“Close your eyes, my pet.” The familiar voice came from behind my chair. It was a sound I’d come to crave, and hearing it sent shivers of anticipation dancing down my spine. Suddenly, I wanted to freeze that moment in time, to stop while things were still beautiful between us, before reality could mar the fantasy.
A hand circled my nape. His touch was like an electric current, setting my skin aflame. I leaned back against his fingers, shamelessly aching for more, though I knew I should maintain my composure because we were in a public place. But it was all I could do not to moan out loud.
He wrapped my long hair over his wrist and gripped it firmly. “I see you were looking at your phone. Did you think I’d be late?”
“N-n-n-no.”
“Good. I’m going to sit beside you, to your left, but you will keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?” He pulled my hair tight, and I immediately wondered if anyone in the restaurant noticed.
“Yes, sir.” My heart thumped hard in my chest.
“That’s better.”
He let go of my hair, and I yearned for him to touch me again. I kept my eyes closed, though I knew I must look an odd spectacle.
“Was that your second drink?”
I nodded.
“I expect you to answer me properly.”
I squirmed in my seat. “Yes, sir.”
“Would you like another one?”
“Yes, but you said I could only have two.”
“Do you plan to be a good girl today?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Since you followed my directions so well and this is something of a special occasion, you may have another one. What would you like?”
“I’ll have a bourbon and water, please, sir.”
“That’s a mighty strong drink for a young lady.”
I wasn’t that young, but I appreciated the chivalrous thought. “My grandmother taught me that if you drink bourbon and water it won’t sneak up on you the way sweeter drinks will. That way a lady can always take care of herself.”
“Smart woman, your grandmother.”
I listened as he ordered more drinks, my eyes closed the whole time, feeling ridiculous. Then I gave up and lowered my head, pretending to look at the ground. I’d spent my entire life being worried about what people thought of me. It was exhausting, trying to be perfect all the time.
Part of me was dying to cheat, to open my eyes to see what this dynamic man actually looked like, while the other part was enjoying the game and wished it could go on forever. Because once I saw his face, nothing between us would ever be the same. The fantasy would disappear, replaced by a yet-to-be-known reality, with only a few of the fragments of our mutual projection remaining.
“Give me your hand under the table.”
I obeyed, and the sharp tongs of a dinner fork stroked my fingers, my palm, then they traveled up my wrist, up my forearm to the inside of my elbow.
I exhaled.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What does that remind you of?”
“Other things you like to do with forks.”
“Where do you want to use those forks?”
“My breasts,” I said, hearing the catch in my breath. Then I heard the clink of glasses indicating that the waiter had arrived with a tray of drinks.
MC leaned in close, and I caught a hint of his warmth, his woodsy scent. He was more intoxicating than the liquor. He snaked an arm around me and growled, “Don’t you dare open your eyes.”
I felt faint with lust and I grasped the sides of my chair to hold myself steady, grateful I was already seated.
“Here are your drinks,” the waiter said cheerily.
“Wonderful! We’re just playing a little game here. Aren’t we, dear?” MC said evenly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good, sir.” I heard the waiter scurry away.
Something cold and wet touched my lips. A glass?
“Take a sip.” His voice soothed me. Hearing it so close made me want to reach out and touch him so badly, but I didn’t dare. Not without permission.
Taking a drink, I savored the velvety texture of the alcohol as it slid down my throat.
“You are being such a good girl tonight, Sophie. I think you just might earn those forks after all.” Under the table he caressed my thigh with his palm. “I see you’re wearing a skirt like I asked. Stick your fingers down there into your pussy, two of them. I want to see how wet you are.”
“Right now? Here?” I felt a blush creep into my cheeks.
“Of course. No one here is looking at you. No one but me knows what a hungry little slut you are. But I want you to show me. Show me how wet you are for me right now. I want to see it on your fingers.”
I bit my lip but nodded my assent.
The fact that I wasn’t supposed to open my eyes made the task all the more terrifying. I had no idea whether people were looking at me or not. Would he tell me the truth about that? The situation forced me to throw caution to the wind and trust him. I prayed that no one was paying any attention. Thank goodness a tablecloth sheltered me.
I slid my right hand under the tablecloth, hiked my skirt up between my legs, and pushed my panties to the side. Plunging my index and middle finger into my wetness, I swirled them around, retrieving the honeyed evidence of my arousal for his inspection.
With my hand still under the table I asked, “Now what?”
“Now I want you to taste your juices.”
I gasped. “You can’t be serious. I can’t do that here.”
“Oh yes, you will do it here.”
I whimpered. My pussy was on fire with desire, and I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anyone or anything in my whole life.
I lifted my moistened fingers to my parted lips and tasted myself.
“Good girl,” he said, and I heard the familiar hoarseness that I knew meant he was aroused. I swallowed hard, waiting for further instructions.
In that gravelly, commanding voice I’d grown to adore, he said, “Now my dear, I want you to open your eyes.”
CHAPTER ONE
Four Months Earlier
I awakened to the smell of a woman’s perfume that wasn’t mine. As Spencer flopped into bed next to me, the scent wafted over me in a cloud. I pretended to be asleep for the ninety seconds it took my husband to start snoring. It galled me how he casually came to bed stinking of another woman and didn’t lose a minute of sleep over it. Instead I was the one who lay awake, tossing and turning, trying to find an answer to the quandary that was my miserable marriage.
A few years ago I would have woken him up, screamed at him, cried, and told him he was a horrible person.
The old me used to do that.
The problem was—it never worked. Spencer kept cheating, and I felt stupid.
Finally, I decided that begging for something that wasn’t going to happen was beneath me, so I built a life around Spencer, not with him.
And I lived with it. Yes, it sucked. And yes, I was ashamed.
For years I pushed Spencer’s infidelity to the far recesses of my brain. I convinced myself sex was simply unimportant to me. My vagina and I… We closed up shop.
Sex simply became the part of my marriage I rated a two on a scale of one to ten. Okay, maybe a one. But Spencer was an eight or a nine in most of the other departments. That was good enough, wasn’t it?
But on this particular night, when he lay down and subjected me to a cloud of another woman’s perfume, it triggered something new in me. Something deep and dark and angry. My husband is fucking someone else, and I’m wicked pissed!
Despite the rage that swelled inside me, Spencer snored on.
I got out of bed and padded on bare feet across the hardwood to the living room. My puppy, Felix, hopped out of his dog bed in the corner of my bedroom and followed me.
The only light in the room came from moonlight sneaking in through the skylights. Sinking down into the plush sofa, I tucked my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, contorting myself into a ball.