Page 31 of Moon Blind Hearts
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this then.”
He wraps the cloth around my head, covering my eyes and obscuring my vision. The barest amount of light seeps around the edge of the blindfold, but otherwise, I can’t see anything at all.
I reach out my hand and his warm one envelopes mine, before he leads me toward the table I know is set up in the middle of the room. “Are we preparing for a feast?” I tease.
“I am,” he replies. Two words, but their meaning goes straight to my core and makes me so wet, I’m almost surprised by it. The words weren’t even arrogant or any sort of boastful. They were matter of fact, a hint of excitement in them.
He spins me and presses the back of my thighs against the table, letting me grab the edge and get adjusted before I sit up on it fully.
“We’re gonna leave the skirt on,” he says, “but if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like you to start topless.”
I nod and reach for my shirt, but his hands stop mine.
“Allow me,” he murmurs, his voice thicker than it had been before. “You can’t see.” His fingers trace the edge of my shirt, before slowly pulling it up and over my head.
“You can’t exactly see either,” I point out.
“Yes, but I’m used to it,” he replies, carefully removing the shirt, before reaching for the clasp of my bra. “Besides, undressing you is part of the fun.”
The cool air hits my bare breasts the moment he removes the bra and I feel my nipples pebble at the feeling. Sawyer hums deep in his throat before pressing me back with a hand on my chest until I scoot along the table. Once I’m far enough in the middle, he says, “lie down, beautiful.”
I do as he says, getting comfortable on the smooth wooden table. I hear the two of them, Sawyer and Oak, moving around the room, getting things in order.
“You all good?” Oak asks from beside me and I turn my head toward him.
“All good,” I reply. “Remember. Don’t get my face.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. “The camera angles are all set up to avoid your face. If I accidently catch it, that part will be edited out and will wait on your approval.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Double V,” he rasps. “Sawyer is all about the sensations. You may be tapping out.”
His warning surprises me. Tapping out? I doubt I’ll be tapping out because of any sensation play.
“Recording in three . . . two . . . one,” Oak says, and I settle back against the table, waiting.
“We’re slaves to sensation,” Sawyer says, as if he has a whole script he’s following. “The sensation of touch is one of the strongest. Take any of the senses away, and another will heighten. Take sight away, and touch will be that much stronger.” He moves closer, and I try my best not to tense, not exactly sure what we’re starting with. The gentlest touch appears on my ankle, a tickle that slowly trails up my calves. “A feather can feel like a hand.” It trails along my thighs, making them twitch against the feeling. When he reaches the edge of the skirt, the tickle disappears for a few seconds before it reappears on my stomach. “The lightest of touches becomes the loudest.”
He's not wrong. I’m so focused on the feather-light touch that I’m not breathing. The moment I realize I’m not, I take a deep breath, dragging in air I desperately need. The feather pauses at my breasts.
“May I?” he asks.
I should say no and keep my rule in place, but instead, I nod my head frantically and say, “yes,” no longer caring what part of me he touches as long as he doesn’t stop.
The feather continues again. When it reaches my breasts, I squirm against the feeling of it tracing my skin before circling my nipple. It disappears before I can squirm harder and I force myself to take deep even breaths.
I hear what sounds like a lighter and tense.
“Just a candle,” Sawyer says, moving closer. “Scent will be heightened.”
As he moves closer, the smell of vanilla fills my nose, stronger and brighter than any candle I’ve ever smelled. He sets it close by, letting the scent wash over me.
“Take away one sense, the rest heighten,” he repeats again. “Cold is that much colder.”
Wet chill suddenly touches my breast and I jerk in surprise as the ice cube moves along my skin there.
“Easy,” he coos, tracing it around my areola before touching it to my nipple.
