Three Hard Lessons (Blindfold Club 2)

“Fuck it. You’re all I care about.” His words were like warmth, wrapping all around me. It was annoying I couldn’t see his face or those aqua eyes. “So . . . the question is, why were you coming back to Tokyo?”

Because I loved him, but once again, the nervous flutter in my stomach crept into my throat and made the words difficult. “Come on,” I stalled, “surely you know the answer to that.”

“I’d like to hear it. And don’t call me Shirley.”

My pulse raced. I squirmed against the straps. “Get these off me first.”

“No, no, no. Things are going to go differently than the last time we were here.”

Uh oh. The determined timbre of his voice was sexy as fuck. Suddenly those straps weren’t quite as binding.

“There’s no list.” His words were low and seductive. “How am I supposed to know what you’re offering?”

I bit down on my bottom lip, attempted to keep my breathing steady and to sound confident. “Maybe . . . I’m offering everything.”

His hurried breathing said he was standing right over me. “Everything? What does everything run these days?”

“I don’t know. A hundred grand.”

His hot breath washed over my skin. He was hovering what seemed to be only an inch from my lips. “Will you take a check?”

“I’d prefer it in yen. But I don’t want your money.” My pulse raced a million miles an hour. “Just you.”

The coarse skin of his palm heated my cheek and that thumb slid over my lips. “I love you.”

As that thumb brushed away, it brushed all my unease away with it. I wasn’t scared or nervous or shy.

“I love you, Dominic.”

I melted beneath his kiss that was a thousand times better than any orgasm, more passionate than any time we’d been together. His kiss dripped with love, commitment, and the promise of more. I trembled beneath his lips, in his hands. Dear god, don’t let this kiss stop. The straps cracked and went taut against my attempt to seize Dominic’s head when his lips left mine.

Last time I’d worried he might kiss me a second time, and now I was worried he might not.

“Where are you going?” I cried. And . . . what the hell was he doing? His hand was on mine. “I’m not interested in your sexy hand-holding right now.”

His kiss had left me disoriented, and it took a full five seconds to comprehend what was happening. I couldn’t stop him with the straps. My left hand stayed immobile while the ring descended onto my finger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

“You said you were offering everything.” His lips brushed over mine. “Go ahead and tell me you don’t do marriage.”

Holy. Shit.

That gaudy, fake ring rested comfortably there on my finger. I trembled, but not in fear. It was with excitement and something else, something new. And it intensified when I considered giving him a real answer. Was this feeling . . . was this happiness?

I’d always been adventurous, up for whatever. And marrying Dominic would be the ultimate adventure.

“I don’t do marriage.” I could barely hear myself over the heartbeat pounding in my ears. “I don’t do talking, or sleeping, or love,” I whispered. “Not with anyone . . . but you.”

The mattress shifted as he climbed on top of the table, on top of me. I didn’t know how long we made out. It was the most innocent thing I’d ever done here at the club and easily the hottest. His slow, sensual mouth met mine, teasing me with his tongue and teeth. I whimpered as he mouthed kisses down the side of my neck, to the hollow at the base of my throat.

“Payton,” Tara’s voice said in my earpiece, “Mr. Red just finished.”

I pressed the talk button. “Julius to Room Four.”

“What was that?” Dominic’s voice rumbled.

“Nothing, work stuff.” I sighed as his hands closed on my breasts. I arched into his caress, but his fingers danced lightly, like he was staying just out of reach. “You fucking proposed with a fake ring, don’t tease me, too.”