Page 30 of Taking What's Mine

“Well, look at tonight as a makeup session for all those disappointments.”

She smiles, her thin eyebrow arching. “I like that idea.”

I move behind her, holding the tie with both hands to secure it around her eyes. “Isabel, you say the word and I will stop.”

She nods. “I’m fine. We need to be comfortable around each other. And honestly, I haven’t been with anyone in a really long time, so this is definitely overdue.”

I choke out a laugh as I secure the tie around her. The fact she hasn’t been with anyone in a long time turns me on. I want to make sure tonight is good for her. I know this is part of the mission, but still. I’m so fucking turned on, and honestly I’m thankful for the tie around her eyes because I don’t want her to see how hard I am. “Ready?” I ask her once I’m sure she can’t see anything.

“I…uh, I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll take control,” I say as I sit down beside her on the couch, taking the vibrator from her hands. “Would you like me to take control, Isabel?”

She breathes out, long and slowly. “Yeah.”

“Good girl.” My voice comes out raspy, hoarse, like I’m barely able to speak. Which, maybe that’s true. The sight of Isabel blindfolded beside me in nothing but her t-shirt and cotton shorts has my heart racing.

She leans her head back, letting her arms fall to her sides.

I flick the switch, the soft hum of the vibrator suddenly magnifying the hush in the room. I keep it on the lowest setting as I guide it to the bare skin of her lower calf, testing just how sensitive she might be. The moment it makes contact, she gasps—a small, startled sound that tugs at something deep inside me. Her knee jerks in reflex, but almost as quickly, I feel the tension in her leg begin to melt as she settles against the cushions.

My own body, however, couldn’t be further from relaxed. Every muscle is coiled tight, heat pooling in my gut as I watch the subtle shift of her features. I ease the vibrator along the curve of her calf, tracing a slow path upward. Her skin there is warm and soft, and it takes everything I have not to grip her ankle and pullher closer. Instead, I focus on keeping the motion measured and careful, letting the low-level vibrations do their work.

She exhales, eyes drifting shut, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. A flicker of satisfaction flares in my chest—I’m the one causing that smile, that little sigh of relief. But God, every second ratchets up the tension within me. My breathing feels ragged, like I’ve just finished a sprint, and my heart won’t stop hammering. I’m a volcano on the brink of eruption, desire coursing through my veins in a way that’s almost dizzying.

I inch the toy higher, brushing over the sensitive skin at the back of her knee, moving in languid circles. She shifts on the sofa, melting even further into the cushions, each breath slowing as the vibrations skate across her leg. I swallow hard, telling myself to stay focused. This might be gentle, barely even intimate, but the pull between us grows stronger with every pass of the toy.

Her mouth falls open, and I wonder if she’s about to put an end to this. And though my body practically begs for more, I force myself to keep the pace unhurried, letting her decide where to draw the line. My pulse thunders as I lean in, carefully raising the vibrator another inch. The faint hum seems to reverberate through both of us, winding the tension tighter.

She exhales again, and I realize I’m mirroring her, drawing in breath after breath just to keep myself steady. The single, soft whirr of the toy feels impossibly loud in the silence of the room. Every nerve in my body tingles, a reminder that this is a precarious line we’re treading. We’re testing how far we can go—maybe even how far wewantto go. And I can’t help wondering what comes next if neither of us stops.

Chapter 14

Isabel

The soft cloth over my eyes is enough to heighten every other sense, and my heart hammers like it wants to leap from my chest. Without my sight, I’m hyperaware of everything else: the whisper of fabric as Lincoln shifts his position, the rustle of the sofa cushions, the slow, steady hum of the toy he’s guiding over my bare legs. Every brush of vibration against my skin sends a fresh spark of awareness through me—an electric tingle that leaves my breath hitching.

I don’t know which is more unnerving: that I can’t see him, or that I can hear his every exhale, every sharp breath that suggests he’s as affected by this as I am. It’s a strange kind of intimacy, the blindfold making me feel both vulnerable and strangely liberated all at once. With my vision gone, there’s nothing to distract me from the sensation of the toy—or from the press of Lincoln’s fingertips stabilizing my ankle when I shift.

My pulse thuds in my ears as he guides the gentle vibration in a slow path up the length of my calf. The swirl of air from the toy’s movement grazes the sensitive skin at the back of my knee, and I let out a small, involuntary gasp. Lincoln’s reaction is immediate: I hear him inhale sharply, like he didn’t expect such a strong response, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he carefully nudges the toy higher, a fraction of an inch at a time, building anticipation with every tiny shift.

A rush of want pools low in my belly, spreading outward with each pass. My fingers curl into the sofa cushion at my sides, searching for some anchor—anything to keep me from floating off into the swirl of new sensations. The tension is almost unbearable, the quiet hum of the vibrator like a heartbeat in the room. I can barely hang on. It’s all too powerful. My own breaths feel too loud, mixing with his in a chorus of ragged exhales that tell me I’m not the only one affected.

I wish I could see his face. There’s something oddly thrilling about knowing how he looks at me—knowing that he might be watching my every twitch and subtle shift. Is there a hunger in his eyes? That same longing burning in my chest? His breathing suggests yes, and the possibility makes my pulse spike.

A low rumble of sound escapes Lincoln’s throat—almost a soft, startled groan. I can’t see him, but the vibration in the air between us is unmistakable. He’s turned on. Just the thought of him struggling to stay composed while teasing me is a heady realization. It emboldens me enough to let out a breathy moan of my own when he presses the toy gently against the back of my knee, lingering for a beat longer than before.

My head tips back, resting on the arm of the sofa, and I feel my lips part, searching for air. The sensations are strong yet controlled—he’s keeping the setting low, but the softness of thecontact, coupled with the slow build of tension, is almost more overwhelming than anything forceful. My toes curl at the abrupt flare of warmth racing along my nerves, and I briefly consider how much more I can take.

Lincoln must sense the shift in my body. He moves again, sliding the toy along the curve of my inner thigh, and my breath shudders out in a trembling exhale. The blindfold makes every second stretch out, makes every vibration feel sharper, more potent. In the stillness between the toy’s hum and his shallow breathing, my own heartbeat resounds like thunder in my ears.

The realization that we’re crossing a line—maybe even sprinting past it—is there, lingering in the back of my mind. But right now, it’s distant, a dull echo compared to the immediate reality of Lincoln’s careful, deliberate touch. With each brush of the toy, he coaxes a whimper or sigh from me, and in response, I hear him inhale, a quick, tight sound betraying his own strain.

The sofa creaks faintly as he shifts his weight, and suddenly I feel the warmth of his body closer to mine—his thigh maybe inches from my own. My skin tingles, uncertain whether to crave that extra inch of contact or fear it, but there’s no question about my desire: I’m drawn to him, to the heat he radiates, to the tension vibrating between us that’s so palpable I almost swear I can taste it.

A small voice in the back of my head reminds me that we’re doing this for a cover, for an act. But as Lincoln drags the toy another tantalizing inch up my leg, I know the truth: this goes beyond any mission. This is raw, unfiltered attraction, pulsing between us in each shaky breath and hitch of movement.

My eyes stay hidden behind the blindfold, but my other senses paint a vivid picture: the soft scratch of his shirt against thesofa’s upholstery, the ragged exhale that tells me he’s fighting his own mounting need, the hum of the toy that ties us both to this moment. With every passing heartbeat, I’m more certain that this isn’t just for show.

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