Blindfolded Innocence

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m part of a group that meets occasionally. You and I would attend, and if you were attracted to any of the guys there, you could fuck them. The same with me and women at the party. Or, if you wanted to hook up with me and another woman, or with two guys...anything that turns you on is available. But we fuck together, either in the same room or in a threesome scenario.”

  I put my head in my cold hands and groaned. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I had sex with you without a condom.”

  “That’s your response to this?” He shook his head and pressed his hands together, looking at them and then at me. “Don’t worry about that. Everyone wears condoms at the parties. Safe sex is a nonnegotiable.”

  “So that’s the big thing. You’re a swinger.”

  He winced, making a face, then nodded. “Yes, though I’m not crazy about the word. And my girlfriend, or soul mate, or wife, would need to be part of that lifestyle, as well. It is the only way I know that I will stay committed.”

  “So it’s a nonnegotiable?”

  “Yes.”

  He grabbed my chin, tilting it to him so that he could see in my eyes. I tried to pull away, but he held strong, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes looked turbulent, tortured. I wondered what he saw in mine.

  “Julia, nothing would turn me on more than to watch you fuck. A guy, a girl, it doesn’t matter. Just to watch you cut loose and succumb to your deepest fantasies, for me to be a part of making that happen. Whether you know it or not, you are an incredibly sexual person. You drive men crazy and I would love to watch you with a group of them.”

  My mouth dropped open. Of all the things I had imagined, whatever it was that I thought he was into, group sex hadn’t been considered. My head spun from the assault of concepts on my brain. I shivered.

  “I’m wet.” The minute it came out, and the grin spread over his face, I realized what it sounded like. “From the sprinklers. Wet and cold. I need to get home and shower.”

  “Come home with me. It’s closer, and you can shower there.” I was too overwhelmed by everything to argue. I just nodded, and he stood, offering me his hand and pulling me to my feet.

  I drove my own car, planning on leaving Brad’s after I had a chance to shower and to talk. Though I wasn’t sure talking would solve anything. I didn’t know what to think, what to do, but I wasn’t interested in the prospect of orgies.

  A memory shoved its way into my mind. Me surrounded by men, their eyes on me and Montana. Brad, watching me, his eyes hungry. The reaction it had caused in my body. I tried to push the memory away, tried to not relate it to this new fucked-up relationship possibility.

  Within five minutes of pulling out of CDB’s parking garage, we were driving down Brad’s oak-lined street. The last time I had been there I hadn’t been able to see much in the dark, but in the daylight the grand homes set back from the road gave quite an impression. Brad had a big plantation-style home with white columns in front and an ivy-covered privacy fence enclosing the sides. His driveway ran down the side of the house, and I rolled in slowly after him. He had a three-car garage set back on the lot. As we pulled up, one of the doors opened and he drove in. I parked my car to the side and left my keys in it. I’d be lucky if it got stolen in this neighborhood. Brad’s homeowner’s insurance would probably replace it with a Mercedes.

  Brad emerged from the garage and we walked up the back steps. I glumly carried my shoes in my hands, my wet, bare feet leaving prints on his stone floor. He unlocked the door and held it for me. “Thanks,” I mumbled, entering the house, which was freezing cold. Geez. And I came here to warm up? I rubbed my arms with my hands. “Where’s the shower?”

  He paused in the wide hall. “You want to use mine or the guest shower?”

  “Whichever one’s nicer. And no, you won’t be joining me in it—in case that makes a difference.”

  He scoffed playfully. “Julia, give me credit. I am a gentleman!”

  “Sure you are. Where’s the shower? I’m about to turn into a Popsicle.”

  “Upstairs. The master is on the left. I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to find the shower once you get there.” I moved past him, trotting up the wide staircase, leaving wet footprints behind me. When I hit the top of the stairs, my wet feet felt plush carpet and I wiped them just for spite. It was marginally warmer up there and I paused on the landing, my eyes locking on the thermostat mounted on the wall. I stood on my tiptoes and looked at the display. Whoever had installed the thing had put it ridiculously high up. Sixty-eight degrees. Good lord. And this level is warmer than the bottom floor? I reached up and pressed the up arrow until it read seventy-four. I then went exploring.

  The second floor had a master, second bedroom, office and media room. The whole floor had the impersonal, perfect style of an interior designer stamped all over it. I stood still, trying to get a feel for the house. It just didn’t seem like Brad. I went into the huge master bedroom with blackout shades that put the room in darkness. I flipped on some lights and looked around. This room had a more masculine feel—a heavy California king bed with lots of pillows, and a cream duvet. Some incredible landscapes were framed and illuminated with small lights. I wandered over and looked at them closely, marveling at their beauty. “Peter Lik” was signed on the corners of the photos, a name I didn’t recognize. But the real focal point of the room was above the bed: a nude woman, photographed on her side, her eyes looking directly at the camera, her mouth in a sexy pout. She had large breasts, big nipples, a flat stomach and a small patch of hair between her legs. She radiated confidence and sex. I wandered into the master bath and stared at my drenched appearance in the large framed mirror above the double sinks. My hair hung damp and stringy, and my face was pale. I had big black splotches under my eyes from my mascara; any other makeup had washed off. My white cardigan looked dingy, and the silk blend, dry-clean-only, Banana Republic sheath dress underneath was wrinkly, sticking to me in weird places. Ugh. Remind me not to look at the vixen back in Brad’s room.

  I shut the bathroom door, thought for a moment and then locked the handle. I stripped, not even bothering to lay my clothes flat, and opened the shower door. Brad’s shower rivaled the one at Bellagio, a huge steam shower with two rows of body jets, a rain head and an adjustable handheld. I figured he’d probably be showering somewhere else in the house, so I resisted turning on every nozzle and instead stuck with just the rain head, turning it on full force and giving it a minute to heat up. While I waited, I looked around, my nosy tendencies in full force. The bathroom had marble and granite covering every surface, and was decorated in navy blue and cream. He had a large, jetted tub and a toilet room. I wandered into the toilet room to pee and stopped short. A gun of some sort was sitting on a windowsill in the room. I approached it gingerly, picking it up, feeling the heft of it. I set it back down, peed quickly, then left the room. Who needs a damn gun in the bathroom? Leaving the toilet room, I saw about forty towels, all plush-white, rolled into neat coils and stacked in a large shelving unit set into one wall. I pulled two towels out and, seeing a towel warmer installed in the lower half of the unit, opened it up and set both towels inside. Turning the dial to fifteen minutes, I pressed Start, then got in the shower.

  I stayed under the hot spray for ten minutes, my head pressed against the cool marble, the water massaging my back and head. Finally, I quit wasting time and opened Brad’s giant jug of man soap, squirting a big blob on my hand and soaping up my body. I looked through the three lonely bottles in his rack and chose the only option for shampoo, some Italian-sounding brand that looked expensive. The man didn’t have conditioner, so I settled for clean hair and turned off the shower. I opened the door and grabbed a hot towel out of the warmer. Wrapping my body in it, I turned, headed to the sink and almost ran into Brad.

  His big arms caught mine as I started to scream. Seeing it was him, my sc
reams died down, and I instead reached out, punching him in the stomach, aiming for the solar plexus. I must have missed, because he didn’t flinch and instead smiled down at me.

  “Seriously?” I asked, moving past his body and making my way to the sink. “Did you notice that the door was locked? Ever heard of privacy?”

  “Sorry, babe,” he said, shrugging out of his dress shirt and unzipping his suit pants, the sound of the zipper causing my cunt to involuntarily contract. “I should have mentioned that the lock is broken.”

  “Or...you could have knocked—novel idea, I know.” I started washing my face and avoided looking at him, knowing he was now naked, standing at the shower door. My hands shook and I tried not to think of his body exposed, less than ten feet away, and the things it was capable of doing to me. I heard the door open and close, and I relaxed, rinsing my face and patting it dry. “Who’s Lady Godiva in your bedroom?”

  “Who? Oh, that’s Stephanie. A girl I used to date.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I should have taken it down by now, but I haven’t found anything to replace it with, or taken the time to think about it.”

  “How long did you date her?”

  “About a year. Off and on.”

  “Did she, ah...you know...” I trailed off, not sure what the proper lingo was.

  “Yeah.” Brad’s tone was casual. “We had a few threesomes, two with girls, one with a buddy of mine.”

  “And she liked it?”

  There was a long pause. “Julia, the entire point of the threesome is the woman’s pleasure. That’s what gets me off. I wouldn’t have done them with Stef if she didn’t like it.”

  “So why did you break up?”

  “We enjoyed sex, but not much else. We were too different.” There was a squeak as he turned the nozzles and the sound of water stopped. He cracked the door and hot steam billowed out. I opened the warmer and grabbed the extra towel that I had put in there, holding it out for him. He stepped out, pausing and looking at the outstretched towel. Then he flashed me a gorgeous grin and took it from me, flicking it out and wrapping it around his waist. I tried not to, but caught a glimpse of thick meat hanging between muscular legs and inhaled sharply. I couldn’t help myself, the man did things to me that I couldn’t even try to control. Could I really turn away from this? From him? Holy shit, I am in trouble.

  “Okay,” I said.

  He tilted his head at me, confused. “Okay?”

  “Okay. I thought about it. I’ll try it one time. Then I’ll decide about us.”

  Thirty

  A giant grin broke out on his face—a grin tinged with a hint of relief. “Really?”

  “Yes. But if I want to back out at any time, I can. And if I have a billion stupid questions, you have to answer them all. And—”

  He silenced me with a firm kiss, grabbing my waist and lifting me up to him, moving his hands to my ass so that I was forced to wrap my legs around his waist, our wet skin touching. “Yes. Whatever you want, yes. You make the rules.”

  He gave me another kiss and set me down gently, trying to bust a move by pushing me toward his bed and pulling on my towel, but I spun out of his reach and ran toward the closet. Halfway there, he tackled me. We went to the floor and he pinned me, resting his weight on his elbows on either side and giving me a long, deep kiss, his skin hot and slippery against mine. The deep kiss turned into more, our hands moving in rapid unison, both of us unable to resist. He reached down, lifting his pelvis off me, and with one quick yank, his towel was gone and he pressed bare skin against me.

  There was a frenzied force behind our kisses, a desperation to have anything and everything we could capture in that moment. He rolled me over, our mouths never leaving each other, and I was suddenly on top, my towel bunched and irritatingly present between us. I yanked off of his lips, jerking the soft terry cloth, panicked in my desire to have my flesh against his, nothing between us but the unknown future. I finally freed my body and launched back downward, his body coming up to meet mine, his hands gripping my hair, his want as present as my own. He said something against my mouth, his words lost in the kiss and I pulled off him, panting.

  “What?”

  “Condom. To your left. Bottom drawer.”

  I fumbled, stretching to my left, yanking open the bottom drawer of a dresser, fumbling with the only item there, a large box of gold-foil condoms. I felt his hands, stroking down my breasts, following the dips of my stomach, his fingers and palms everywhere, slow teasing strokes that made my breasts ache with need. My fingers finally found a condom and I shoved back into place, holding the packet out to him, a triumphant smile on my face. He ripped open the foil with his teeth, his eyes on me, dark and dangerous, desire dominantly present in them. I leaned back, resting my hands on his knees, watching as he rolled the condom down his shaft, his cock tight and ready, a pole ready for impaling. I scooted up, straddling it, and leaned forward, kissing Brad’s neck while I clasped it in my hand and pressed it against my wet slit.

  It didn’t fit, an impossibility seeing as how he had rocked my world with it just a few days prior. I winced, pressed down onto it again, the pain of his girth in my tight pussy making me gasp.

  “Wait,” he said, pulling me down to his chest. I lay there, his heartbeat loud against my ear, his hands busy. Two fingers slid in and out of me, spreading my wetness over my lips and taint, his perfect strokes lubricating me more, my walls tightening around his fingers and then loosening as he opened me up. There was a pause, and then the head of his cock was back, pushing in, so much bigger than his fingers, but so impossibly perfect now that I was ready. I moved, resting my weight on my arms, sliding up and down his shaft, the thickness stretching my lips, creating a delicious friction with every stroke.

  I took in the sight of him beneath me. His arousal was so evident in his eyes, dark against his tanned skin, locked on mine at first then tugging downward, drinking in my movements, the joining of our bodies. “You are so fucking hot,” he said. “Watching my cock take you. I can’t wait to see someone else inside you, how you react when they fuck you.”

  The statement made my jaw drop, and he grinned at my face, his expression turning quickly hungry, and he grabbed me suddenly, his strong arms wrapping around my back, bringing me down to his hard chest, the smell of masculine clean hitting my nose. I moaned as he took over, my slow strokes disappearing into his furious drives from underneath me, my body fighting to stay in place as his battered it, a staccato of perfectly timed thrusts. He moved with restrained passion, the chorus of fucks amazing in their relentless assault, his hands keeping me in place, gripping my ass, tightening on my waist, squeezing my breasts. His words, delicious and deep in my ear, whispering of dark buried fantasies of twisted depraved actions, images flooding me that I had never allowed in, his words making them possible, probable, holyfuckIwantitrightnow desirable.

  My orgasm came quickly, barreling down like a runaway train, out of control and unstoppable. I could think of nothing, knew of no one, but the animalistic fucking that I was enjoying. It was raw, untamed and hot as ever-living hell. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak when the waves ripped through me, delicious spasms that rocked every muscle in me for what felt like a full earth-shattering lifetime. I dug my nails into his skin, clenched myself tight around his body and said goodbye to my soul. In that moment, he was my god and I was his servant.

  Forty-five insatiable minutes later, I collapsed on his floor, his body above me, sweat glistening on his skin. He rolled off, groaning. “You are going to be the death of me.”

  I smiled in exhausted bliss. “And to think I didn’t want to fuck you today. Or ever again for that matter.”

  He stood, modesty never entering his mind as he stretched, muscles popping everywhere. He rolled off the condom, grinning at me. I propped myself up on my elbows and smirked up at him.
“I’m going to need to borrow some clothes. Mine are still soaked.”

  “Hmm... Everything I have is my size. How about a big V-neck tee?”

  “As long as it’s clean, I’ll take it.” I frowned, rethinking that. “Actually, do you have a sweatshirt, too? Your house is freezing.”

  He offered me his hand and hefted me to my feet. “Sorry, I like to keep it cold. Though you don’t seem uncomfortable now.” He grinned at me, his eyes sweeping my body, the thin sheen of sweat covering my skin. He turned on the light in his closet, illuminating rows of Italian suits, pressed shirts and polished shoes. The back half of the closet held his casual clothes, and he grabbed a Gold’s Gym sweatshirt and plain white tee, tossing them to me. He pulled a shirt over his head and put on gym shorts.

  “You seriously don’t have a stitch of women’s clothing in this house? No niece, ex-girlfriend or friend has left any clothes here?”

  “If they did, Helga or Martha put them somewhere. I’ll have to ask them where in the morning.”

  “They’re your maids?”

  He paused in the middle of flipping through some shorts. “Helga is, part-time. Martha more runs the house. If you call her a maid, she’ll bite your head off and I’ll be eating burned food for a week.”

  The walk-in closet had a granite counter and I hoisted myself up onto it, pulling the shirt and sweatshirt on once I was seated. “What time does Martha get in each day?”

  “Typically around six-thirty, really whenever she gets out and about. She lives above the garage in the carriage house apartment.”

  I stopped swinging my legs. “She lives here? Why don’t we just borrow some clothes from her? It’s only like seven o’clock.”

  He raised his eyebrows and looked at me. “I’ll wait for you to meet Martha. She’s not someone you want to borrow clothes from on her time off. She commits forty hours a week to me and has made it very clear that living on property does not make her available to me after hours. I have to respect that.”