Page 17 of Look, Don't Touch

My eyes are taken away. Like flipping a switch, my other senses come to the forefront. The room smells like a night in a garden—too fresh and welcoming to be indoors or in a room people use for all manner of sexual perversions. The air is the perfect temperature, making me a little warm in my clothes. Not a noise penetrates the gloriously soundproofed room. Only the slightest rattle of the air filtering in through the vents ruffles the silence.

The velvet of the mask kisses my cheeks and forehead, like a familiar touch from an old lover. After all this time, it still sends a tingle through me. Positive association.

In front of me, the door clicks and opens. Already, this is different from before. I always face the back of the room. My bare ass usually greets him, my silent tormentor. Many of them speak. They tell me how they love my tight cunt or my greedy mouth. Some go on and on about how beautifully my skin shows their marks. Others praise my submission.

No matter what they say, I never speak.

Option one is my top pick for many reasons. His silence is only one of them.

The door closes, and the lock snicks. My lips part and my mouth waters at the simple sound.

He walks quietly into the room. The man isn’t close, yet his presence wraps itself around me. It commands my attention like nothing else. Eyes I can’t use focus solely on him. My ears are perked for his slightest grunt or hum. My skin sizzles with anticipation. My heartbeats dip and rev to his will.

In his presence, I am not just alive. In his presence, I live.

Seconds pass in complete silence.

Blood races through my veins. The thud of my heart attacks my ribs. Every muscle is taut. The tingle has turned into a hot buzz, meandering through my body, grazing my nipples and teasing my clit, but never lingers in one place.

I don't know how I’ve stayed away this long.

His breath whispers over my cheek. I swallow. His scent is a heady mix of pheromones, a hint of luxury cologne, and clean man. I want to press my face into his neck and breathe deeply until the world falls away.

The barest indication of warmth ghosts over my lips. It’s not a kiss. He’s never kissed me. I’ve never wanted him to. But…right now, he could do almost anything, and I’d let him. He’s so close. If I lifted onto my tiptoes and leaned forward, I could press my lips to his. I won’t.

He is in control, and I fucking love it.

Suddenly, the front of my coat goes tight over the swell of my breasts. I’m pulled forward ever so slightly. My gasp is a roar inside the quiet room. I clamp my mouth closed and keep my arms loose at my sides, afraid I’ve overreacted. This is just so different.

Have they screwed up the database?

This interaction is so unlike all the others I’ve had with option one. Sure, I could refer to him as his fake profile name with its fake profile data. It’s no more real than I am Miss Calkins. I’ve never cared enough to look at any of them. If I want fiction, I’ll go to a bookstore or, more precisely, my digital books app.

Then I hear his familiar, “Mmm.”

The deep, whispering sound travels straight to my swelling cunt. I sigh. It’s a relief and a thrill all at once. This man knows how I like to be fucked. I’m not saying he’s some sex god with an unnatural ability to read a woman’s mind. No. Mostly, he just happens to like giving it how I like receiving it.

He plucks at the tie around my waist and then eases his grip on the front of my coat. The two sides open wide. So wide I know he’s holding them and looking at what’s underneath.

Warmth gathers over my chest, yet my nipples bead. I bank the urge to rub my thighs together, but I can’t stop the deep swallow from working my throat.

Velvet tickles my shoulders, and then the length of my arms. Then it’s gone. He moves away, setting my coat gently over the bed, I think. He returns like a hunter, prowling around me. His circle gets closer and closer. Then the fabric of his shirt brushes across my back. Soft and smooth.

I can’t stop the moan that leaks out.

He does the same to my front.

I’m about to gift him another throaty whine when he stops so close to my back that his breath condenses on my nape. My moan becomes a whimper.

He grabs the harness at my back and pulls it tight over my chest. My breasts aren’t big, but the pull exaggerates them. I know because I’ve put it on and done it myself without a blindfold on. His growl is low. It reverberates through my nerve endings, pouring gasoline on my desire. The metal clasps cry, and then the pressure vanishes, and the harness falls to the ground.

For several moments, we stand in the thick fog of our need. Finally, he fingers the zipper at the back of my dress and works it down at an excruciatingly slow pace. When he steps back, I find myself close to begging with actual words. I don’t know what I’d beg for. There’s suddenly so much I want, things I’ve never wanted. The press of his naked front to my back. The tease of his lips over my thighs. The feel of his bare hand on my hips as he pumps into me.

“Off,” he barks.

I’m saved from my rash and needy thoughts with total shock.

My brain whirrs for a moment.

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