While I pondered this craziness, he cupped my cheeks, put his fingers right over the place he’d slapped me, and kissed me.
My pussy still pulsed around his cock, and now his lips were on mine and his tongue was in my mouth, and my hands were bound behind my back, and it was like he was inside me everywhere, making me feel more female and excited and sexual than I’d ever felt in my life. In my dark, blind world, his pleasure and scent transformed me. His rough kisses grounded me, but made me feel like I was flying at the same time. I didn’t want the blindfold off anymore. I wanted it on. I wanted to hide and exist in this world forever.
I trembled while he came, because he fucked me so intensely. He didn’t make any sound at all, just ground against me and pressed his cheek to mine. I felt completely possessed by his fucking, and strangely pleased that he came so hard.
Fuck. I lay still, breathless, satisfied, knowing there might be more, but not really caring. Whatever. I’m yours. Whatever your name is, whatever you look like.
“Please let me look at you,” I whispered. More than anything in the world, I wanted to see him.
“No.”
A minute later he pulled away, got up off the bed, leaving me alone in the center of it. I turned on my side and curled into a ball. I was still partly dressed, the top of me, anyway.
“Will you unbind my hands?” I asked.
“Yes. Just before I leave.”
“Now, please.”
“No, because the first thing you’ll do is take off the mask so you can see me.”
He was right. I would do that.
“Are you someone famous?” I asked. “Some famous politician, or movie star?”
“Yes.”
The way he said yes, I knew he was lying again, yanking my chain, shoving my desire to know him back in my face.
“Whatever,” I said bitterly. “I don’t care. What does it matter? What does anything matter?”
“Are you PMSing? Shut up.”
He was such an asshole, such a jerk. So good in bed. I hated him. Hate, hate, hate. I lay there honing my hate, hoping he wouldn’t want anything else from me now that he’d come.
The bed dipped and he was back, lying behind me. He was dressed again, smelling of understated but yummy cologne. I felt his lips against my nape.
“How am I going to go home without a skirt?” I asked.
“Shut up.”
“I can’t just traipse naked through the W Hotel lobby and out onto the—”
His hand closed over my mouth, firm fingers muting me. Big hands. He was either a big person, or he seemed big because he was so aggressive and mean.
“You’re mean,” I whispered against his fingers.
He kissed my nape and my earlobes, and my shoulders, and my spine. His lips were warm and strong, and his face was smooth, just a hint of stubble. I hated him, but this was kind of pleasant after all the violence. His fingers massaged my hips and ass.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
I couldn’t say thank you, since one hand was still over my mouth, and I couldn’t return the compliment, since I couldn’t see him, but in my mind W was dark and seductively handsome. In the twilight of my orgasm, my whole body relaxed. I think I was half asleep by the time he leaned away and said, “I’m going.”
Going…no. “I need clothes,” I said.
“I’ll send up clothes. Next time, bring something to change into. And you can have this room for the night, if you want to stay here.”
“I don’t.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“And there’s not going to be a ‘next time.’ Forget it. No way.”
He made a soft, mocking sound. “Was it that bad for you?”
Was it? No. He was the bringer of violent and shimmering orgasms. But… “You cut up my favorite outfit.”
“Jesus Christ.” It was the first time he’d really raised his voice, and it startled me. “Your fucking outfit. I’ll bring a replacement to our next session.”
“You won’t be able to find a replacement. And we’re not having another session.”
“I know where to find one, even if you look shitty in that color. Come on.”
He hauled me off the bed and guided me across the room, and left me there. I heard a few more sounds while I stood, blind and shivering, trying to see his actions in my mind. Shoes on? Snapping a briefcase? The whisper of a necktie? I jumped when he touched my arm. His other hand wrapped around my neck as he held me against him.
“Listen, Chere. I like you. You’re reckless and conflicted. Your body is perfect and your breasts are real. I want to see you again.”
I leaned as far away from him as I could. “No.”
“And next time,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, “you will bring the eye mask, and extra clothes.”