Faking It / Forbidden Sins. Stefanie London

      The seconds tick by and my desire grows like a storm, swirling and building, rising until it fills me completely. When her soft touch brushes the front of my pants, I’m hard as stone and aching for her.

      “Ready?” she asks, her lips brushing my ear.

      “I’ve never been readier.”

      We’ve both waited a long time for this.

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       Owen

      IT DOESN’T TAKE long for the blindfold to work its magic. In seconds, I feel my other senses ramping up to accommodate for my lost sight. The gentle kiss of cool air is amplified where my collar sits open, and it’s so quiet I can hear the pitter patter of rain against the windows. I smell the rain, too—in her hair as she moves around me, mingling with whatever fruity shampoo she uses. I’m driven immediately to the edge of sensation, to the edge of wanting.

      There’s a tug at my shirt. She’s undoing my buttons…slowly. I sense her teasing through the way she pops each one open with an agonising pace.

      “You must be doing well to afford such a fancy hotel room,” she says, tracing the V of skin at my chest with her fingertip. But the sensual touch does little to hide the curiosity in her voice. The question, no matter how it’s posed as part of this role play, is genuine.

      “I’m doing well, but money doesn’t make the man.”

      “It certainly doesn’t,” she murmurs. She works her way to the last of the buttons and then pulls the hem free. “Money doesn’t buy decency.”

      I know the opposite is more likely—money is the reason I have no family. Money is what caused them to be taken from me. “Greed brings out the worst in us.”

      I would have burned all my parents left me if I’d been allowed. A teenager—blinded by rage and grief—has no use for zeros in a bank account. Because whatever future they might have secured—education and houses and finery—means nothing to an orphan who only wants his parents back.

      “I’m feeling a little greedy now.” Her hands toy with the buckle at my waist. “Is that so bad?”

      “This is totally different.” And this greed, I can handle.

      The buckle makes a metallic chink as she yanks the leather through the loops on my suit pants. The sound of my zipper being undone slashes through the quiet air—through my thoughts. I’m about to embark on a hot night with a woman I’ve wanted for a long time. I need to get my head out of the past.

      As if sensing my need to retreat from this conversation, Hannah says, “I’m going to strip you completely. Then we’re going to see how you respond to different stimuli.”

      “Like what?” The anticipation is a fist around my cock. I’m desperate for more, desperate to see what she has planned.

      “I can’t tell you that. I need to measure the…strength of your response.” Her voice is low and husky.

      She shoves my pants down my legs, dragging my boxer briefs with them, and helps me free. I’m totally naked now, and knowing that she’s fully dressed makes this even hotter. My cock bobs up against my stomach, hard as concrete and oh-so-ready for her. But after a few seconds of nothing, I realise that Hannah has disappeared.

      The silence is broken by the click of her heels over tile—has she gone into the kitchenette or the bathroom? I don’t know the layout well enough to tell. There’s a brief rushing of water, a dull, metallic sound and then that damn clicking again. I let myself dwell in the vision of her legs in those heels. Hannah is muscular—always devoted to stamina and speed. And her daily runs haven’t been interrupted by this case. She gets up at the crack of dawn every morning without fail.

      I know the purpose of her runs aren’t for physical appearance, but there’s no denying the activity has given her shapely legs and a firm ass. Both of which have been on my mind since our kiss in the garden.

      I wonder where she is now. The clicking has stopped, and the robe tie is a surprisingly effective blindfold. I need to relieve a little of the tension, and I hesitate only a moment before reaching down to wrap a fist around my cock. I don’t think I’ve been this hard in years. Never mind the fact I lost my taste for casual sex some time ago. But this…is not that.

      Not casual. Not meaningless.

      I stifle a moan and I run my fist up and down, giving a little twist at my swollen head. I imagine it’s her hand doing the work, pleasuring me. Exploring me. Pulling the tip of me to her willing, open lips. My balls are tight. Achy. Never mind that I rubbed one out in the shower this morning, trying to make sure I kept my desires in check.

      So much for that.

      “Owen, uh… James…” She loses the role play for a moment, her voice ragged-edged with need. “I need you to stop that so we can properly start testing.”

      I release myself, reluctantly. But it’s clear she was watching me for a while before she told me to stop. I can hear it in her voice. Dirty girl.

      “Anything else I should refrain from doing?” I ask, letting my words come out slow and lazy.

      “Just follow my orders,” she replies. “If I don’t tell you to do something, then don’t do it.”

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      Hannah

      I’M SO OUT of my depth. I can only hope my voice sounds more commanding than I feel. Because right now, I want to melt into a puddle at Owen’s feet.

      His body is a masterpiece. Hard sculpted muscle shapes his arms, shoulders, legs and abs. A dusting of blond hair creates a delectable trail from his bellybutton all the way down to…

      God. I can’t tear my eyes away. Of course he’s perfect everywhere. Watching him touch himself, watching those slightly rough, strong tugs and the way the swollen head of his erection poked out the top of his fist… Let’s be real, I’m already a puddle.

      “We’re going to start with scent,” I say. I’ve found a bowl of fruit in the kitchenette and I’ve selected an orange. I press my fingernail into the flesh, piercing it. The ripe scent of the fruit’s flesh comes through. “What can you smell?”

      I bring the orange under his nose, trying hard not to think about how I want to rush through this and sink straight to my knees so I can take him in my mouth.

      “Hmm, fruity.” His voice is roughed up, desire-laden. God, it makes my toes curl in these ridiculously high heels. If a man can have that effect with his voice, what will happen when he finally touches me? “Citrus. Orange or mandarin.”

      “Very good.” I’ve collected a few items for us to use in this role play: a glass of chilled water, a fork and an individually wrapped chocolate. A condom that I’d stashed in my purse…just in case. “How about taste?”

      I peel back the rind from the orange and extract a small piece of flesh. Coaxing his mouth open with my thumb, I wriggle the fruit between his lips. He readily accepts it.

      “Definitely orange.”

      The chocolate is next. I unwrap the foil and see something flicker over his face—like he’s trying to figure out what the sound is. But I don’t give him any clues. Instead, I pop the chocolate into my mouth and take my time enjoying the small, decadent moment. Then I press into him, bringing my lips to his, and he responds hungrily. The taste of chocolate mixes with the orange he’s just consumed.

      “Tastes like a Jaffa,” he says, bringing his strong arms around me. “So sweet.”