The Virgin Dating Game

by Sky Corgan

  “Sounds good.” He nods before standing up and leading the way.

  My eyes play over the muscles of his back. It's like he's carved out of stone. He's so perfect, all the way down to the dimples just above his ass. Mmm his ass. I just want to grab it.

  When we get to his bedroom, I make sure I raise my gaze before he catches me staring. Then my attention immediately shifts to the space, and I start taking pictures. As with the rest of the house, there are too many pieces of furniture and quite a bit of clutter. Aside from the obvious, though, one of the first things I notice is that all the picture frames on his dresser and bedside tables have been placed glass-side-down. Whatever is beneath them, he doesn't want me to see, which only makes me that much more curious. Even though it's a bit unsettling, I decide that some things are better left unknown. If our relationship, in whatever context, ever gets to a point where he wants to share, he will. I have to believe that and not pressure him.

  I'm snapping the last few pictures when he walks up behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. It takes me a minute to realize he's pulling off my sweater. Once I'm aware of that, I quickly turn around, moving out of his grasp.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, even though I'm already fairly certain of his intentions.

  His blue eyes are dark, a telling sign that I'm right. “I was just making you more comfortable.”

  “I am comfortable, Doctor Reddick.” I pull the sweater back up.

  “Is that so?” He takes a step forward, towering over me, a picture of sexy, intimidating masculinity.

  I don't back down. “It is so. I'm almost done here, then I can leave you alone to enjoy the rest of your night.”

  “I can think of a few ways to enjoy the rest of my night, and none of them involve you leaving.” He reaches up to caress my cheek, and electric waves zip through me, turning on every nerve that has anything to do with my arousal. The room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter, and I feel oh so weak.

  You can't do this. You promised Derrick that you'd keep things professional from here on out. I know you want to give in, but if you do, things will only get worse. You'll be more emotionally screwed up than you already are. Maybe you'll even cry again.

  That last thought makes me grab his hand to push it away, but the minute I do, he's sliding his other hand into my hair and drawing me to him for a kiss that steals all of my breath and resolve. Soft lips. Perfect lips.

  His tongue seeks entry into my mouth, and I allow it almost reflexively. He holds me against his rock-hard body as we kiss. I close my eyes and enjoy the ride, allowing him to lead. My heart pounds as I realize that I've opened Pandora's box. Backing out now would be offensive. And in truth, I don't want to. I want a do-over from last night—a chance to redeem myself.

  Aggressively, he pulls my sweater over my shoulders. This time, I don't resist. I drop my arms to my sides and help him take it off the rest of the way.

  His eyes bore into mine, so intense that I feel a tingling of submission inside as he backs me up against the bed. By the time my butt hits it, he's already working to get my shirt over my head. The second that my skin is exposed, his lips are on my collarbone. I crane my neck to the side and moan from the soft feel of his kiss coupled with the roughness of his hands as they wrap around my waist and draw me to him again. My pliable body seems to mold against his wall of muscle. I still feel embarrassed for being so fluffy, but if it bothered him any, we wouldn't be doing the things we are now.

  He places a line of kisses around the front of my neck before finding the zipper of my skirt and pulling it down. It amazes me how his hands seemed to hone in on it, as if he's very experienced at taking off every manner of women's clothing. He probably is, I think with a frown. After all, he does work at Flesh on the weekends. Beyond that though, I'm sure that he sleeps with a lot of women. The thought makes my arousal wane, but I quickly try to push it away. Nothing good ever came from over-thinking things like this, especially when my goal is redemption.

  As my skirt falls to my ankles, Lucian grabs two fistfuls of my ass and hoists me up onto the bed, then he presses his body between my legs to kiss me again. I dare to touch him, sliding my hands over his shoulders to drape them around his neck. Touching him adds a whole other level to my arousal. I've never been brave enough to do it before, though he's certainly done a lot of touching on me.

  His hands curl around my pantyhose, and he begins to remove them slowly. When he moves back to pull them over my hips and down my legs, I catch a glimpse of the tent in his pants. He must not be wearing any underwear, because I can see the outline of his cock perfectly. Shaft, glans, and all. So thick and ready for me.

  “Get up further on the bed,” he instructs once my shoes and hose are off.

  I scoot back, being mindful of my injured ankle. The last thing I want to do is make it worse.

  I expect him to toss my hose onto the floor, as he's done with my other clothes, but instead, he wads them up in his fist and crawls up onto the bed beside me. He moves over me like a predator, his gorgeous eyes looking almost dangerous. It makes me feel oh so horny.

  “Give me your wrists,” he demands.

  When he sits up beside me and begins straightening out my hose, I know his game. At this point, I'm pretty sure he's the MacGyver of restraints. If I wasn't wearing hose, he probably would have pulled the tie string out of his pants to bind my wrists. It's a bit disturbing that he can't seem to enjoy having sex without tying me up first, but I decide to go with it. He is a Dom, after all, and I'm sure his kinks run deep.

  This time, he isn't anywhere near as gentle with restraining me. In fact, it would take great effort for me to wiggle free, which is worrisome. As he loops and knots the hose around my wrists, his eyes occasionally dart to my face, and I can't help but wonder if he's gauging my level of discomfort from being bound so tightly. Even though it makes me a bit nervous, I decide to trust him. He's not really a stranger to me anymore. I don't think he'd actually hurt me.

  “Lie down and put your hands over your head.”

  I do as I'm told, watching his every move. This time feels different than last night, somehow. It's like we're back at Flesh. I'm completely submissive, putting my pleasure in his hands. Thoughts of work and how this will affect the project are on the back burner as I focus on enjoying my time with him. I feel addicted, and in this moment, nothing else matters other than seeing what he'll do next.

  Lucian leans over and pulls open the bedside table drawer. He extracts a blindfold very similar to the one he used on me at Flesh. I wonder if he's drawing on the familiarity to keep me calm. That's probably thinking too far into it though.

  So many thoughts are going through my mind as I watch him straighten out the strings on the back of the blindfold. I can distinctly remember feeling the loss of not being able to see his shirtless body the last time I had a blindfold on. Back then, I had never expected to see him again. This is the third time I've seen him shirtless, and while I'd love to keep looking at him—to drool over his perfect muscular torso—it's not as important as it once was.

  There's still the issue of trust, though. Being blindfolded and bound, especially to this degree, makes me incredibly vulnerable. He could do anything he wanted, and I wouldn't be able to stop him. But we've been in this position before, and everything turned out alright. It turned out better than alright. In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

  I allow him to slip the blindfold over my head, though I can't help but feel uncomfortable.

  “I can trust you, right?” I ask apprehensively.

  He pauses before sliding the blindfold over my eyes. “I don't know. Can you?”

  A knot tightens in my chest as I pray to God he's joking. That's not something you say to someone before you blindfold them. As a Dom, he should know better. Part of BDSM is about building trust. He's not doing a very good job right now.

  The moment my sight is taken from me, my breathing starts becoming ragged and shallow. My other senses go on hig
h alert, and I feel extra sensitive, to everything.

  “I'm not going to hurt you, Amy,” he tells me soothingly, and it does help a little. “We're just going to do a bit of sensation play.”

  The first thing I feel is his lips on my chest. My body melts into the comforter below as his gentle kiss lulls me into a sense of security. He moves slowly, with purpose, lingering on each spot, swirling his tongue over my skin. I moan softly, enjoying the feel of his lips as they trail down between my breasts and over my stomach, though I find myself sucking in when he gets to my tummy.

  “Stop it.” He taps my stomach. “You're beautiful just the way you are.”

  His words flood me with warmth. Does he really think that, or is he just saying it to make me feel better? If it's the later of the two, it has worked.

  I try to relax and wait for his next move.

  His fingertips play over the swell of my breasts, rubbing back and forth, teasing the soft skin there while he kisses my forehead and then my lips. A chaste kiss, leaving me wanting more. That's what this is all about though. The tease.

  He pushes his hands beneath me to unclasp my bra. Then he pulls it all the way off and up until it catches on my bound wrists. I blush as my breasts are exposed, even though I know he's seen them before. It always feels a bit strange being at his mercy like this, knowing that he's looking at my imperfect body. I can never quite get used to it.

  His palms press into my flesh, grabbing two handfuls of my breasts, his fingers kneading into me as he squeezes gently. My nipples bead beneath the heat of his hands, which causes me to blush more. Just the simplest touch from him makes arousal pool below, perhaps because I know things are only going to get more intense from here.

  I concentrate on my breathing and feeling his fingertips move over me. He traces them across my collarbone, around my breasts, over my ribcage. Then he does it again, diverting from the original path to cover more area. Every time his fingers brush against one of my nipples, I feel a wave of pleasure course from my chest to my clit, making it throb.

  On the third pass, his hands explore all the way down to my panties. He grabs the waistband and removes them slowly. I hear a soft thud as he tosses them off of the bed. Then my breath hitches as his thumb digs between my folds to make a few teasing circles around my cleft. I groan and wiggle a little, spreading my thighs for him.

  “That's a good girl. Spread them wider. I want to see that pretty pink pussy of yours.”

  I obey, bowing my legs so that he can crawl between them. I expect him to touch me right away, but instead, his weight shifts on the bed, and I hear the bedside table drawer open again.

  My heartbeat speeds up as I wonder what he's doing. It's the first time I've felt a twinge of fear all night.

  This isn't like Flesh. There was no list when I walked into his house where I could write down what I'd allow him to do to me. The ball is in his court, at this point. I have absolutely no clue what he's pulling out of the drawer, and that thought is unsettling. It could be anything.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, allowing my internal panicking to get the better of me.

  “You'll see.” I can hear the grin in his voice. He knows he's frightening me—driving me crazy. It's annoying that he's getting enjoyment out of it.

  I hold my breath as his body weight shifts back onto the bed, waiting with a ball of knots in my stomach for what he's going to do to me. The second I feel something touch my chest, I flinch.

  “Calm down, it's just my hand.” He flattens his palm against my chest, giving me a moment to adjust to the sensation.

  “I don't like not knowing what you're going to do.”

  “If you keep talking, I won't do anything.” His hand withdraws from me, and it seems like the rest of his body has followed. I don't feel the closeness from him that was there before. He's disappointed in me, probably sitting back and just staring at me, wondering if this was a bad idea.

  For several moments, the room is silent aside from our breathing. Now I'm panicking for a completely different reason. Did I piss him off? Is he losing interest? I certainly don't want that. But at the same time, I'm just so scared. The fact that I don't completely trust him is shining through like the brightest rays of the sun.

  “What do you think I'm going to do to you?” he asks.

  The question makes me tense up. “I don't know.”

  “Something horrible?” There's a hint of anger in his voice.

  “I don't know.” I bite my bottom lip.

  “I do horrible things to people.”

  The hollowness of his words fill me with dread. He sounds alien—not the same man. Genuine fear wells up inside of me, and I think of every horror movie I've ever seen where a gorgeous, charismatic guy ends up being the killer. This would be the part where he stabs me to death. It just falls in line with everything that the media has taught me to believe. I desperately want to squirm out of my restraints, but I know he's watching me, and I know he'll react. No matter how I look at it, I'm screwed.

  “But people enjoy the horrible things I do to them,” he continues, his tone softer this time. “I would never do anything to you that I didn't think you'd enjoy.”

  I cry out as I feel something soft touch my chest—something that's not his hand. It takes a few seconds for my brain to process the sensation. I'm so busy concentrating on lowering the rapid beating of my heart, that my body is in delayed response mode.

  He trails the object between my breasts, then over my nipples. It tickles more than anything else. Feathery. Light. Soft. Feathers! It's a feather tickler. My body relaxes at the realization, and I internally curse myself for being such a baby, for allowing my mind to turn the sensual situation into a horror movie.

  “I'm disappointed that you don't trust me,” he says.

  “I'm sorry,” is the only thing I can think of to respond. Even though his reprimanding is gentle, it still causes an emotional flood to shift through me and make my eyes water.

  Oh no, this is going to be our first time together all over again. It's the countdown until I start sobbing uncontrollably. He's going to think you're a complete baby if you do. Suck it up, Amy. He can't see you now. If you can just get it under control before he pulls the blindfold off.

  I hiccup, and he pauses for a moment. A new fear assaults me—the fear of him catching me crying again. Thankfully, though, he continues what he's doing, dragging the tickler slowly over my skin.

  His movements are sensual, and when he drags the tickler across my nipples, it does feel good. If anything, it's more soothing than arousing.

  I suck in a breath as the toy makes its way lower and lower. Lucian spreads my pussy lips with his fingers and teases the tickler over my clit. It throbs in response, but not from the toy. More from the thought that he's touching me down there. Then he drags it slowly across my inner thigh, which makes me giggle.

  “See, nothing painful about this.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes me relax even more. I'm safe in his care. Why I didn't realize that before, I don't know. Perhaps because we still don't know each other very well.

  The bed shifts again, and I hear a small tapping sound, which makes me think he set the tickler down on the bedside table. Then his weight focuses between my legs. His hands press on my inner thighs, rubbing and massaging them. I moan, the tears beneath my eyes quickly drying.

  Disaster averted.

  The bed moves beneath me as he repositions himself. I'm honestly not sure what he's doing until I feel a warm breath waft over my pussy lips, sending my nerves on high alert. His mouth is close to my sex. He's going to...

  My breathing picks up again as I feel him spreading me with his thumbs. The thought that he's looking at me is embarrassing. A thick digit rubs over my clit softly, teasingly. I bite my tongue to keep from moaning again.

  “Do you want me to touch you down here?” he asks.

  “Mhm.” I nod.

  “Do you want me to taste you down here?”<
br />
  The question is so crude that I don't think I can force myself to answer it. I wrinkle my nose.

  “Is that a no?” He presses harder, sliding his thumb all the way down to my hole and then back up again. Every time he touches my clit, I feel my orgasm building. It won't be long.

  “Yes,” I squeak.

  “Yes you don't want me to taste you, or yes you do?” He leans in and kisses my clit, which makes my hormones go insane.

  “Yes, I do, Sir.”

  “Sir,” he parrots, chuckling lightly. “That's a good girl.”

  The first flick of his tongue across my clit about sends me over the edge. I dig my nails into the pantyhose to ground myself. It's too soon. I can't come yet. Not yet.

  His tongue slicks around my cleft before he sucks my clit up into his mouth. I try my best not to squirm as all of my arousal pools to that one tiny bundle of nerves.

  As he sucks on me, he pushes two fingers into my pussy, and I quickly clamp around them. He's not gentle. Not caring about being a tease. The fingers begin to move, probing in and out roughly. Meanwhile, his mouth is all licking and sucking and making my climax rocket to the surface.

  I try to hold it back, for as long as I can, but it's no use. The combined sensation of his amazing oral skills and his fingers pumping into me drives me over the edge at staggering speeds. Shamelessly, I cry out loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear as my body floods with pleasure.

  “Mmm yeah,” he whispers into me, barely missing a beat. He withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his tongue. His arms wrap around my hips, and he pulls me up into him, burying his face between my legs. It's so hot that I worry I might come all over his face a second time.

  “Oh my God,” I breathe, consumed with the feeling of his tongue and mouth devouring me. It's the best thing ever.

  He sucks a path back up to my clit, but by that time, I'm too sensitive. I let out a small whimper, and he immediately drops me down onto the bed. His weight shifts again, and I hear the rustling of clothing.

  The next thing I feel is his cock slapping against my clit. I can't believe how heavy it feels. Maybe it's because I'm blindfolded and my brain is processing things differently, but it seems like his cock weighs a good ten pounds. It's probably just his arousal pressing it down against me though.