The First Taste(50)

FOURTEEN


ANDREW



Amelia watches me unknot my tie as if I’m about to strangle her with it. If she doesn’t like to be tied up, she won’t want to be blinded, either. It’s a small step toward stripping her control, though. I can’t give her much, but she can lose herself with me. I’ll make her forget for a few hours. When Shana left, I was tempted every day to open a bottle of whatever was nearest, to lash out at anyone who tried to help, to take a long ride on my bike and end up anywhere but where I was. I couldn’t because of Bell. If I can make things a little easier on Amelia while she’s dealing with her ex, I want to—especially since she’d never ask for help.

I slip the tie off and give it to her. “It’s not that scary.”

She runs it through her fingers. Next to her dress and matching nails, it’s a shade darker, like the inner and outer petals of a rose. “Just the blindfold,” she says. “No tying me up on a whim.”

I smile, pleased that she trusts me enough to try, and take the tie back.

She turns and looks over her shoulder. “Will you get my zipper?”

“Eventually.” I lift the tie up over her head. “You know this isn’t just about taking your eyesight away.”

“I prefer to pretend it is.”

“Defiant until the last second,” I say as I cover her eyes. I tie it only tight enough to keep it in place. I don’t want to scare her. She starts to turn back to me, but I stop her with a hand on each of her shoulders. “Just stay.”

She nods but pulls her hands into fists. I step back, watching her profile. After a few seconds of silence, she lifts her chin. She wants to speak, but she knows I’ll stop her. I’ve never seen her this still. Even in the bathtub, she’d shift whenever she started to relax. I move to stand in front of her, and she turns her head a few inches. Her chest rises and falls a little faster. Without touching her, I bend my head and press my lips to hers. It takes her a moment to respond, and I wait until she parts her lips before I slip my tongue over hers. Her breath stutters. I can’t tell if she’s shuddering or trembling, so I put my hands over her biceps to calm her.

“I can’t,” she says. “Take it off.”

“You can.” I keep a firm grip on her shoulders but run my thumbs over her skin. “I’ve got you. There’s no reason to be upset.”

“I’m not upset. I just don’t like it.”

“I won’t hurt you. That’s not why I’m holding you. I care about you, and I want you to be strong. You can be in control like this, but not if you’re afraid.”

After a few seconds, she nods slightly, and the white skin of her long throat ripples as she swallows.

I tilt my head. She is afraid. I figured she’d be resistant, given her need for control, but it’s unsettling to see how quickly a composed woman like her loosens at the seams. “What scares you about this?” I ask.

She shakes her head. I can’t tell if she doesn’t know or if she doesn’t want to say. She takes a few breaths, and I wait. “It’s not just giving up control. It’s giving it to someone else.”

“I understand. How does it feel to give it to me?”

“Not good,” she admits. “But not as terrifying as I would’ve thought.”

I run my hands down her arms, shoulders to knuckles and back up. “Just imagine this. I blindfold you. I tie your wrists and ankles to the bed. I explore every curve and tip and edge and crease of your body with my mouth and hands. How does that make you feel?”

“It sounds like heaven,” she says, “and hell. Just the thought of being bound makes my heart race.” She jerks a little, even though I keep my hands loose on her.

“Give me your wrists.”

She frowns and starts to object. I don’t stop her—I won’t push her further than she can go. She has to want this too. After a moment, she seems to change her mind as she holds her wrists up between us. I take them both in one hand and check her expression. She bites her bottom lip, but as much as I’d like to steal that lip from her with my own teeth, I don’t think it’s an invitation.

“Breathe through your nose,” I instruct. Her shoulders drop a little, but with my thumb pressed to her inner wrist, I can feel her pulse under the thin skin. “Are you okay?”

She nods slowly. “Just keep talking. Tell me something about you.”

“I don’t really like talking about myself,” I say. “That’s something about me.”

Even blindfolded, I can sense her rolling her eyes. “Fine.”

Despite the fact that she’s uncomfortable, I can’t help the arousal stirring in me. The red tie is stark against her platinum blonde hair, mussing it where it’s pulled around her head. Her lips are parted, her cleavage rising and falling. Then I remember that she’s bare underneath her dress—her panties securely in my pocket. I’m tempted to lift her arms over her head and keep them there while I strip her. Instead, I force myself back to the task at hand. Amelia is letting herself be vulnerable with me. I’m not sure if I owe her the same, but the intimacy of the moment seems to call for it.

“All right,” I say. “There is something I’ve never told anyone and until now, never planned to.”