Three Guilty Pleasures (Blindfold Club 6)

“This is what you wanted?” My voice was like gravel, punctuated by sharp breaths.

“Yes.” Her tone was pure excitement. “It looks so good. I wish I was the one doing it.”

“Yeah?” Heat was a bubbling cauldron in my center, threatening to boil over. “You want to slide your hands all over this cock? Pump your fist on me and make me come?”

She nodded, looking deadly serious. “I’d put it in my mouth first. Work you over until you couldn’t hold off another second.”

Fuck me. The picture she drew in my head took me right to the edge. I jammed my hand in her hair at the back of her head and tugged, forcing her to look straight up at me. It was rougher than I’d ever been, but the limits put on us seemed to bring out something primal in me. Or perhaps it was the competition with her doms.

Maybe it was a combination of the two.

“I’m going to come,” I growled.

My grip in her hair was fierce, but she didn’t even wince. Her expression was determination. “Do it.”

I squeezed my fist so tight, it was right on the edge of being too much. My fingers strained and ached, all the muscles in my arm flexing as I moved at a blistering pace. I even thrusted my hips subtly, giving me the final push to get there.

Her eyes widened as she realized what was going to happen. “Oh, God. Please,” she cried. She arched her back, shoving her tits forward, giving me permission.

Ecstasy burst from me, leaping onto her creamy skin, painting ribbons across her curves. I groaned as I came, shuddering with each pulse. Satisfaction throbbed through me, not just physically, but at the sight of my cum dripping off her chest. I’d already marked between her legs, but this claim was darker.

“Fuck,” I grunted, pumping through the final spurt until I was spent. I relaxed my fists, the one on my cock and the one in her hair, and she flopped back on the bed, an enormous smile decorating her face.

All those years of playing rugby meant I had thighs like tree trunks, and yet when I looked at her it made me so weak, I could barely stand. Tara’s satisfied look was my undoing. It made me slow, and it wasn’t until her smile froze that I realized something was off. There was a sound from overhead.

Clapping?

“Yes, girl,” a disembodied male voice said.

My gaze flew up and focused in on the vent in the ceiling. “What the hell was that?”

She let out a deep sigh, and as she scrambled off the bed, her tone was sheepish. “My upstairs neighbors must have heard us.”

They weren’t in the room with us, but it sort of felt that way. I cast my gaze upward once more as I pulled my boxers and jeans up. I’d wanted to enjoy the moment with her longer, but they’d killed the mood.

She rose onto her tiptoes and dropped a kiss on my lips. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Tara sashayed naked into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her, and the second I was alone, guilt needled at me. I’d intended to take things slow with her. Convince her I was worth giving up this other couple for. I

nstead, I’d tossed her on her bed, stripped her naked, and dominated her, fueled by competition.

I buttoned my jeans, fished my sweater off the floor, but as I pulled it on, the open drawer beside her bed caught my eye. Something pink and chrome was inside, and I was sure it ran on batteries. She hadn’t said anything about her doms ruling out toys, and an evil grin spread across my face.

This could be so much fun.

In the bathroom, Tara ran the faucet, no doubt cleaning up. I strode toward the nightstand and tugged the drawer open further. What else did she have in there besides a vibrator?

A black, leather-bound book was the answer, with a red ribbon tucked between the pages, marking her spot. My curiosity compelled me to investigate. I knew it was wrong, but all I wanted was a peek. Was it a book of poems? Scripture? A day planner?

I glanced at the bathroom door. The water was running and gurgling in the sink. I peeled back the cover and thumbed through the handwritten pages, each dated in the upper-righthand corner. It was a diary?

My pulse raced as I scanned one of the paragraphs. It was more like a ledger.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

I paged through it, my mouth going dry and my body numb. Judging by the dates, Tara had recorded every night she’d worked at the blindfold club. The book contained more than two years’ worth of entries, all written in black ink and her feminine script.

My curiosity screamed to find my entry, desperate to know what she’d thought, but as I flipped through the pages to get to it, the water cut off in the bathroom. I slammed the cover closed and fumbled with the drawer to get it closed.