"What have we here? Sleeping Beauty?" he said softly, finally reaching out with one large hand, he brushed the side of her face with his fingertips. His voice was low and deep. It wasn't raspy exactly, but there was a roughness to it that made it sound like he'd just woken up or had spent the previous night shouting to be heard over a concert or professional sporting match of some sort. In short, it was exactly the sort of voice Holly remembered from her dreams. Miss Bright had promised that her Scene Facilitator would have the voice of a butch angel, but he sounded more like a very sexy demon.
His touch was unexpectedly tender as he traced a knuckle over her forehead. In the dream he was never this gentle, but she still felt herself responding to it. He was spreading her hair out around her pillow now. Raking his fingers through the long tresses, and arranging them in a chestnut halo all around her head. Still trying to appear to be asleep, Holly felt like purring as his hands worked through every single strand of her hair, pulling and tugging gently at her scalp, sending little impulses of pleasure through her without touching her skin at all.
"Hmmm… Look at you. Do you have any idea what I want to do to you? I don't even know where to start." He murmured as he began tugging the white sheet down her body, slowly exposing her silk-clad chest, her rib cage, her tiny waist and then her gently flaring hips. The slide of the cotton sheets against Holly's mostly naked skin caused goose-flesh to rise and her nipples to harden. She had to fight the impulse to cover her chest with her hands. She knew he could probably discern very little about her body in the dark room, but she still felt embarrassed by her body's reaction to his voice, and the sensual friction of the sheet against her flesh.
When the sheet was finally pushed to the foot of the bed, she fully expected him to begin caressing her much more forcefully, but instead he was completely still for several long moments. Unable to resist, she cracked one eye open to see what he was doing.
She couldn't really see much. It was too dark to discern any real details. Her sneak peek had provided an impression of broad shoulders in a white T-shirt, and a strong profile topped by wavy dark hair, but his face was completely in shadows. All she could really tell was that he was looking down at her body, studying it intently. She found this both embarrassing and flattering. What could possibly be that interesting about her shape?
He leaned forward and she felt his warm, minty breath against her face. For one heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to kiss her. It should have seemed much too soon for such intimate contact, and yet she found that she wanted to feel his lips on her very badly. She lifted her chin slightly to give him better access to her mouth, but he just turned his head and began rustling around for something he'd placed on the floor.
Had he brought a bag with him? Like the one the intruder had brought with him? That thought should have sent her into a blind panic. After all, that horrible man had brought instruments of torture into her home and had intended to used them on her. Instead she found herself wondering what kind of instruments of pleasure were now sitting on her innocent bedroom floor. Handcuffs. Certainly. A blindfold. Most likely. But what else? How kinky was this going to get? She wasn't well-versed in this arena at all but her curiosity was definitely piqued for the first time in her life.
What if her friends could see her now? Emily and Josie would be totally shocked to see her participating in a sexy, role-playing scenario. With a complete stranger. She almost wished she had the nerve to tell them about it, but suspected they wouldn't believe her. This was so out of character for her.
She had a small group of female friends who got together regularly over martinis at an intimate club just down the street from her apartment. Occasionally these gatherings lead to discussions of her friend's wilder sexual exploits. Understandably, she usually tried to steer clear of this subject. Partly because such frank talk embarrassed her, but mostly because she knew eventually the focus of such conversations would eventually turn to her and her lack of enthusiasm for sex would be discussed at length. Again. Eventually these debates over the genesis of her dysfunction would lead to well-meaning but pointless advice. As much as she loved her friends for wanting to help, she just couldn 't abide being the object of their pity.
Judging by all the erotic possibilities that bag represented it seemed she was going to get an erotic education to put her friend’s tame exploits to shame.
When his attention returned to her, she took another peek and there was something hanging from his hand. He was leaning over her again, so she expected to feel the cool bite of metal against her wrists as he snapped on a pair of handcuffs. Instead she felt something smooth and unbearably soft against the inside of her right arm which still rested next to her face on the pillow.
Whatever he was using to caress her felt like a strip of silk or perhaps satin. He was trailing this item slowly along the sensitive skin of her elbow and then her naked armpit. She felt like cringing. No one had ever touched her there. Not ever. She'd always considered it a rather nasty body part, prone to unwanted hair and sweat. And yet her skin seemed to come alive as he slid the material over that sensitive crevice again and again.
Just when she was getting used to this unfamiliar sensation, he abruptly slid one of his powerful hands beneath her neck and lifted her head easily from the pillow. In a flash the silk scarf he'd been using to torment her was wrapped around her eyes and secured firmly in a knot above her right ear. It all happened so quickly she wasn't quite sure how to react. Should she continue to pretend she was asleep? Try to escape? Moan some encouragement?
Before she could decide on an appropriate reaction he was leaning over her again. Grabbing her wrists in a vise-like grip, he pressed them into the pillow, effectively pinning her to the bed. Shifting slightly, he lowered his large, muscular chest until all the wonderful ridges and contours of his upper body were flattened against her from hip to breast.
"Now," he said, breathing directly into the sensitive shell of her ear. "You can stop playing opossum. I know you're awake and I can't wait a second longer to make all your dirty dreams come true."
Chapter Three
Holly felt herself responding to his playful tone with a smile of her own. As much as she needed to make her home invasion fantasy feel like a threatening situation, there was something about his demeanor that told her he considered her scenario just a great big sexy joke. He wasn't taking it seriously at all. She should have been offended. Her sanity was on the line here. She really couldn't think of anything more unpleasant than experiencing the slow and steady unravelling of her mind. Especially over an incident that should have lost its power over her months ago. And yet he was amused by the whole thing.
Instead of bristling at his flippant attitude, she wondered if maybe this was exactly what she needed. An opportunity to lighten up and enjoy life again instead of focusing on what could have happened to her. Was that what her subconscious had been trying to tell her? Worse, had the frosty Miss Bright been right? Should she abandon herself to whatever pleasure she could find and forget about why she was doing this? Or try to make it as real as possible? Or maybe both?