The room was hotter today. Humid. Or was that just my body?
No, I didn’t think so. The air-conditioning wasn’t on. But the ceiling fan above the bed was going.
As I waited for Peter’s next move, I suddenly realized that I could no longer hear him. No longer sense him.
Was he still in the room?
I angled my head to the right, in the direction of the bedroom door, as though that would help me hear better.
“I’m right here,
bella,
” Peter said softly, and my head jerked to the left, where I thought I’d heard his voice. “I think I could look at you and come, without touching myself. That’s how much you excite me.”
And then I heard him moving. Toward me. I swallowed, anticipating his touch.
Something skimmed my neck. Then my cheek. Not his finger, but something soft. It brushed across my neck again, then along the underside of my jaw.
“Do you know what I’m touching you with?” Peter asked.
I wasn’t certain, but I had a pretty good idea. “A feather?”
“Yes,
bella.
A feather.”
The tip of the feather inched its way along my bottom lip. Such a light, wispy touch, but it sent a jolt of heat through my body, causing me to part my lips and emit a shuddery moan.
Another stroke. This time across my upper lip. My naked body quivered.
Quivered with anticipation of the pleasure that was to come.
The feather traveled lower, over my chin, then crossed the expanse of my neck from left to right. Right to left. All with agonizing slowness.
Then it stopped. Abruptly. Five seconds went by. I held my breath, waiting for what would come next. The blindfold over my eyes prevented me from seeing, but also heightened my sense of excitement. I could hear every sound in the room, smell everything. Mostly, I heard only my own raspy breaths and the whirring of the ceiling fan above the bed. But I could smell the desire in the room, clinging to drops of warm moisture in the air. I could smell the sweat dampening his skin. The scent was musky and heady.
And arousing.
When the feather caressed my left nipple, my body jerked, making my wrists and ankles pull against the ties that bound me to the bed.
“Do you like that?” he asked.
“Yes,” I responded, surprised to find my voice faint. “Yes,” I repeated, louder this time.
Once again, nothing. My hips writhed. I groaned softly. I was eager for his touch now. Desperate for it.
“Patience,
bella,
” he murmured.
“Easy for you to say,” I told him. “You have total control over my body right now.”
Total control over my pleasure
.
“Have I disappointed you before?” he asked.
“No,” I answered honestly. “Never.”
“And I will not disappoint now.”
The feather touched down between my rib cage, then traveled south, where it dipped into my belly button. It continued its lazy journey into my strip of pubic hair, then stopped—just when I wanted it most.
I whimpered. “Please, don’t make me beg.”
He didn’t say a word. Several seconds passed and nothing. I strained to hear past the
woo-woo
sounds the ceiling fan was making.
Soft footfalls on the carpet, then the creaking of the bedroom door.
What?
Was he leaving me here?
I counted ten more seconds, and when he didn’t return, I began to struggle against the ties that bound me. The headboard rattled as I pulled and yanked. Futilely. The knots were too tight, preventing my escape.
And then I heard the sound of footsteps again. He was coming back into the room. I exhaled audibly.
“Look at you,” he said. “Your body writhing. Did you think I was going to leave you here while I went and watched a baseball game?”
I didn’t answer. I suddenly felt foolish. I
had
been afraid that he’d left me here, totally exposed and helpless to escape until he freed me. I’d been under his complete control before, yet this was the first time I’d felt such a moment of panic.
Why?
Because he seemed different today. From the moment I’d arrived, I could sense a certain intensity level in his looks and his touch.
Something darker.
“I wouldn’t leave you,” Peter said. “I would never leave you. You and I, we’re connected in a way we can’t control.”
I swallowed. Did I sense something ominous in his tone? Or was I a little unnerved because I was bound and blindfolded?
How could a person be unnerved and extremely aroused at the same time?
“Do you trust me?” he asked. He was very close to me now. Maybe a foot away. I could tell by the sound of his voice.
I gyrated my hips, a motion that would please him, given the view he had of my pussy with my legs spread the way they were. “Touch me,” I said. My chest heaved with each breath. “Touch me before I die.”
“Do you trust me?” he repeated, and I felt the weight of his body on the bed, but I couldn’t tell where he was.
“Yes. Yes, I trust you.”