by Evelyn Adams
I knew this building. I’d walked through it dozens of times before. Ignoring the man hovering just far enough behind me to be of no help, I pictured the lobby in my mind and started across it.
“Easy,” warned Erik, closing the distance between us.
Feeling his hand on my back through his jacket, I stopped and reached out in front of me. Closer than I expected, I felt the glass of the door in front of me. I sucked in a breath and pushed the door open.
The first thing I noticed was the noise. In addition to the sounds of traffic passing on the street in front of me, I heard snippets of conversations as people passed by and even the flapping and coos of a few random pigeons. I was always caught up in my own world and never really noticed before, but my city was noisy. And parts of it didn’t smell great. The other thing I realized was that I couldn’t step onto the sidewalk by myself. Without being able to see, I had no way of knowing who, if anyone, was coming my way. Unless I wanted to risk running into some poor unsuspecting pedestrian, I was going to have to ask Jensen for help.
“Ready?” he asked, his hand still on my back.
“Do I have a choice?” The idea of quitting set my teeth on edge. I hated the idea of asking Jensen for help, but I hated the idea of losing to him even more.
“You always have a choice.”
Not if I didn’t want to admit he was right, and I was wrong. “Let’s go.”
With his hand still pressed against the small of my back, he nudged me through the door and out on to the sidewalk. In a testament to the self-absorbed nature of the city I loved and its willingness to embrace the crazy, no one bothered to comment about the strange woman stumbling down the sidewalk wearing a man’s jacket and blindfolded with his tie, and if they avoided me or if they looked at me like I’d lost it, I couldn’t see, so it didn’t matter. In my gorgeous excessive nutbar of a city, it was unlikely anyone would even notice.
“This way, Alexandra.” He took me by the shoulders and turned me to the left.
The longer I wore the blindfold, the angrier I got. Wanting to please him had quickly morphed into frustration at having to depend on him for something as basic as not running into walls. I felt shaky and uncertain. Out of control, and I didn’t do out of control. Everything in my life, from my grades as a kid to my choice of profession, had been executed according to a carefully controlled plan. If things didn’t go the way I wanted them to, I worked harder, removing obstacles until I got where I wanted. So what the hell was I doing, standing somewhere on Rampart at the mercy of a man I barely knew for something as basic as walking down the street?
Except I wasn’t at his mercy. Not really. I could take off the blindfold any time and leave Erik standing by himself. I made a choice every second I kept his stupid tie wrapped around my head. I really, really didn’t want to know what that said about me. What kind of woman voluntarily surrendered control to a man? And an arrogant fucking know-it-all one at that. Not that my traitorous body seemed to give a fuck what my rational mind thought about him. Just the touch of his hand, strong and sure on the small of my back, sent heat radiating through me, despite the layers of fabric and better judgment between his palm and my flesh. God bless. I was in way over my head.
Needing to exert some control and unwilling to do something as simple as taking off the makeshift blindfold, I picked up my pace and stepped just out of his grip. This was my city and my street. I’d walked it hundreds of times before going about my business, getting lunch, meeting Meredith for yoga at Namaste. We’d only gone a block or so—less than two because I’d only had to manage one set of curbs, which meant we were between Iberville and Canal in the block with the praline shop. I took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious aroma of caramelized sugar and toasted pecans. We were a few blocks from the heart of the French Quarter and its crowds of tourists, but at this time of year, there were enough people in my city to spill out of the Quarter and up the side streets. When I focused my attention, I could hear the older woman who ran the shop selling candy to someone with a Midwestern accent.
I didn’t care what people thought. If I did, I would never have started my business and I sure as hell wouldn’t have made it a success. It took a lot to embarrass me, but I liked Miss Morel’s candy. I’d been known to stop in from time to time to get a small paper sack of pralines to nibble on with my afternoon café au lait. The idea of the older woman seeing me being led down the street by the asshole lawyer didn’t sit right. With the way the counter was situated, all it would take was for her customer to glance out of the door and make some kind of comment. With my luck, the middle-aged woman on holiday from one of the flyover states was nursing a Fifty Shades of Grey obsession, like most of the rest of her demographic. She’d see me walking blindfolded down the sidewalk and assume it was some kind of sex game and I’d have to find a new place to get my sugared pecan fix.
I shook my head and blew out a breath because it was some kind of sex game. The most frustrating one I’d ever played and apparently one with no actual sex involved. That should be a relief. It wasn’t.
“What exactly are you trying to prove?” I turned my head and snapped the words in Jensen’s direction, my patience frayed through its last thread.
The motion, combined with my anger, lack of sight, and four-inch heels, was enough to tip me off-balance. I wouldn’t have fallen. I lived in heels. Balance was my middle name. I didn’t get a chance to prove it. Jensen gripped my arms through the fabric of his suit coat and held me in place for a moment, steadying me. The bastard.
“Easy, kitten.” He stepped into me until I could feel his body along the length of my back and his breath warm against the sensitive skin behind my ear.
“Kitten?” I snarled the word, too furious with the arrogant ass invading my personal space to care about who else might see us anymore. It was the second time he’d used the word and this time I was angry enough to set him straight. “Do you honestly think I’m some kind of helpless pet?”
I arched my back, pressing my butt against him, and was rewarded with the feel of his cock, rock hard and wedged against the seam of my ass. His hands slid down my arms to grip my hips, his fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave marks. I spun in his arms, stretching up until I felt his breath against my lips. Helpless, my ass. I didn’t have to see him to know exactly how hard he fought for control. His mouth might lie but I made my living reading people’s body language. There was no puzzle hidden in the way his body reacted to mine.
“That’s what I thought.” I pitched my voice low, determined to do a better job than he had at hiding my body’s reaction to being this close. I’d never been more grateful for having the less obvious genitals in my life. Of course, the trade-off was consistent, easily obtained orgasms, so maybe it wasn’t a great deal, but at this point, I’d take my victories where I could get them.
Operating on the assumption that a strong offense made the best defense, I stretched up on my toes until my lips brushed his. I felt his breath rush out and took the opportunity to deepen the kiss until I felt his grip on my hips relax as he slid his hands around to cup my ass. Then I bit him. Hard. Dragging his bottom lip between my teeth, I tasted the metallic tang of blood.
In my head, the move would make him push me away and give me a bullshit excuse to rip the fucking tie off my eyes. In reality, he grabbed me tighter, lifting me off the ground and moving us quickly to the side. Before I got my bearings, he spun us until my back slammed up against the wall. The scrape of what felt like brick rubbed against my back through the fabric of his coat. At least he ruined his coat and not my Joie silk blouse. Then his hands gripped the back of my thighs, spreading me open and fitting himself against me, and I forgot about fabric and getting even and everything but the feel of the man in front of me.
He pressed the long, hard length of his cock into the damp silk of my panties and my stupid traitorous hips rocked against him, moving until he hit the spot I needed him most. He ate from my lips, kissing me like he was
fucking me, his tongue giving me no option but to surrender to him. I met him, tasting and taking what I needed from him, riding the hard ridge of his erection as my body wound tighter. His hands slid from my thighs to my hips, pinning me against the wall as he broke the kiss and took a step back. I didn’t have any choice but to let him go. It was either that or look like a needy fool and lose any scrap of power I might be able to salvage. It didn’t stop my lips from trying to follow his, but I managed to pull myself together before I did something stupid like whimper.
“Are you going to safeword, Alexandra?” The ragged edge to his voice was some consolation, but not much considering how far my plan had gone off the rails.
“No.” No way in hell was I admitting defeat. Smug bastard.
“Good,” he said, twining his fingers with mine and tugging me forward a few steps as I scrambled to steady myself on my heels.
Next time we went on one of these blind walkabouts, I was wearing ballet flats. Like there was ever going to be a next time. Except even as I had the thought, I remembered the way my body reacted to him and knew if he asked me, I’d come up with some bat shit crazy way to justify doing it all again.
“We’re here,” he said, stopping so suddenly I had to tighten my grip on his hand to keep from stumbling.
I had no idea where here was. I was pretty sure we were in one of the alleyways off the Rue du Dauphine but with all the kissing and manhandling, I couldn’t say for sure which way we’d turned. There was the sound of a door opening and a woman’s soft voice said bon jour, as if seeing a man standing with a blindfolded woman in her doorway was an everyday occurrence. Where the fuck were we? I racked my brain, searching for anything familiar that might fit the input from my limited senses, but nothing clicked.
The room was cool but not air-conditioner cold and had the light scent of jasmine layered over the almost earthy scent the oldest homes in the Quarter never lost from too many years spent standing at or below sea level. It was quiet but not silent, as if there was something going on just outside where we stood. Before I could pinpoint anything else, Jensen gripped my elbow, squeezing gently, and led me across the room.
“Threshold.” He murmured the word against my ear, lacing it with the kind of heat usually reserved for words like nipple or pussy.
I was so screwed. I’d spent five years of graduate and post-graduate school immersing myself in gender studies and the anti-feminist bias. I’d done my fucking thesis on the pervasive role of gender inequality in most aspects of everyday life, and here I was, letting some self-proclaimed Dom lead me around blindfolded. I didn’t even have the threat of the lawsuit to use to justify my behavior. If anything, spending time with the attorney after he’d recused himself was more likely to hurt my case than help it. I’d clearly lost whatever good sense I may have initially possessed.
With my free hand, I reached for the tie knotted around my head, pausing when my fingertips brushed the cool silk. There wasn’t a thing stopping me from taking off the blindfold and stopping this charade. The only thing stilling my hand was the knowledge—one I wasn’t quite ready to admit to—that I felt something with Erik and his games. Something I’d never felt before. I’d gotten so used to trading my sexuality for power, to looking at everything as some kind of transaction or teaching moment. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d given myself over to the pure sensation of an experience. I don’t think I’d ever done it. Not really.
The realization made me a little sad and stopped me from tearing off the silk tie. They say curiosity killed the cat, which always struck me as a stupid phrase. Almost everything good that’s ever happened in the world started because of someone’s curiosity. They wanted to find an easier way to do something or wondered what would happen if. I wanted to find out what would happen if I went a little further. Surrendered just a bit more to this game we were playing.
“Regarde ou vous marchez,” said the woman’s voice.
I dusted off my college French and wondered if she was telling Erik to watch his step or if her words were for me. His hand on my elbow was a steady presence, and I knew that whatever else might happen, he wouldn’t let me fall. Which was weird because I’d known the man for all of an hour and we hadn’t exactly started out as friends. None of that changed my certainty in at least this part of my relationship with him.
I sensed the walls closing in on us, and Erik shifted his body behind me, presumably so I could walk through another doorway. The sound of water splashing over something filled the background and the air changed from cool and dry to something warmer, more humid. Somehow more alive. I breathed in the scent of jasmine, stronger than before, closer. The floor had changed from the dull tap of wood underfoot to the click of masonry or stone. I heard the scrape of what could be a chair being pulled across a brick floor and then Erik gently urged me to sit.
“L’apres-midi pour deux, s’il vous plait,” he said in better French than I’d ever heard in college.
“Oui, monsieur.”
Erik’s French extravaganza made it seem as if we were in a restaurant, but aside from the woman who met us at the door, I hadn’t heard anyone else. Surely if there was someone else in the room with us, they would at least be whispering about the blindfolded woman. Unless that kind of thing was the norm for this place. In which case, where the hell had he brought me? I strained to hear anything that might give me a clue to my surroundings, but there was nothing other than the soft sound of splashing water.
I’d expected Erik to sit across from me so he could watch me and maybe gloat a little, but he pulled his chair up beside mine. He didn’t crowd me—not exactly, but there was no way to ignore his presence or the way his body dwarfed mine. Not when he was this close. Hell, probably not even across the room.
“Where are we?” May as well try the direct approach. Not that I expected him to answer, but I’d already apparently decided to go along with this thing and not give him the satisfaction of safewording out. I was going to give myself a headache trying to figure out where we were on my own.
“It’s a private club. You don’t have to worry about being seen. Discretion is a condition of membership.”
Well, that was a whole lot more words strung together than I expected, none of which made me feel any better about the situation. Except maybe the discretion thing, that part was good, but what kind of private club was within walking distance of my studio? I’d never seen anything that would have given me an indication that kind of place existed. Of course, that probably made sense. Hang a sign out and there was sure to be tourists wandering in off the street to ask about ghosts, voodoo rituals, or red rooms. New Orleans was a city of excess and flexible limits. Part of the reason people visited the Big Easy was to give in to her temptations and temporarily lose their minds.
“You’re thinking so hard; you’re going to give yourself a headache. Stop it.”
I hated that his words mirrored my thoughts, and I hated it even more when people told me to stop thinking, like using your mind was somehow a bad thing. The whole rise of the anti-intellectual thing wore on my every last nerve. Since when did being smart become a negative instead of something to strive for? But regardless of what I thought about lawyers in general, you didn’t get to be an attorney unless you were moderately intelligent. Erik didn’t strike me as someone who was moderately anything. I could almost hear the smile in his voice, and found my thoughts drifting to the way his lips curved when he smiled. The way his face softened the few times he smiled at me, back before he knew my name.
He’d been different before he found out who I was. That didn’t sit well. Neither did the idea that something I’d said or done had led to another person being hurt. My thoughts shifted to Kyle, the man who Erik said had hurt his partner. When we’d worked together, Kyle had been so timid. I’d had almost as hard of a time getting him to open up as I had with Peter. The idea of him taking things too far seemed impossible. Erik had to have it wrong. I opened my mouth to ask him for more information
and closed it again when I heard someone approaching the table.
There was a rattle of china and someone set something in front of us. I breathed in and smelled the chicory-laced aroma of good coffee along with hot fat and melting powdered sugar. My mouth watered in response. Beignets. I’d bet money on it. There were lots of things that were oversold to lure in the tourists—stuffed baby alligators, gris-gris bags made in China—but the deep-fried pillows of dough covered in clouds of powdered sugar weren’t one of them.
“Open your mouth, Alexandra.”
For a fraction of a section, I thought he meant for me to ask my question, then I realized he planned to feed me like I was some kind of baby bird. Oh for fuck’s sake. I rolled my eyes behind the blindfold. He was rocking moves out of some kind of bad knock-off of 9 ½ Weeks. Except even as I wrapped myself in the condescension, I felt my body tighten and heat pool low in my belly. My mind might think he was ridiculous but my lady parts were more than ready to follow him wherever he led.
Telling myself it was the fastest way to get to the beignets, I opened my mouth and waited. I heard him suck in a breath and flashed to an image of what I must look like to him. At his mercy, blindfolded, with my mouth open, waiting for him to fill it. The image shifted to me on my knees, my ponytail wrapped around his fist while he teased my bottom lip with his thick, hard cock. I felt my face flush and wondered if we were thinking the same thing, which only made my cheeks hotter.
The powdered sugar hit my tongue a fraction of a second before the warm fried dough short-circuited the pathway of rational thought to my brain. I let out a groan of pleasure and heard Erik’s deep throaty chuckle beside me, warming me from the inside out.
“Bite, Alexandra. We both know how much you like to do that.”
FUCK ME. I WATCHED THE powdered sugar land on her waiting tongue and all I could think about was what it would be like if it was drops of my cum instead of sugar painting her sweet lips. My reaction to this woman threatened to knock me completely sideways. I ran my tongue over my bottom lip, exacerbating the slight sting from her bite.
