BLIND: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  She couldn’t breathe. She was naked. Naked! And Mr. Stone was touching her! It was obvious he didn’t want Helga to do the job, but he wouldn’t force her to undergo his touch without being certain it was invited. What the hell kind of place was this?

  All she could think about were those dodgy happy ending places the cops were always busting on the news. Was this one of them?

  “Scarlet, I sense you’re working yourself into quite a panic. Take a breath and make a decision. Either way, all you’re getting is a massage. No one is planning to behave in an untoward manner.”

  Untoward? Seriously? He was in her massage room! She whimpered.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t catch that. Was that a ‘Helga’ or a ‘Why, yes, Mr. Stone, I’d be delighted if you were the one to touch me’?”

  She shivered. How did he manage to take her decisions and flip them on end every single time? She’d been fully convinced she wanted him to touch her, hoping and praying he’d soon kiss her. Every time he grazed even the knuckles of her hand she melted. Yet, now, here he was, offering to run those powerful hands all over her body and she was debating telling him no?

  Would saying no be like declining Pennyworth’s escort? Would it end the game? She didn’t want that. She could do this. Instinct told her if he crossed a line, all she’d have to do was breathe the word stop and he would. Besides, there were people out there and no one was speaking above a whisper. She could always scream if she was in danger.

  “I choose you, Mr. Stone,” she mumbled.

  “Pardon?” His clothes rustled as he leaned close. She smirked. The son of a bitch had managed to get her blindfolded this time too.

  She sighed. “You.” She was never going to see him.

  A soft caress ghosted over the back of her hair. “I’m pleased, Ms. Farrow.”

  At least one of them was. Throat tight, she anxiously waited for him to begin. All of her peaceful musings disappeared. Every nerve was on high alert, every muscle suddenly tensing.

  “Try to relax, Ms. Farrow.”

  She laughed. “I can’t.”

  “Try.”

  The whisper of hands chaffing together tickled her ears. As the sheet lifted off of her shoulders and was folded back, she shivered. Warm hands, coated in oil pressed into her upper body. “You’re very tense. Why is that?”

  “Um… I’m naked.”

  “Have you done as I asked?”

  He was referring to her going to bed without clothing. Her skin heated—not from the oil. “Yes.”

  “Good girl.” His palms glided over the slope of her shoulders, fingers pressing gently into the locked muscles and working them loose. “How did you feel, taking off your clothes in the privacy of your bedroom?”

  She sighed. His touch was incredible, but also nerve racking. Trying to relax and accept the situation, she confessed, “Silly.”

  “Why silly?” His low voice was a needed distraction from his touch.

  “I’m not used to being naked.”

  “You’re naked now.”

  I know.

  A few minutes passed without talking as he presumably allowed his assessment of her nude state to settle in. Her body mildly relaxed, as she slowly grew accustomed to his touch. The pressure was good, not too hard, yet firm. His large hands were warm against her flesh.

  The sheet drifted over her shoulders as his fingers cradled her arm, extending it away from the table as he rubbed his palms past her elbow and massaged the joints of her fingers. “You have very dainty fingers, Ms. Farrow.”

  She’d never survive an hour of this. Would it be an hour? Wasn’t that how long massages typically lasted?

  Lacing his large fingers between her “dainty” ones, he jiggled and tugged until the muscles in her hand went lax. Tucking the arm back under the sheet, he repeated the process on her other side.

  “I’m curious.” Shocker. “When you make love do you remove your clothing?”

  Her eyes squeezed shut behind the blackness of the mask. I’m not here. I’m not here.

  The sheet lifted, exposing her calves to the cool air of the room. His palms encircled the skin beneath her knee and stroked downward. Oh, God. He was touching her feet. Her mind calculated how long it had been since she’d had a pedicure.

  A sharp giggle slipped past her lips as her toes twitched and his touch stilled, hovering just over a sensitive spot in the center of her foot. “Ticklish?”

  “A little.”

  He stroked a finger swiftly over the same spot and her foot twitched again. He was teasing her.

  “Are you familiar with the ten erogenous zones of the female body, Ms. Farrow?”

  No. She was profoundly ignorant when it came to that sort of thing. She was lucky if she climaxed at all during sex and she’d never had a vaginal orgasm. Always requiring special attention, it was usually too much to voice direction, so she’d make some noises and hoped the guy found her performance believable.

  Still, she lied. “Yes.”

  He pinched the soft skin behind her knee. “Liar. You took too long to answer. Allow me to enlighten you.”

  He moved to her other foot. “The feet are said to be a highly sensitive part of the female body. Some women enjoy the tickling sensation of having their toes stroked or even licked.”

  Dear God. She didn’t think she was one of those women. Spending most of her workday on her feet, she found the area purely functional and would be more comfortable if his attention was elsewhere.

  The sheet folded over her legs softly. A finger remained, lightly pressing to the base of her spine, dragging it slowly toward the nape of her neck as he rounded the table. His finger trailed over her shoulder and down her arm. He’d already touched there so the contact wasn’t as jarring.

  “There are the wrists.” The pad of his thumb rubbed over the delicate veins there, making soft circular motions as he lifted her arm. Soft lips pressed into her sensitive flesh and she nearly combusted, mistakenly believing that area was safe.

  His lips are literally touching you! Dear God, they were soft.

  She moaned and he replaced her arm under the sheet. His finger caressed her arm, both hands making a slow climb until they curled around her shoulders, pressing and soothing the deep tissue. Coasting his fingers upward, he slowly dragged the backs of his nails up and down the column of her neck until her nipples pebbled against the table.

  “The neck is of course an erogenous zone, so sensitive and feminine. I like watching your neck when we’re together, seeing the telltale blush deepen your ivory completion, noticing when you swallow nervously. And then there’s that fluttering pulse of yours. You have a very beautiful neck, Ms. Farrow.”

  Did he feel her pulse now? It was trembling with the subtlety of a jackhammer. Her breath shook as she slowly exhaled.

  The rasp of his fingertips was enunciated as he caressed the shell of her ear. Her body shook as shivers traveled down her spine. His clothing brushed over her back as he leaned close and whispered, “And let’s not overlook the ears. Such a delicate little lobe, perfect for nibbling.”

  He gave it a gentle tug with his fingers and she gasped. His breath heated, leaving a dew of inconsequential moisture in the hollow area.

  “Ears are fascinating things. While it can be quite erotic having them kissed, nibbled, or sucked, they’re also pathways to that principal sex organ I told you about—the brain.” His voice lowered. “Every word can be processed as erotic when the ear is stimulated. I could whisper math equations and make you wet.”

  Mission accomplished.

  He backed away, as her belly tightened with her thighs, and her folds grew damp. The situation catapulted to the next level. She’d never survive this.

  His hands worked over the sheet, pressing into her lower back. As he glided his palms over her covered rear she tensed. The sheet again lifted off of her legs, this time really exposing her. Its folded weight gathered just beneath her bottom and she was excruciatingly aware of her uncovered thighs
.

  Words associated with unkind emotions fluttered through her mind. Cellulite. Stretch marks. Freckles. Pudgy.

  He tickled the inner part of her knee, that soft flesh no one ever noticed. “There are an astounding amount of nerve endings in the backs of the knees. I wonder…what would it feel like to have a man drag his tongue from here…” His finger dragged slowly upward. “…To here?”

  Her breathing had passed regulated ten minutes ago. Now she was panting, quick, shallow breaths as her body begged for him to do something more brazen than he was already doing and her mind feared the same. It was the same tug of war he always produced in her, but this time it was more intense than ever before.

  Her body was aroused to a degree she’d never known. She wanted him to touch her in places no one had touched in several years.

  His fingers rode over her skin, making gentle whorls and easing the tired muscles at the backs of her thighs. Keep going. Please. Oh God, he’s getting closer. Don’t go any farther! Don’t stop! Her mind fell into needy hysteria.

  “The inner thigh, so close to heaven, is an obvious erogenous zone. Easily teased, but highly sensitive. Those tantalizing nerve endings are the prerequisite to fulfillment. This is the land of unspoken promises,” he said, softly massaging the tender flesh. “Once here, a woman will likely beg for you to continue.”

  Just as her begging was about to burst forth in a way she’d never pleaded before, the sheet was lowered. Her lips tightened as she silently groaned in frustration.

  Her irritation was abruptly distracted as the covering lifted from her shoulders and slowly dragged downward. Down, down, down, until she was sure he’d leave her bare. He didn’t. The soft fabric folded just past the base of her spine.

  Her body calmed, contrary to the alert state of her brain, as he carried on massaging as if he were a professional. Special attention was given to each vertebra of her spine and she almost forgot he was the one playing with her. Almost.

  She should have known better. It seemed to be a special joy of his to give her a false sense of comfort thereby having a more potent effect when he next did something outlandish like—expose her ass!

  His nails gently scraped over the sensitive flesh and her entire body convulsed. “This can be a highly erogenous zone, Ms. Farrow. The flesh is highly sensitive, yet padded, allowing all variations of play. Some women simply like their bottoms fondled, while others enjoy having it groped, licked, penetrated, and even spanked. I look forward to learning your preferences.”

  That’s it. She couldn’t take anymore. She groaned and he lightly swatted her ass before covering it. “Problem, Ms. Farrow?”

  So many words to say, but in the face of his inquiry she couldn’t voice a single one. “No.”

  “Then I’ll continue.”

  Of course you will. Maybe he was a sadist and this was the introduction to torture. It sure felt like torture. Every part of her body was so sensitized, so stimulated, each twinge of pleasure had the strange effect of pain. She wanted… she wasn’t sure. Something!

  With her back still exposed, he skimmed his fingers up her side sending chills prickling in the wake of his caress. Her breasts were pressed against the table, which was oddly providing some form of relief until he trailed a finger over the side of her ribs.

  “Of course we mustn’t forget the breasts. Out of respect for modesty I won’t ask that you turn over. I’m sure you’re well aware of the sensitivity in this area, perhaps even coping with the symptoms of arousal there now.”

  She hated him. Hated him, but really, really liked him. It crossed her mind that any man this attuned to a woman’s body had to have some sort of sex record. His name and that picture of him she was searching for, was probably in the Guinness Book of World Records under world’s greatest player. She should really consider this as their relationship developed, because there were a lot of diseases out there a girl had to watch out for, and a man who likely had as many partners as Mr. Stone could very well possess one.

  Great. Now her mind had drifted to an unwelcome place and she was imagining labs and all sorts of unsexy things. This was why she sucked at sex. Head in the game, Lettie!

  “Stay with me, Ms. Farrow. There are two more.”

  He massaged her back and hips, allowing her to drift and return to that lovely subspace. Her mind unraveled, relinquishing all forms of paranoia. If they ever got to that point they’d address their histories and proceed accordingly. There was no sense in worrying about that stuff now—

  “The ninth erogenous zone is what, Ms. Farrow?”

  Huh? What? Did he tell her and she missed it? “Umm…”

  “I believe you know. Think. It’s what most assume is the most important place on a woman, but they would be wrong.”

  Oh, that…

  “Tell me what it is, Ms. Farrow.”

  She swallowed. She could say it. She was a grown woman. Her chest tightened. Forcing out the word, she rasped, “The vagina.” Biting her lips between her teeth she stifled the threat of any nervous, juvenile laughter.

  “Is that what we’re calling it? Very well. Technical it is.”

  He didn’t change position or attempt to reach anywhere near that zone. Rather, he kept his voice low and even, as he massaged her lower back.

  “The vagina,” he said, a note of humor in his voice. “There are numerous nerve receptors in the female genitals, but most tend to favor clitoral stimulation or having the elusive G-spot fondled. You know, I do believe describing it technically can be arousing as well. I wonder what your reaction would be to exposing this part of your body, allowing a man as much time as he desired to explore and see such an intimate part of your anatomy.”

  She was drenched. Not only that, she feared her next gynecological exam. He’d altered her thinking on the entire practice and she’d likely recall this moment at every annual appointment for the rest of her life. Wonderful. Not only was she naked, he was effectively stripping away her composure with each encounter.

  “I’m afraid our hour is almost up, Ms. Farrow. Before I leave you to dress, I’ll tell you the last erogenous zone on a woman’s body, the most important of all.”

  There was more?

  “The lips,” he whispered. “The lips of a female are incredibly sensitive. They can be licked, toyed with, teased, and above all, kissed. They breathe out gasping sighs, pleas, and express a woman’s need. But beyond all, the lips invite a man to kiss other places. A kiss is perhaps the voice of permission given to a lover before he possesses all else a woman can offer.”

  She’d never wanted a man to kiss her as much as she did in that very moment. This man. Fear that she’d embarrass herself because she was so eager to maul him was the only thing holding her still, that and her face shoved in the hole, breasts smashed against the table.

  His lips pressed to the very center of her spine before the sheet covered her trembling body. “It’s been a pleasure, Scarlet.”

  Her lungs released a pent up breath. Every part of her body gushed with need as her name whispered past his lips. He applied it like a reward, only given at the conclusion of their time, and with those two familiar syllables came the sense of deep earned praise followed by the sting of his farewell.

  The door closed and she suspected he was gone. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or cry, but she had no regrets.

  ****

  Asher shut the door and threw his weight against the wood. His cock was so hard he needed a moment before he could take another step. His intention had been to get deeper into her mind, but he seemed to be the one to receive the mind fuck here.

  There had never been a more intense need for a woman. What he suffered in those ticking moments was raw and brutally human. Everything in him demanded he make love to her, but he’d somehow managed to keep his composure, not letting his fierce desire spill out in his voice or touch.

  Swallowing hard, his head tipped against the door. His fists trembled as he denied himself the right to burst
through the door and take her once and for all.

  He could hear her moving around on the other side. Reaching in his pants, he quickly shifted his erection as much as possible. He needed to get out of there.

  Stifling a whimper, he winced and slowly paced away from the door. There was a bottle of champagne in his room. He’d be icing down his balls with it as soon as he relieved some of the tension.

  He couldn’t survive much more of this.

  Chapter Ten

  Reflection

  Sometimes the human brain could be so thoroughly entertained, all connection to reality can be severed, and the return to the real world took a bit of adjusting. Scarlet referred to this as the movie theater effect. She was suffering the results of such at present, only a million times worse.

  Her reflection in the dimly lit dressing room was not anything she recognized. How had her hair turned into such a wild mess of tangles when he hadn’t touched her there? Her face was flushed and she looked as though she’d been through the rinse cycle—that or thoroughly fucked.

  Her body acted as though a foreign cloak rested on her nerves. Every bit of flesh tingled with awareness and parts of her she couldn’t identify begged for more of what was now gone. If this was desire, it wasn’t like any sort she’d experienced before. She felt raw, needy, and, well…horny.

  Shutting her eyes, she tried for steady breathing. No longer blindfolded, she again experienced a strange longing for darkness, finding the obscurity oddly comforting. Unexpectedly, what she originally opposed, she now yearned for, associating the sensation with him. It was as though she were forming a sort of Stockholm’s fondness for blindness.

  Her clothing uncomfortably covered her frame, abrasive in a way it hadn’t seemed before. Her appearance should have slowed her exit, but puzzlingly she didn’t care. Her mind was too numb, too distracted to pay attention to what others might think of her ragged exterior. All thoughts consumed by what was happening inside of her, what he’d done to her.