Page 6 of The Devil's Detail
But the scent I can still catch is on my hands.
I bring them to my nose and breathe in deeply. It’s as if my mind has been hypnotised and this scent is the trigger. I’m there, back there, right where I want to be.
I’m trying not to look around the room. My head is bowed, my hair on point, stubble at just the right length. I look fucking amazing, and I know it.
Listening intently to the instructions being given out at a rapid rate of knots by the club administrator, I appear cool as a fucking cucumber. But my body is starting to burn. The bespoke suit that fits me like a glove starts to feel too tight. The finest white shirt clings to my cut torso.
The more he intones, the more my mind is zinging around at crazy speeds. Wow, what sort of mind conjures this shit up? Blindfolds so I can’t see him, but he can see me. Is it reckless? A little. But, why is he so bothered? We signed an NDA. And then another, more stringent, NDA. I smile salaciously when the admin guy tells me the blindfold stays on at all times. It will not be taken off. Ever.
I chuckle as I contemplate my options. How deliciously dangerous it might be for them to be able to read me with their full complement of senses, yet I can only read them by my hands. That, when this is all over, they will be out in the world, would know me if they saw me again, yet I would never know them. How fantastically dark that would be. What I could do with that sort of information.
A deliriously dangerous game indeed, and I am all in. The devil that lurks inside of me wants out to play, and this man is handing me a pass. Is holding the keys to a type of pleasure hell I know I love. Can do what he wants, do what I want, no holds barred. The only caveat that I won’t be able to see him? Oh yeah, baby, I am all in.
I come out of my daydream, trying to calm my breathing. My office doesn’t seem big enough today. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. Maybe I need to take a shower. Give the spray a chance to cool and calm me.
I slip into my bathroom and remove my work clothes—suit again, shirt again. I am nothing at work if not a creature of habit.
The scent fills the room, rising up from my clothes like steam, triggered by the heat of my body. My mind runs rampant. Turning off the light, the room snaps pitch black. The only sound is my panting breath.
Fuck. This is ridiculous. A one-night stand should not have me twisted into bits. But how could it not?
His voice comes at me from the darkness—low, husky—and I imagine his instructions as I unbutton my suit trousers. How his hand glided down my fly. How he teased my cock out. The soft tender touches, and the debauched gropes and unrestrained groans.
I’m there again, happy to submit, happy to hand over all control. And in return—pleasure, all mine. I gloried in it. Performed for him like a puppet on a string.
My body is lighting up the darkness in this room. I can feel his large fingers grasping for my huge erection. Hard and fast, my hips thrusting into his palm. Fucking make it hurt. I love the pain, desire it, chase it.
My growls are like a wild animal is loose in here. My fingers down the crack of my arse. They’re his—his tongue stiff, his cock huge. And the bite of it, the pain and pleasure of it.
My mind disintegrates and I chase the orgasm I know is only seconds away. I want it again. I want him again. I want the mystique, the power he still wields, and weirdly, the care. So fucking intimate. Not care I have ever taken of any of my partners. It was embarrassingly tender at times. I know I would never open myself up to that level of intimacy.
Maybe it was the blindfold. Maybe because I couldn’t see him, he was strangely freed, unfettered, all of his inhibitions unleashed in every aspect of his personality. He told me so, if I think about it.
“You know this is not ordinary, don’t you Mr Stone. You know that this, now between us, is extraordinary.”
So cool, yet the heat behind the words was scorching. Seared on my mind, branding my brain forever.
And now, in my own shower, head down to my chin, my cock raw with the aggression I’ve subjected it to, I shoot cum into the spray and mist of the water pounding against my heated flesh. With each groan, I’m trying to drown out reality.
Because he’s not here. As fantastical as this scenario in my shower is, he is not here. And he is not coming. I am alone.
5
Carter
“Doyou think he’ll come, honey?”
“Carter, yes, he’ll come,” my good friend Evie Greystone-Barclay-Russell assures me. “If Jax made the appointment, he’ll keep it. Don’t worry, he’ll be able to sort you out. Have things gotten worse? Kasey mentioned a few bits and bobs.” Her voice is full of concern for me, and I adore her for it.
It’s not surprising she’s so worked up. I did ask her brother to meet me about a security issue. But I may need to play it down just a little. I don’t need her worrying over me. Not in her current condition, anyway.
“It's nothing, sugar. Just security stuff, don’t you worry. You just concentrate on having that baby.”
I’ll never forgive myself and my selfishness if anything stresses her out. Plus, I’ll never hear the end of it. Her family puts the “pro” in super protective.
I need to talk to Kasey, too. Tell him to stop gossiping about my issues. I won’t let him put me on their negative list. Oncethere, I’ll never get off it. And to be honest, it really is about more than friendship this time. I need Jackson. I need his skills.
I pull into the sand-covered parking lot of the cafe. It’s practically empty—only a handful of cars and one motorcycle, that I assume might be Jackson’s.
