should have dressed up more. How does he always manage to make me feel like he’s got the upper hand?
“I thought you said casual,” I say apologetically.
His gaze roves over me, lingering on my lips, before he says, “You look perfect. Are you ready?”
We take the elevator back down to the lobby, and he takes my hand in his as he leads me out the glass doors. I can feel the electricity again at the touch of his hand, warm and strong, as his fingers close firmly around mine.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave the property?” I ask in confusion.
“It’s okay,” he says, pulling me toward a limousine that is parked in the circular driveway. “Trust me.”
I balk. “I don’t want to get disqualified.”
He stops and rests one hand on my hip, turning me toward him. His gaze is searing as he lightly traces the curve of my ear with his finger, and this time the wings of a million tiny butterflies flutter in my belly.
“Trust me,” he says again softly. “That’s what this is about, remember?”
“Right.”
He opens the door for me, and I climb into the limousine, settling myself on the rich leather seat as Roman gets in behind me and closes the door. I buckle my seat belt as the limousine slowly pulls away from the Helix.
I look out the window at the bustling activity of the Strip, studiously avoiding looking at Roman. His overwhelming presence fills the small space of the car, and I suddenly feel far more shy and awkward with him here in the limo on a date than I did last night when I was half-naked in his hotel room.
“Have you ever been to Las Vegas?” he asks conversationally.
I turn back to him, and my breath catches. He’s freaking beautiful. “No, I haven’t.”
“Good,” he says with a small smile of satisfaction. He reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulls out a black cloth. “I’m going to blindfold you now,” he adds nonchalantly.
“You’re…what?” I stammer.
Before I can react, he places the silky fabric over my eyes and ties it into place behind my head, throwing me into darkness. He’s so close I can feel the rasp of the fabric of his blazer against my cheek and smell the clean soap and woodsy scent of him. The awareness that seems to charge the air whenever I’m close to him is almost crushing now, and I’m thrown more off balance. It’s disconcerting not being able to see, and for a second I wonder if I’m insane. I don’t even know Roman; for all I know he could be taking me to some remote location to have his way with me.
Inexplicably, my core tightens at the thought of being at his mercy, images of me naked under him as he takes what he wants popping up unwanted in my head. I mentally shake my head. What is the matter with me? The show hasn’t started yet, and I’m already becoming totally oversexed.
“Do you always blindfold your dates?” I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t how most first dates go. When he doesn’t answer, I say, “I bet you scare a lot of girlfriends off this way.”
“I don’t have girlfriends, and I don’t date,” he states matter-of-factly. “I have submissives, and I fuck.”
That shuts me up, and we drive in silence for a while, and I’m once again wishing I didn’t have this damn blindfold on so I could see his expression. He settles his hand on my bare thigh, and the heat of it burns my skin like a brand. The message is unmistakable; I’m his to touch as he wishes.
“You wanted to know me,” he says finally. “When you can’t see, you have to rely on your other senses. You will begin by learning my voice. By feeling my presence even when you can’t see me.”
I don’t tell him I already know the smell of him, and that the rasp of his voice makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. I’m aware of him in a way that’s almost physically painful.
“Trust me,” he says softly.
“I’ll try,” I manage.
He doesn’t move, and I’m aware of
“I thought you said casual,” I say apologetically.
His gaze roves over me, lingering on my lips, before he says, “You look perfect. Are you ready?”
We take the elevator back down to the lobby, and he takes my hand in his as he leads me out the glass doors. I can feel the electricity again at the touch of his hand, warm and strong, as his fingers close firmly around mine.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave the property?” I ask in confusion.
“It’s okay,” he says, pulling me toward a limousine that is parked in the circular driveway. “Trust me.”
I balk. “I don’t want to get disqualified.”
He stops and rests one hand on my hip, turning me toward him. His gaze is searing as he lightly traces the curve of my ear with his finger, and this time the wings of a million tiny butterflies flutter in my belly.
“Trust me,” he says again softly. “That’s what this is about, remember?”
“Right.”
He opens the door for me, and I climb into the limousine, settling myself on the rich leather seat as Roman gets in behind me and closes the door. I buckle my seat belt as the limousine slowly pulls away from the Helix.
I look out the window at the bustling activity of the Strip, studiously avoiding looking at Roman. His overwhelming presence fills the small space of the car, and I suddenly feel far more shy and awkward with him here in the limo on a date than I did last night when I was half-naked in his hotel room.
“Have you ever been to Las Vegas?” he asks conversationally.
I turn back to him, and my breath catches. He’s freaking beautiful. “No, I haven’t.”
“Good,” he says with a small smile of satisfaction. He reaches into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulls out a black cloth. “I’m going to blindfold you now,” he adds nonchalantly.
“You’re…what?” I stammer.
Before I can react, he places the silky fabric over my eyes and ties it into place behind my head, throwing me into darkness. He’s so close I can feel the rasp of the fabric of his blazer against my cheek and smell the clean soap and woodsy scent of him. The awareness that seems to charge the air whenever I’m close to him is almost crushing now, and I’m thrown more off balance. It’s disconcerting not being able to see, and for a second I wonder if I’m insane. I don’t even know Roman; for all I know he could be taking me to some remote location to have his way with me.
Inexplicably, my core tightens at the thought of being at his mercy, images of me naked under him as he takes what he wants popping up unwanted in my head. I mentally shake my head. What is the matter with me? The show hasn’t started yet, and I’m already becoming totally oversexed.
“Do you always blindfold your dates?” I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t how most first dates go. When he doesn’t answer, I say, “I bet you scare a lot of girlfriends off this way.”
“I don’t have girlfriends, and I don’t date,” he states matter-of-factly. “I have submissives, and I fuck.”
That shuts me up, and we drive in silence for a while, and I’m once again wishing I didn’t have this damn blindfold on so I could see his expression. He settles his hand on my bare thigh, and the heat of it burns my skin like a brand. The message is unmistakable; I’m his to touch as he wishes.
“You wanted to know me,” he says finally. “When you can’t see, you have to rely on your other senses. You will begin by learning my voice. By feeling my presence even when you can’t see me.”
I don’t tell him I already know the smell of him, and that the rasp of his voice makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. I’m aware of him in a way that’s almost physically painful.
“Trust me,” he says softly.
“I’ll try,” I manage.
He doesn’t move, and I’m aware of
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