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  ‘So that’s why you talked about it?’

  ‘No decisions to be made,’ she reminds me. And then she proceeds to lay out the sexual parameters. ‘Seeing as he wouldn’t speak, he’d guide you with his hands. There’d be bondage, which I understand is fairly light. He’d almost certainly bind your hands, in part to stop you removing the blindfold, but he might also restrain your feet. Oh, and there’d be no anal play, but you may be required to perform acts of oral sex.’

  ‘Oral... Oh God, I can’t believe I’m discussing this.’

  ‘It’s fine. Outside the club, no one’s ever going to know.’

  She waits in silence for a response, and I finally attempt to gather my thoughts. But I can’t. Because I seem to be obsessing over the fact that this mysterious, prospective lover doesn’t want me to see his face, or hear his voice.

  ‘So, this X person, is he famous?’ I ask.

  ‘I can’t comment.’

  Of course not. ‘It’s just...He’s not a politician, is he? I mean...I couldn’t...not with a politician.’

  ‘He’s not a politician.’

  ‘Is he...ugly?’

  ‘Quite the reverse.’

  ‘Overweight?’

  ‘Extraordinarily well toned.’

  ‘Old?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Scars? He’s got scars?’

  ‘Nothing visible.’

  Right. So, what next? ‘Commitment issues then?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Definitely, I’d say. A gorgeous, rich, unmarried man who wants to roger me stupid. He’s bound to have commitment issues.

  ‘But seeing as commitment isn’t an issue here...’ Celine shrugs.

  ‘Fair point.’ I think for a moment and then, for no apparent reason, I state the obvious. ‘This is mad.’

  ‘That all depends on perspective,’ Celine counters, totally unfazed by my wavering. ‘What you might consider deviant in the outside world, isn’t considered deviant here. We don’t operate within normal confines. Personally, I find it very liberating. No shame. No guilt. Nothing but pure pleasure.’

  Which all sounds incredibly inviting. But... ‘This is seriously stepping outside my comfort zone.’

  ‘I understand.’ She smiles at me. ‘But can I ask you something? Has your comfort zone ever made you happy?’

  ‘No.’ Of course not. Because apart from a one-night stand and the recent wine issues, my comfort zone’s always been a play-it-safe kind of place, with me doing the right thing, the right way, and hardly ever stumbling off the rails. The trouble is, it’s never offered me anything much in return.

  ‘Then why not try something else?’

  ‘I don’t know if I dare.’

  ‘Of course you dare.’

  Temptation nudges at me. Go on, it urges. Give it a whirl. Be naughty. Be really naughty. Why should Marnie have all the fun?

  ‘No strings. No comeback. Pure pleasure,’ Celine reminds me.

  And dear God, I could do with some of that.

  ‘And I’ll be right here if you need me.’

  Another nudge. Much safer than picking up a stranger on a mad night out.

  ‘You really have got nothing to lose.’

  That does it. In an instant, some unseen hand ushers common sense out of the door and flips the ‘fuck it’ switch. My mouth opens, and I whisper: ‘Okay.’

  What? I’m actually doing this?

  She leans towards me. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Seriously? I am?

  ‘Good choice. Come on then.’ She gets up and heads for the door.

  My heart thuds. ‘What? Now?’

  ‘No time like the present.’

  Oh God. I am doing this.

  Before I can think things through, I’m back on my feet, scuttling along behind Celine until I manage to fall in step by her side. Once again, we enter the ground floor corridor of the East Wing. Once again, she produces the magic card.

  ‘Ready?’ she beams, holding it in front of me.

  ‘Ready,’ I confirm.

  With a nod, she passes the card over the mechanism, opens the door and leads me back into the very same room she showed me earlier. I stop in the middle of the room and gaze in awed expectation at the bed.

  ‘You won’t regret it. I promise.’ Celine opens a drawer in the bedside table to the right, produces a blindfold and offers it up.

  I take it, turning it slowly in my hands. Expensive black silk. Elasticated in places.

  ‘You’ll need a safeword. You’ve heard of them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, what would you like to use?’

  I struggle to land on a word, but all I can think of is ships going down. ‘Wreckage.’

  ‘Wreckage?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘That’s two syllables. Can I suggest one?’

  ‘Okay.’ Something shorter than wreckage. ‘How about wreck?’

  ‘Wreck?’

  ‘Wreck. Yes...wreck.’

  Her brows crease. She’s evidently convinced I’ve just made some sort of Freudian slip. And I’m not entirely sure I haven’t.

  ‘Wreck, it is. I’ll pass it on. Now, when you hear three knocks at the door, simply stand right here and put the blindfold in place. He’ll give you sixty seconds.’

  I nod, my brain a shambles, a toxic mixture of excitement and nerves.

  ‘Should I...undress?’

  She touches me on the arm. ‘No. He’ll see to that.’ She takes a step back, admiring me as if I’m a piece of her own handiwork. ‘And when he’s finished...just wait. He’ll leave the room and knock three times again. That’s your signal to remove the blindfold and get dressed.’ Retreating to the door, she takes hold of the handle and looks back at me. ‘There’s one more thing I should mention. It’s perhaps too personal for him, but I’ve heard that X doesn’t kiss.’ She raises a finger to her lips. ‘On the mouth.’

  ‘Oh...okay,’ I stammer. ‘I’m fine with that.’

  ‘Good.’ She gives me a final, reassuring smile. ‘Now, enjoy.’

  Chapter Four

  As soon as I’m left alone, I study my reflection in the mirrored doors and wonder what the hell I’m doing. Accompanied by nothing but the uncertain sound of my own breathing, time stretches out into eternity until at last, struggling against a tide of panic, I hear three knocks...

  My heart thumps.

  I toy with the idea of dropping the blindfold and making a hasty exit.

  ‘No, no, no,’ I mumble, giving myself a determined glare. ‘Try something new, for God’s sake. Try something new.’

  With no further dithering, I resolve to put my old, defective comfort zone behind me. Slipping the blindfold into place, I plunge myself into darkness and let my hands fall to my side.

  ‘Bugger.’

  I should have counted the seconds from the knock. At least then I would have been prepared for the tell-tale click. But I’m not. Instead, while I listen to the door open and close, my lungs contract, hairs rise on my skin and my legs threaten to give way. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around myself and listen carefully for the slightest movement. But it’s impossible to catch anything above the raging pulse in my brain. Desperate to wrestle back control, I will my body to ride out the adrenalin rush with at least a scrap of dignity. But that’s impossible too...seeing as he’s here, right here in this room, and I can practically feel the change in the air: a vague, new buzz of electricity that seems to permeate every pore.

  It’s no wonder my brain decides to call it a day, shortly after reaching the conclusion that he’s studying me now – evaluating, judging, weighing up the possibilities. I’m about to rip off the blindfold, apologise profusely and explain I’ve made some sort of terrible mistake when fingertips make contact, whisper-light against my upper right arm.

  I flinch. ‘Sorry.’

  He gives me time to rally my senses before slowly trailing a fingertip across my sk
in, up and down, an inch or so in each direction; perhaps his way of reassuring me.

  ‘I’ve...never done this sort of thing.’

  The fingertip withdraws.

  And perhaps I should too. Perhaps, I should just bolt for it.

  But I can’t seem to move, even when he touches me again, gently encouraging me to unclasp my arms before he guides my hands to his chest. I’m surprised when he simply leaves them there, but still have the wit to understand it’s a silent invitation to explore. And in spite of a grand attack of nerves, it’s an invitation I fully intend to take advantage of. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

  I begin to skim my palms across a smooth cotton shirt, tracing two simultaneous paths from his chest to his broad shoulders, along defined upper arms and back to where I began. Registering firm, powerful muscles all the way, I venture further now. Both hands travel down to a trim waist, take in the rough texture of jeans and follow a leather belt round to the small of his back. After giving his buttocks a quick feel, and grinning at their pertness, I take my hands up his spine, past his shoulders, to his neck. And then I come to a halt...because long, lithe fingers have suddenly clasped over mine, stopping me in mid-flow.

  ‘I understand,’ I tell him. ‘Anonymity.’

  Anything further north is out of bounds, and I’m fine with that, because everything about this man just feels right. Clearly a master of his art, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and his magical mystery tour’s already had the desired effect, rendering me a little calmer, slightly less on edge, and completely determined to stay. Which is just as well.

  Manoeuvring my arms back to my side, he gives them a gentle squeeze – a sign he’s about to take over.

  This time, there’s no shock when he makes contact. Instinctively, I lean into his touch as he tracks a finger across my right check, sigh in contentment as the finger meanders down to my neck, across bare shoulders, over cleavage and collar bone. He continues to explore, patiently lulling me into a trance until I’m barely aware of anything but hypersensitive skin, a glowing shimmer in my core, and my own faltering breaths. Finally, palms skim down my arms to where he wraps his fingers around my wrists and tightens his hold. I wait for him to let go, but he doesn’t. And suddenly, I realise he’s waiting for something...

  Consent.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I murmur. ‘Fine.’ Because the job’s done: he’s given me a tiny taste of pleasure to come, and sent the nerves packing.

  With another small squeeze, I’m released. I hear the slightest rustle of fabric and know he’s behind me now. A few seconds pass wondering what he’ll do next, and when he finally makes his decision, it’s a total surprise. Slowly, with the utmost care, he begins to unpin my hair, sending frissons of delight cascading down my neck. When every last pin’s removed, fingers comb through my shoulder-length locks, making sure they’re perfectly arranged.

  At last, a hand comes to my right shoulder, palm flat against skin, passes across my upper back, leaving a surge of divine heat in its wake. Firm now, the same hand travels round to my stomach, pulls me firmly against his chest and holds me there: another reminder he’s in control. And with Celine’s words floating through my head, I’m more than happy to acquiesce. Because I know she’s right: I’m letting him take over, and I won’t regret it.

  Warm breath tickles at the nape of my neck. It’s quickly followed by the tip of his nose. He spends a moment or two taking in my scent before his lips finally make contact – silky-soft, perfect and giving. Stopping every now and then to deliver a light kiss, they drift across the back of my neck, up behind my left ear, round to the right. Somewhere at the back of my brain, I vaguely register the fact he’s clean-shaven, and I’m slipping further into a dream world of sensation when he lets me go.

  So, what now?

  A silent question.

  It’s quickly answered.

  Fingertips glide along the top of my little black dress and home in on the zip. He takes hold and draws it down, peeling the fabric away from my body until it drops to the floor. I stay exactly where I am, not daring to step out of the dress in case I fall over and make a complete prat of myself. But it’s no problem. Before long, he’s back in front of me, and evidently on his knees. He taps my right ankle and I lift my foot, then he repeats the process with the left, allowing him to remove the dress. I realise I could easily lift the blindfold now and sneak a quick peek. But that’s out of the question now, because even though the intrigue’s niggling at me, I’m zinging and tingling like never before. Breaking the rules is likely to bring this whole glorious experience to an end, which is the last thing I want. I have no desire to ruin something that can only get better.

  ‘Touch me again,’ I beg.

  Palms come to the outside of my legs, just below the knee. Slowly, languidly they work their way up to my hips, and back down again. Turning his palms outwards, this time he smooths them up the inside of my thighs, urging me to spread my legs a little along the way. When he finally arrives at my knickers, fingers travel across the lace, edge into the rim, and slowly pull them down. I can only guess he likes what he sees because as soon as I step out of the knickers, he holds me firmly in place while he rains gentle kisses on my crotch. I’m swimming away in ecstasy when I dig my fingers into his hair, vaguely noting the fact that it’s thick and slightly over-long on top. It’s soon evident I’ve taken a step too far. Immediately, my mystery lover gets to his feet and guides my arms back to my side.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘Couldn’t help it.’

  He runs a finger down my cheek. More reassurance, I’m sure. Not that I need it now. Every time he touches me, I’m acutely aware of an energy sparking through me, a mad force that only increases when he encircles me in his arms and reaches behind to unfasten my bra. With no sign of fumbling, he draws the bra away from my breasts. As soon as it’s gone, one hand comes to my bottom, forcing me in against his crotch while the other grabs hold of my hair and pulls my head back. His mouth latches onto my right nipple, sucking gently, teasing it to attention with his tongue and causing me to unleash a long series of involuntary moans. After an age, he transfers to my left nipple, sucking and lapping again while I gradually drift away into an ocean of delight.

  I’m already on the verge of delirium when the time for introductions comes to an end. Intent on getting down to more serious action, he sweeps me up into his arms, giving me a chance to take in his scent – and boy, does he smell good: all clean and manly with just the faintest hint of body wash. I’m about to nuzzle into his neck when he leans over and lays me onto a cool, silky sheet that soothes my over-heated back. I’m given little time to enjoy the sensation. Seconds later, I hear a quiet jingle, sense him leaning over me, listen to the scratch of metal against wood. My pulse quickens as he takes my right hand and repositions it above my head. We’re heading into the mild bondage I was promised. Leather touches skin, cool and hard: a manacle. Once it’s wrapped around my wrist, he takes his time fastening buckles before repeating the process with my left hand, leaving me thoroughly restrained and totally incapable of dislodging the blindfold. And although this is something I’ve never tried before, although I’m placing myself firmly in the power of a complete stranger, there’s no fear...only sublime anticipation.

  When he’s satisfied, he strokes a finger against my cheek.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I tell him. ‘Comfortable.’

  And then, I’m left alone.

  All I can do is listen again, desperate for the slightest sound. Catching nothing but the quiet shift of material, I know he’s undressing now – a realisation that sends my body into over-drive, lighting up every nerve ending with pure excitement. The bed dips. My brain whirls. He urges my legs apart and positions himself between them. Once in place, I hear him sigh – contentment perhaps – before his hands make contact again. Starting at my inner thighs, he smooths big, warm palms across my body, moving out to my hips, up over my stomach and round to my waist, taking in every last
inch of me at a slow, unhurried pace. He completes the circuit once, twice, then changes tack, circling a fingertip across my stomach, closing in on the belly button, shifting downwards...but stopping short of my crotch.

  I’m soon worked up into a super-sensitive mess, already wet, and more than ready for the grand finale. ‘Touch me,’ I beg, digging my head back into the pillow. ‘Touch me down there.’

  I’m fully expecting him to ignore my plea, and thoroughly surprised when he gives me exactly what I want. Almost immediately, a finger drifts across my pubic hair, then down to my clitoris where he presses over and over again, setting off an insane fluttering in my muscles. With both hands now, he gently parts the folds of my labia, probing, exploring, taking a good, long look. And again, I feel no embarrassment. Instead, turned on like never before, I begin to writhe and moan, but I’m quickly checked by a hand on my stomach, directing me back into place. After a brief respite, he returns to the task in hand, this time pressing a thumb against my clitoris, and keeping it there while he massages the tiny bud of nerves. A ball of heat quickly sparks into life and begins to grow.

  I’m right at the edge when the thumb’s removed and a finger enters me, slowly working its way inwards, exploring every space, every muscle and finally curling against the inside of my clit. Immediately, the heat returns, undulating throughout my core with increasing intensity until I’m only seconds away from climax. Which is precisely when the finger retreats, leaving me in a delicious limbo until it’s replaced by two. Patiently searching out those magical spots, he probes and explores, working me up again and again, but always halting in time to leave me desperate for more. I’m about to beg him to finish me off when he brings the fingers to my mouth, carefully following the outline of my lips before giving me a taste of myself.

  ‘Fuck me,’ I manage to gasp. And then I shake my head. ‘Sorry. Swearing. Not good.’ Not with this man. I seriously don’t want to put him off. ‘I mean do it. Can we do it now?’

  But he’s not ready for that. Instead of ‘doing it’, he returns the fingers to my vagina, homing straight in on the most sensitive spot of all, and causing me to buck at his touch. But this time he doesn’t check me. While I gasp and groan and plunge headlong into a delirium, he brings the thumb back to the bud, pressing, releasing, pressing again, doubling the stimulation until I’m tugging at the restraints and struggling for every breath. It’s not long before the ball of heat springs back into action, radiating outwards like a mini supernova.