BLIND: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  “Don’t…you shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

  Wait. What? The side of Asher’s mouth kicked up. “You have a thing for the dance instructor?”

  “No.”

  Hunter and Jet simultaneously said, “Yes!”

  Elliot’s face turned bright red. “Shut up. You’re all idiots.”

  “Why don’t you ask her out?” Asher wondered.

  Elliot scoffed. “Are you kidding? Have you seen her? Unlike you, I have no interest in baring all my flaws or fraternizing with women way out of my league.”

  Asher shrugged. “Who says she’s out of your league? She could be interested. Steve says she’s really nice.”

  “No, thank you. And do me a favor and keep your mouth shut. I don’t need her pitying me.” He stormed out of the room.

  “He really needs to get laid,” Jet mumbled.

  Asher’s lips twisted with disappointment. He hated seeing Elliot so down on himself.

  “So how much longer are you gonna carry on this Mr. Stone bit?” Hunter asked.

  He shrugged. “I promised her fourteen encounters, but I have months to follow through.”

  “Why not just do it all at once?”

  There was a lot Asher had learned in his research. Some universal truths he considered the ten commandments of women. “They always want what they can’t have. The longer I make her wait the more eager she is to have me.”

  “That’s fucked up,” Hunter commented, but there was no missing the snort of laughter.

  Jet crumpled up his wrapper and arced it across the room, sinking it into the trash bin. “I think you should just tell her it’s you and get on with the sex.”

  “I’m not having sex with her.”

  Both men looked at him, clear misunderstanding on their faces. Asher already decided sleeping with Scarlet Farrow would be very bad for both of them. He was there to seduce her, grant her everything she thought she’d never have, not give her something that might be a great letdown.

  Knowing personal things, like how Bobby Westerman stole her virginity and fumbled the entire aftercare portion of such a fundamental moment, made Asher certain he shouldn’t have sex with her. If he did anything dishonorable it would cloud the whole purpose of their relationship, destroy the fantasy.

  He wasn’t sure how it would end, if he would tell her who he was or keep it a secret forever—something beautiful that ended before it turned ugly. Maybe one day he’d strip the blindfold away and she’d beam and throw her arms around—wait. No. That wasn’t going to happen. He had to be careful, because his emotions were starting to confuse matters the more he came to care about her. He had to be realistic. There was only so much a man could pretend.

  This was meant to be something she’d enjoy. His inexperience was too much of a risk and chancing any sexual let down on his part might ruin everything he’d worked toward. Glancing at his friends, he said with resoluteness, “No. I’m definitely not going to have sex with her.”

  ****

  Asher was so aggravated with his desire to call Scarlet just to hear her voice, that he denied himself the privilege of speaking to her for an entire week. The following Friday he started his morning with a demand that Steve push him harder than usual.

  When they finished, Asher was dripping with sweat and guzzling one water bottle after another.

  “I see a major difference,” Steve commented. “And I’m not just talking about your abs.”

  Asher chucked the bottle in the recycling and mopped the sweat out of his eyes without comment.

  “Are you going to see her tonight?”

  He should. She was likely wondering where he was. Or maybe she wasn’t. “Yeah. Send flowers to her class and tell her to be ready at seven.”

  Steve hesitated. “You aren’t going to write a note?”

  The fucking notes. He grit his teeth. No matter how hard he tried to treat it as a liaison, part of him just wanted their relationship to be normal. He’d have to buckle down. No more delusions. No more pretending this was anything more than what it was. He had to keep his head and had to constantly remind himself this would eventually end.

  There was fantasy and then there was reality. The more time that passed the closer he stepped to that uncomfortable threshold. “I’ll write it.”

  The workday dragged and Asher’s mind was caught up in one distraction after another. By four o’clock, he accepted he wasn’t going to accomplish anything productive and researched some things online—sexuality to be more exact, but unsure where exactly one found the answers he needed.

  The wisdom he sought wasn’t there. The Internet proved nothing but a pit of opinions, when what he needed was hard-core facts, guarantees. What made one source more knowledgeable than the last? He needed answers, advice, a guru of women that could teach him how to pleasure her.

  Somehow he’d managed to gain her absolute compliance, and in doing so, something dark and needy was unleashed inside of him. He wanted to push her sexual appetites and push her hard, but he first needed to know how to satisfy her hunger.

  “Shit.” He sat back in his chair and stared at the computer.

  His dick throbbed in his pants as he replayed their last conversation. He wanted her naked and no matter how much that was rushing things, good judgment didn’t seem to intercede.

  How could he get her naked? He could simply ask, but that seemed a little weak. Women didn’t just take off their clothes for strangers.

  Frustrated, he closed his laptop and grabbed his keys. He was done for the day.

  When he got home his body demanded a measure of self-control, so he headed for the shower. As the heated jets doused his sensitized skin, visions of Scarlet rushed through his mind. Eyes closed, he fisted his erection and breathed roughly through his teeth. His hand tugged as his lungs worked. Steam coated his body as his blood pumped hard.

  Her eyes. Her soft body. The long line of her spine. The scent of her hair. The gentle rasp of her voice. He was so close. His mind devoured the memory of her breast in the blouse that practically showed her nipples. He wanted to see, taste and tease them, kiss, suck and mark them.

  “Oh, God…” He stroked harder, bracing his arm on the damp tile wall. If only he could hear her say his name the way she whispered Mr. Stone. His imagination went wild, visions of her head tilting back, her throat elongating as her soft lips curved around those undisclosed syllables… Asher.

  A guttural moan left his chest as his balls drew up tight and pleasure shot through his spine. Come splashed against the tile as he hissed and panted, pressing his forehead to his arm.

  His fantasies were changing, evolving, maturing, detailing every specific truth he now knew and hardly had to improvise. She was no longer just a beautiful fantasy. She was flesh and blood and he wanted her to be his. For years he’d been imagining the taste of her skin, but now he wanted to truly know.

  He selected his clothing carefully, knowing she wouldn’t see him, but needing the boost of confidence. When he reached the mansion it was six. They had eight meetings left and though he feared the end, the intentional procrastination was growing tiresome. He was running out of ideas. Oh, he had plenty of things he wanted to do with her, but he had to maintain control and keep his eye on the prize.

  After lighting the fires and choosing a bottle of red, he waited for Steve to arrive. Fuck, he was anxious. Their last encounter—actually hearing her come—triggered a dark animal inside of him he wasn’t prepared to unleash, a side of him so unfamiliar it shifted his bearings and planted seeds of great concern. What was happening to him? Desire, greater than he’d ever felt for her or any woman, was now an obstacle.

  At the sound of a car pulling onto the drive, he stood and went to the door. Steve escorted her up the steps and he took her arm without greeting. Leading her inside he set about unbuttoning her coat.

  Her lips were parted and her breathing shallow. “Good evening, Mr. Stone,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  Fuc
k, he was botching this. He needed to pull it together. “Good evening, Ms. Farrow.”

  Her brow wrinkled, small divots showing above the lace of the blindfold. Her hand softly closed over his fingers working the last of the buttons. “Are you upset with me?”

  He silently sighed and stepped back, needing to remove her touch before he got careless. “I’ve had a difficult week, but I’m happy you’re here.” Taking back the command of his actions, he stepped around her and removed her coat.

  She shivered and he stilled. She was wearing the red wrap dress he’d gifted her. She looked incredible, the garment accentuating her figure in all the right places. Even the boots were perfect.

  While her beauty threatened his composure, if he shut his eyes and breathed her in, a sense of calm settled over him. Her mere presence soothed him, yet her beauty intimidated him to a degree that was troubling. Sometimes he wished he were the blind one.

  But he could not fault her for such things when the issue was his inability to process the sensory overload her mere proximity wrought in him. Tracing his fingers lightly over the pearl necklace, he whispered, “You look stunning, Ms. Farrow. Let’s sit and catch up.”

  He ushered her to a chair and she sat. Her hands fidgeted then found a home in the lap of her dress. Her ankles crossed and uncrossed until finally she seemed to settle.

  He surveyed her for several minutes, speculating what she was thinking. She surprised him by stating, “You’re not talking.”

  “I’m watching you. Does the silence bother you?”

  A flush tinged her flesh from the pearl necklace to her cheeks. “No.”

  “What are you thinking, Ms. Farrow? You appear agitated.”

  She began to fidget again and he considered offering her a glass of wine, but something had him holding back.

  “I haven’t heard from you in seven days.”

  And the time apart did nothing to quell his desires. “Does that upset you?”

  Her lips compressed.

  “Answer the question.”

  “Yes.”

  “What is upsetting about my absence?” He was honestly curious about her answer. Was it the attention she missed? Or perhaps the delight of being spoiled?

  “I missed… you.”

  Asher stilled. Could she have really missed him? No, she missed Mr. Stone. An odd quarrel took place in his mind, his alter ego seeming to steal his glory. “I see. And what exactly did you miss?”

  “Your voice. Your nearness.”

  He contemplated her answer. His voice was his, though he altered his tempo and tone when speaking as Mr. Stone. How much of what she craved actually had to do with—

  “Can I ask you something?”

  His shoulders tightened with reluctance. “Yes.”

  Her blush intensified. “I… I’ve been thinking about us and I need to ask you something for my own peace of mind.”

  He waited for her to go on, already having given her permission to ask what she needed and not trusting his voice at the moment. Her lips were a distracting temptation and she was currently nibbling them in a sign of nervousness.

  “Are you healthy, Mr. Stone?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I don’t know where this is going and I like that you’re the one deciding. But the other day it crossed my mind how little I know about you as a person. Every time you contact me I debate less and less the risks of coming to you. It seems I have no will when it comes to following your requests and I’d be remiss not to inquire about your health, considering what happened last time we talked. But more than that, I care about you and I worry about you. I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  I care about you and I worry about you…

  Jaw slack, he slowly grinned, taken aback by her confession. It was quite telling of where she imagined this going, but more than that…she cared and worried about him. Such personal interest on her part was unexpected.

  His throat contracted with unexpected emotion. “I assure you I’m quite healthy. The last time I was near a hospital I was a boy suffering from dehydration after a nasty bout of the flu. I have my blood work done regularly and have never heard any concerns from my doctor.”

  She let out a deep breath she seemed to be holding for quite some time. This had obviously been weighing on her mind, which aided his confidence, touched a very vulnerable part of him. It might also confirm she’d considered crossing certain lines of intimacy, but he wasn’t sure.

  The physical was second to the emotional in terms of how much her confession jarred him. Did she truly care about him? He focused on the more manageable implication. “For health to be brought into question, one would assume you’d been thinking about intimacy.”

  She smirked. “I have. Ever since the hotel. I’ve decided to trust you and fully experience whatever it is you have to teach me.”

  His shoulders shook as her confession left him speechless. She couldn’t possibly know what she was agreeing to. Even he couldn’t predict what such a thing might entail.

  The startling confession pushed his desires ahead of his common sense. “Interesting. And what if I told you to remove an item of clothing? Be careful what you say, Ms. Farrow. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking of you this week.”

  “You did?” She smiled, surprising him again. This female was slowly disproving every assumption he had about women.

  He waited for her to address his question. Her breasts pressed against the front of her dress as her breath quickened.

  Finally, when she realized he was still waiting, she asked, “What did you want me to remove?”

  His mouth opened. All of it. What was happening here? Swallowing hard he stood and reached for her hand. Her fingers curled around his with acceptance. “Stand up, Ms. Farrow.”

  Her jaw trembled as she was guided from the chair. Asher pulled her a step forward. Releasing her hand at her side, he appraised her. Two tight points formed under the thin material of the dress covering her chest. She was stunning.

  His hands danced over her collarbone, tracing several of the tiny pearls, and her neck lengthened. Ghosting his fingers over the swell of her breast, he touched the loop of the tie that held the dress together. “May I?”

  Her body shook with a delicate tremble. “Yes.” Her voice was a rasp.

  His cock throbbed in his pants, pressing hard into the zipper. Carefully, he unknotted the belt, taking care to control his breathing. The sash went lax and she sucked in an audible breath.

  “Tell me to stop and I will, Ms. Farrow.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  He stilled. Every fiber of his being wanted to kiss her in that moment, but he clamped his jaw tight and refused. Dropping the sash, the dress gaped. His fingers trembled as he reached for the silky fabric.

  “Last chance,” he warned.

  She made no objection, so he slowly parted the folds. His lungs burned as he breathed deep. Satin flesh, white as snow, flashed as the material parted. Her breasts were encased in a chocolate lace bra matching her panties.

  “You’re exquisite,” he whispered, conscious he was giving himself away.

  Her shoulders lifted as he slid the silk dress off of her frame and let it whisper to the floor. Seeing her standing there, in her bra and panties and those sexy heeled leather boots was incredibly titillating.

  Goose bumps covered her arms as her hands fisted at her sides. The hair on his arms rose as well. His throat became bone dry as his unblinking eyes devoured her beauty. He recognized signs of nervousness in the way her muscles appeared to tense and her lips twitched.

  “Do you have any idea how sexy you are, Scarlet?”

  Her lips trembled. “Thank you. Only you see me that way.”

  Bullshit. He wanted to worship at the altar of Scarlet Farrow, peel back those lace cups and gorge himself on the sharp nipples poking against her bra.

  “You’re quite tempting.”

  She sucked in a long breath and released it quickly. “You…you can touch m
e, Mr. Stone. If you want to.” Her lips pursed as she quietly admitted, “I want you to.”

  His heart thundered as his hands trembled. It was nearly impossible to maintain his calm façade. “Do you now?”

  This was quite a predicament. With her permission, he was given free range to pet and caress her as he pleased. But doing so might be his undoing. He’d be wise to proceed with caution.

  “Do you like being told what to do, Ms. Farrow?”

  “I like when you tell me what to do, because…”She seemed to be as surprised by her words as he was. “I like how it feels.”

  He chuckled. If she only knew all the things she made him feel, emotions outside of his vocabulary. “I’m very pleased.”

  She licked her lips nervously as a slow smile curved her mouth.

  “Are you aroused, Ms. Farrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are your panties wet?”

  “Yes.”

  And so was his cock, precome already seeping from the engorged tip. He took her hand. “Come with me.” Leading her to the center of the room, he turned her to face the chairs. “I want you to stand here while I pour us each a glass of wine and enjoy the view.”

  Her motions were shaky, likely due to her arousal, but she nodded. As he walked slowly back to the chairs he adjusted himself, trying to find some measure of comfort.

  Uncorking the wine, he enjoyed the echo of liquid trickling into the glasses. He turned, taking a seat, and sipped. “Spread your legs, Ms. Farrow.”

  Her stance slowly widened. Yes. He liked having this sort of authority. The heady sense of having a woman he prized bend to his will was incomparable to all other sexual experiences. He’d never imagined anything beyond traditional coupling—vanilla was what the Internet seemed to call it. But with Scarlet, he always had the upper hand, guiding her slowly into a poetic state of arousal that seemed to trigger so many hidden peculiarities inside of him.

  Sexual release never failed to satisfy a human need, but what they shared went beyond natural reflexes. It was a new level of endorphins, an untold secret creating so much more than simple gratification. The perplexity of their interactions radiated sexual tension because of the limits they created, and he felt the high every time she surrendered to his command.