The Dare Collection January 2019. JC Harroway

kinky.

      ‘Yes. I want you to put that on.’

      I stared at the black fabric, trepidation growing slowly in my gut. Being spanked was one thing—I could handle that, no problem. I liked it—no, I loved it. But having my sight taken away? That felt...different.

       So? Say your word.

      Saying ‘seven’ because I didn’t want to put on a blindfold? That was ridiculous. What could he do to me? I’d taken the pain that he gave me, taken the discipline and I’d revelled in it. A blindfold was nothing. Nothing. It wouldn’t change my opinion. Wouldn’t make me trust him any more, no matter what he thought.

      I shrugged. ‘Fine. Put it on then.’

      He didn’t hesitate, lifting the fabric and laying it across my face, reaching around to the back of my head and deftly pulling the ends tight.

      The material was soft against my skin and little bits of light filtered through the gaps, but he soon adjusted it so there was nothing but blackness in front of me.

      My heartbeat sped up, pounding uncomfortably loud.

      ‘Are you okay?’ His voice was right in front of me, centring me. ‘I’m not going to ask that again, by the way. I’m going to trust you to use your word if you need to. So if you’re not okay you need to tell me now.’

      ‘I’m okay.’ I was pleased that my voice sounded so steady.

      ‘Good. I’m going to move you now.’ His hands fell to my hips and he gripped me tight as I felt him shift underneath me.

      Then I was being eased face-down onto the sofa, his hands gentle on my body as he manoeuvred me in place, laying me out so that I was lying full length on the cushions.

      I turned my head so I could breathe, the blackness pressing against my eyes complete and total.

      My palms felt damp and I could barely hear him over the sound of my raging heartbeat.

      This was strange. Why was I feeling so exposed? I’d lain like this plenty of times without this fear and nervousness; he’d put his hand on my butt and spanked me and it had been so good.

      So why was I afraid now? I didn’t understand.

      I still had the blanket over me and I stiffened as I felt him pull it off, leaving me naked.

      I shivered, air moving over my skin, raising goosebumps.

      Nothing happened.

      Everything was quiet except for the noise in my head and I strained to hear him, to figure out where he was, to get some idea of what was going to happen next. But he didn’t make a sound.

      My mouth went even drier, my fingers curling into fists.

       Say your word then, coward.

      No. Fuck that. I wasn’t going to say it, not now. Not when all he’d done was put a blindfold on me. God. Maybe when he brought out the whips and chains and nipple clamps, then I might have something to say about it, but not now.

      The sofa dipped and I nearly gasped at the unexpectedness of it.

      Xander, kneeling over me. I could feel the wool of his suit trousers against the outside of my knees, the fabric scratchy.

      The world shifted, my focus narrowing helplessly on where he was, struggling to get a sense of what he was doing.

      He must be looking down at me because I recognised the pressure I sensed against my spine, the pressure of his black gaze.

      Every millimetre of skin became exquisitely sensitive, as if I’d had the top layer removed, exposing all my nerve-endings. I felt the shift and eddy of the air over me, the intense heat of his knees bracketing mine. I was sure that if I concentrated hard enough, I could even feel the difference between the air of the apartment and his breath...

      Gently his fingers brushed the length of my spine, a blowtorch on my skin.

      I gasped, a shaken, frightened sound.

      He reached the small of my back, rested there for a moment. Then he ran his fingers all the way back up again, a long, light stroke. Gentle. So achingly gentle.

      I was shaking, I couldn’t help myself, his touch doing something to me, reaching into my chest, past my breastbone, wrapping those long, wicked, beautiful fingers around my heart and squeezing.

      I hadn’t been touched with gentleness before. Not like this.

      ‘I think I told you the moment I realised I wanted you,’ he said, adding his voice to the touch of his fingers, darkness and smoke, black velvet and fire. ‘It was early one afternoon. Everyone had gone out and I thought you’d gone with them too. I came outside because I heard someone in the pool so I thought I’d better investigate.’ He stroked me gently, long and slow, up and down, his touch flames on my skin. ‘And there you were, in the water. I was going to go back inside and then I watched you pull yourself out and I realised you were naked. Completely and utterly naked.’ His touch changed, tracing the curve of my butt. ‘I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything but look at you. Because you were so fucking beautiful. Your skin was glistening and the sun made you look like you were covered in jewels. You lifted your arms and pushed your hair back and I literally caught my breath.’ His fingers moved to the backs of my thighs, stroking me there before moving back up to my spine again, then further, to my shoulders, tracing every line of muscle, every curve. As if he was committing every part of me to memory. ‘It wasn’t your beauty that mesmerised me, Poppy, though you were amazingly beautiful. It was the look on your face. I’d only ever seen you angry and sulky and hating me, never anything else. But that day you were looking out over the sea and you had the most mysterious smile on your face. The slight hint of one. And I wanted to know what you were thinking. I was desperate to know.’

      I should have been relaxed, he was touching me so gently, and yet I felt nothing but exposed. As if his touch was stripping me bare, taking away layer after layer, leaving me with nowhere to hide.

      He shifted again and I felt the heat of his body come closer. The cushions dipped on either side of my head and I realised he must have put his hands there, because then I felt his breath feather lightly over the back of my neck.

      I shivered, my heart squeezing in my chest yet again.

      He kissed me, the softness of his mouth brushing the top of my spine before moving lower, kissing his way down the curve of my back. ‘You looked like a mermaid, so beautiful and mysterious, and I wanted you in that moment,’ he murmured against my skin, his voice my anchor. ‘I wanted you so very badly. But most of all I wanted to know what you were thinking.’

      I screwed my eyes shut behind the blindfold, a weird emotional tide flooding through me as he kissed me, as he said those words, and it frightened me. I didn’t know what was happening, why I was feeling so...afraid and raw, like my innermost self was somehow lying there beneath him and he could see it.

      He could see me.

      I tried to concentrate on something else, the linen beneath my cheek and the press of the blindfold on my forehead, but my attention kept being drawn back to him by the light brush of his mouth on my skin. By his dark, deep voice, telling me things I didn’t want to hear.

      That I was beautiful. That he’d wanted to know what I was thinking. There was something about that and the way he was touching me that made me feel as if he was ripping my heart out through my chest.

      Why had he wanted to know? When I’d been so awful to him for so many years. And why was he touching me like that? As if I was precious. Because I wasn’t. Surely if I had been, my father wouldn’t have taken himself from me.

       You know why he took himself from you.

      ‘I wasn’t thinking anything.’ I cringed at the hoarse note in my voice. ‘All I was doing was imagining that the house was mine and I was living there by myself. Nothing earth-shattering.’