Perfect Alignment (33 page)

She watched his forehead crinkle as he reacted to something he was reading. Or maybe he was just wondering what was taking her so long. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to give up her view, so she stayed quiet and kept watching him.

He had big cheekbones, which she would have thought should make a man look pretty, but instead gave him a commanding strength. His hair was getting a little long. He shifted in his seat. Okay, no more stalling. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room, dropping her robe onto the chair as she passed it to stand in front of him.

When he raised his head, he smiled at her. He set the computer down and rose.

“You look clean and fresh. How do you feel?”

“I feel good.”

He studied her for a minute, then nodded. “Excellent. Tell me your safe words.”

Her eyes widened at that, but he gave no reaction. She licked her suddenly dry lips before answering. “Red for stop. Yellow for slow down and discuss.”

“Good.” He pulled the throw blanket from the back of the couch and spread it out on the floor in front of the couch, folded in half so it was double thickness. He sat on the couch and indicated the blanket. “Sit there. You don’t have to kneel. You can be comfortable, but I don’t want you moving around a whole lot.”

This was so not what she’d expected, but he’d warned her he wanted to try something new. She lowered herself to the floor and sat back against the couch, between his legs, close enough that she could feel the brush of his leg hairs against her arm. She was absurdly grateful that he’d only put on shorts, and realized he’d made sure the room would be plenty warm for her naked body.

There were movements behind her and she turned to look. He’d said she could move, but he stopped her with a gentle hand just before darkness settled over her. The blindfold was a proper one, not just a cloth folded up for the task. She strained to listen, to process as he adjusted the buckle against her hair, pulling the straps so that they were tight but not uncomfortable.

When he was finished, she straightened her head and faced forward again. Waited. The heat of his body disappeared. He was no longer sitting on the couch next to her, and she was blind. She tried to hear what he was up to, was certain he was close by, but she couldn’t make out his movements.

Only her careful concentration kept her from jumping when his hands settled on her head, then drew down the sides of her face until they covered her ears. The underwater, ocean sound was strangely loud. The slide of his palms was thunderous. Then it was replaced by low thrumming as he pushed rubber earplugs into her ears. She heard herself swallow.

Sensory deprivation was something she’d marked as a maybe on her club sheet. Other than blindfolds and gags, it wasn’t something she’d ever tried. She drew in a deep breath and waited.

Large thumbs brushed along her jawline, then pulled. She opened her mouth, fully expecting a gag to fill it, but the thumbs moved up, then along her cheekbones until they rested against her nostrils. She blinked behind the blindfold, confused, until the fingers pushed carefully, sealing off her nose. Breathing through her mouth, she felt his hands pull away but the pressure on her nostrils remained. Not tight enough to be a clothespin, she wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t even uncomfortable, really, other than the fact that she had to breathe through her mouth.

He lifted her chin, used his thumbs to massage the joints of her jaw until she relaxed her gaping mouth to a comfortable position. A quick brush of his lips across her forehead reassured her and she felt her shoulders drop as she relaxed some.

Movement all around her had her holding her breath, trying to anticipate what was happening. Then everything stopped. She released her breath and took stock of what she could tell. His legs were touching her arms. He’d sat back down on the couch, right behind her so that his legs bracketed her body. She waited, but nothing else happened. Gradually, she relaxed back against the sofa, thrilled to feel his touch on either side of her. Eventually she remembered that she hadn’t been ordered to stay still. Tentatively she inched her right hand out until she was touching his foot. When nothing happened, she relaxed again. Waited.

Time lost all meaning. She wasn’t sure if it was minutes or an hour when one of his legs shifted slightly, a hand passed over her hair in a brief caress, and his leg resettled where it had been. Her thoughts were consumed with figuring out his movements. Had he reached out to get a drink, then replaced the glass and brushed her head in passing, in reassurance? Had he needed to scratch an itch between his shoulder blades? She chose to believe that whatever had precipitated the movement, the touch had been deliberate and thoughtful. A reassurance that he knew she was still there, that she was being good and obedient.

Her heart almost stopped when his hand, large and warm, settled on her shoulder, just for a few seconds. It traveled down her arm, then away again. More waiting. Gradually her thoughts stopped obsessing about what he was doing, what he was going to do next. Her mind drifted for a time, hardly registering the shift of his left leg so that it just barely made contact with the side of her breast. Part of her shivered in acknowledgement, but most of her was too far away to react.

The sounds in her ears seemed to change. No longer the thrum of a tunnel, it began to sound like her heartbeat. Like she was in a womb, hearing her own heartbeat. Or was it hers? Maybe it was his. Either way, she concentrated on the cadence until her mind drifted again.

She swallowed, and the feel of her lips pressing together brought her back to her physical self a little bit. It occurred to her that she could no longer feel the couch against her back, as if he’d denied her that sensation as well. She knew it was there, but the knowledge was meaningless. Only the warmth of his foot under her hand, the tickle of his legs against her arms, registered. They were her only points of contact with the world. He was her world.

There was enough of her left to realize that was the point. He’d done this to her on purpose, shown her that on purpose. A month ago she would have thought that was ridiculous. But now, she knew he would only do this because
she
was
his
world. And he wanted to make certain not only that she knew, but that he would make it good for her.

It clicked. Not that she’d really ever give her whole self over to someone’s control and domination, but he knew that. Didn’t want that, either. He would expect only her heart and her submission. In return, he was offering…himself. It didn’t matter where they lived. As long as they were together, mentally as well as physically.

She took in a shuddering breath. They were in this together. She had to trust him. Trust him enough to talk to him, tell him what she wanted, and trust that he would do the same.

Her train of thought derailed when he took one of her earlobes between thumb and forefinger. Played with it. How the hell had her earlobe become so erotic? Sure, she loved it when he sucked on it, bit it, but this? He was just rubbing it between his fingers and she was breaking out in goose bumps. The hand she rested on his foot curled slightly, her fingernails scraping lightly over his skin. Somehow it translated into sensation all the way up her arm.

He kept his hand on her ear but she felt him rise behind her, almost cried out at the loss of his foot under her hand, his legs against her arms. He brushed a finger up her cheek, then disappeared.

She focused, not trying to hear or anticipate anything, but tried to regain that sense of release. Her body was his to do with as he pleased. What he gave her, she would take. One breath in, one breath out. She let the air cycle through her, settle her. She waited.

The touch of his finger against her lip brought her joy. She couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her mouth. He traced the curve then replaced his finger with something else. Something plastic. She darted her tongue out, closed her top lip over it, and nearly shouted in triumph when she realized it was a straw.

Sucking carefully, she drank the water. When she was done, she simply opened her mouth again and the straw disappeared. The next touch was so light, she wasn’t sure she was feeling anything at all, at first. The tickle in the crook of her elbow became stronger, then zigzagged its way down her arm. Her belly button was next and she tightened her abs in reaction. Was it a feather? Something soft and featherlike, at any rate. It touched her cheek, then jumped down between her breasts. Her nipples hardened in hope, but nothing else happened for a minute. Pinpricks raced suddenly across her thigh, then her stomach. Probably a pinwheel. She’d experienced one before, but it hadn’t affected her like this. He got the back of her neck, next to her braid, and she couldn’t stop a shiver.

There was another long pause and she took the opportunity to recenter. Now she could feel something he hadn’t blocked from her. Moisture dripping from her pussy, signaling her readiness. Her need.

Something cold touched her lip. Liquid…but thick. She tested with her tongue, found it sweet. A firmer touch brought more of the sweet juice and she realized it tasted like peach. He eased a slice of the fruit between her lips and she accepted it, feasted on the delicious freshness. It was weird, eating with her nose plugged, like when she had a bad cold. Not uncomfortable exactly, but odd.

Expecting to eat another slice, instead she felt cool stickiness on the side of her neck, followed by the welcome heat of his tongue lapping it up. He repeated the action on her thigh, letting the juice get tantalizingly close to the crease of her pelvis, but not close enough. His nose brushed her stomach as he cleaned her, but her core was left untouched.

Again, he waited. No touch, no smell, no taste. Finally one thick, solid drip hit her nipple and she couldn’t hold back the slight cry of thanks. More drips followed, then he painted her other breast with the peach slice, drawing it around her breast in circles before smacking her nipple with it. She wondered what it sounded like, what it looked like. Waited for him to taste it. When he used only the tip of his tongue to clean her, taking his time, she almost begged.

He abandoned her breast when it was still sticky, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down to the floor. Whatever held her nose closed disappeared and she smelled him. Smelled sweet peaches and sweat and man. Smelled Drew. He fused his mouth with hers so that she could barely breathe, even with her nose clear. She tasted the fruit, cleaned him of the juices that were left on him as best she could.

When he pulled back she moaned, then again when he held more fruit to her lips. Wasn’t he done with that? Wasn’t he ready for more? She sucked the peach into her mouth and reminded herself that they were on his schedule, his timeline. They’d move forward when he was ready. She chewed slowly, carefully, as he ran his hands up her sides, pulled her arms up so that they were over her head, elbows bent wide, hands clasping.

He painted a path between her breasts with a fresh slice, dripping with juice. He circled her belly button, then stabbed her with an ice pick. That’s what her brain told her, for a fraction of a second, before she realized he’d set an ice cube in the cavity of her belly button. Her chest heaved, but she fought not to dislodge the ice. A streak of heat started at her shoulder, lined its way across her collar bone and dipped into the hollow of her neck. Thicker than the juice, not really liquid, but hot. Honey? Was that sweet smell honey? It wasn’t a flavor she’d ever much cared for, but as a body paint she’d give it full props.

The cold on her belly was almost forgotten as Drew again circled her breasts with his paint, delicious heat working its way slowly,
too slowly
, toward her nipples. At last, at last he was millimeters from her aching points. The heat enveloped her, much hotter than the streaks he’d painted. She lurched, the melted ice cube from below sliding down her side. Not hot, but cold. More ice cubes, held against her straining nipples, icy water dribbling down to mix with the thick warmth coating her breasts. Her gasps had a raw feel to them and she suddenly realized she had no idea if she was making sound or not.

The mix of hot and cold abruptly combusted with the heat of his tongue as he began to clean up his latest mess. He gripped her breasts, pushed them together and took both of her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard. She heard herself cry out, a dim sound from beyond the earplugs.

“God, Emma. What you do to me.” The muffled words drove her higher, nearly pushed her over the edge of orgasm. He’d barely even touched her but she felt like he’d enveloped her in his warmth.

He released her breasts and she had a moment to fear he’d go away again, make her wait, but he found her lips with his, gave her the taste of honey and still that hint of peach. She was so focused on him, the taste and feel of him, she didn’t know if she missed a sign, but suddenly he was there, his cock filling her up and there was no holding back. He could punish her later, she’d accept it without question, but there was no stopping the hard pounding release that tore through her. He moved against her, within her, until he broke free from her mouth and cried out. The muffled sound was music to her ears and she grinned.

Drew dropped a quick kiss on her cheek as he pulled the earplugs free. “I see that grin,” he admonished. The fact that she could hear the answering grin in his voice only made her smile wider. The blindfold slid off and she blinked. And there he was. She brought her hands up to bracket his face, lifted up to kiss his lips. He slid his hand under her head to support her. Yes. There he was.

She pulled back, met his eyes. And burst into tears.

****

The tears didn’t surprise Drew. He scooped Emma and the blanket up and took her to the couch. She clung to him so sweetly, her sobs shaking her body. Her trust in him swelled his heart. As she had during the scene, she gave her body into his keeping, a gift he treasured. He held her close, occasionally dropping a kiss onto the top of her head, but made no attempt to quiet her down or hurry her through the process. It had been an intense scene and he would have been worried if she hadn’t had an intense reaction.