I smirk cruelly. “Is it?”
Her laugh is a touch nervous, and her gaze searches harder in the dark. “Definitely. I was beginning to think you were a figment of my imagination.”
“Do all your imaginary men fuck you the way I do?”
The glass wobbles in her hand. Her gaze lowers and I imagine I see her face redden. But she doesn’t answer. I’m mildly stunned by the searing need to know.
“Answer me, firecracker.”
Her lids rise. “You’re my first imaginary man.”
Unsatisfactory. And yet not. I want to applaud the clever answer. I also want to punish her for it. “You’re no longer wearing the blindfold. Do you not believe that I’m flesh and blood?”
“I know you’re in the room with me. But your face…your voice… You’re still a mystery.”
“There’s a price to pay for being too curious. Are you willing to risk it?”
A shiver passes through her. I’m not sure whether it’s the effect of the device still wedged between her legs, or my answer. Either way, it’s vaguely stimulating, this game we’re playing.
She takes a large sip of her drink, licks her lips before lowering the glass. “No. But I think you are.”
Kitten-strength talons of surprise hook into me. Their presence isn’t disturbing, but they’ve grabbed my attention. “Is that an attempt to reverse-psych me, sweet thing?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m just going on what I feel.”
“And what is it exactly you feel?”#p#分页标题#e#
“You’re…getting off on this. Your privacy is extremely important to you, but so is the danger. You can probably go through this without letting me see you, but I don’t think you’ll be totally satisfied with that.”
“Why do you think that is?”
A shrug lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I don’t take risks unless I have to. So whatever secret you’re keeping, it’s safe with me. I…don’t think the price you’re talking about includes hurting me—”
“You willing to bet the farm on that?”
One corner of her plump mouth lifts. I want to kiss it. Why haven’t I kissed her yet?
“I don’t have a farm to bet. And you could probably prove me wrong. Are you going to?” Her jaw is thrust out in challenge.
My mouth twitches. So small. So fierce. “No, firecracker. Physical abuse doesn’t turn me on.”
She exhales. “Then, yes, I want to see you, and you have my word I won’t tell anyone.”
I reach for the controls that I always have to hand. My finger finds the appropriate button and tiny beams of yellow light overhead transform the room from near darkness to twilight gloom.
Leaning forward, I place my elbows on my knees and capture her gaze.
“Can you see me now?”
29
TILT
Lucky
Imagination is a wonderful, peculiar thing.
It makes up shit and furiously fills gaps to feed itself. From the first time I crossed paths with Q, I’ve imagined him in many ways. A god. A monster. A disfigured psycho. A withered octogenarian desperately clinging to the back door of the Playboy Mansion—okay, maybe not that. But my thoughts have veered between a few extremes.
None of them prepare me for my first sight of Q.
He’s…beautiful. Roman statue, fallen angel, prince of darkness, beautiful. And that is just from seeing his body.
Because, of course, his face is covered. I knew he wore a mask the first time he fucked me. And with all his talk of risks, my instincts told me a man like him wouldn’t reveal himself on a whim.
But even more than the visually stunning magnificence of his body, it’s the mask that commands my attention. It covers ninety-five per cent of his face, a masterpiece of bronze, gold and black metal that looks like it’s a living, breathing part of him. There are subtle inbuilt ridges that disguise the true shape of his face and jaw, and the only parts of his face visible are his eyes, and the inch wide slashes that extend from beneath his cheekbones down to his mouth.
His full, sexy mouth.
Between my legs, the vibrator and butt plug make their presence felt. A shiver twitches through me. I’ve only ever used a plug once. A version much smaller than the one currently residing in me. And even though the size is a fraction of Q’s cock, the feeling of fullness is overwhelming. I’m trying not to imagine what it will be like to have the man across the room from me inside my back passage.
The man with the ripped body and dark blond hair.
Dark blond.
For some reason that makes me frown. In every version of my imaginary guy, his hair was dark. Brown or black. But I’m not distracted from the splendor of him for very long. I already know he’s tall from our severe height disparity. But his body is sleek and rangy, his open shirt giving me a glimpse of a thick chest and hairless torso. Without seeing his face, I can’t guess his age accurately, but I can tell he’s young, either late twenties or early thirties.