“I am.”
“Now slide it down the juncture of your thigh,” he orders. “Let me feel how silky your skin is. How soft. How tempting.”
I do what he says, trembling as much from the gentle touch as from the fantasy that it’s Damien’s.
“Don’t touch your clit,” he says, and though I desperately want to, I obey. “Now tell me.”
“Like I said, I’m very wet.”
He chuckles. “I’m very glad to hear it. Tell me, what’s in the goodie bag?”
“I don’t know. Hang on.”
I tug the bag over and peek inside. “A mask, a vibrator, some sort of oil, handcuffs, a video.”
“Oil?”
“Yeah.” I pull out the small bottle and read the label. “Arousal oil.”
“Interesting. Open it.”
“I—okay.” I break the seal and unscrew the cap. Immediately, I can smell the spices. “It’s a bit minty. There aren’t instructions.”
“Dab a little on your finger,” he says. “Then stroke it onto your clit.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Should I hang up?”
“Right. Okay. No problem.” I’m not at all sure what this stuff is, but I figure if it’s in a bag from Jamie, it must be fun. I put a drop on my finger and ease my finger over my clit. I’m so sensitive that even that tiny sensation makes me shiver.
“Well?” Damien asks.
I cock my head, expecting some sort of new sensation. “Nothing.”
“Hmm. All right, then, we’ll move on. Does the vibrator have batteries?”
I test it out, and find that it purrs nicely in my hand. “It does,” I say, and immediately cringe. I sound far too eager, and I know from Damien’s chuckle that he both heard and understood.
“And the mask,” he says. “Go ahead and put that on.”
“All right.” I slip it over my eyes, and the world goes dark. “Okay, I—holy fuck.” The oil that I thought did nothing is now doing considerably more than nothing. “That oil, it’s . . . well, it’s very wow.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s like mint, I guess. Like if you sucked on one of those really strong mints and then went down on me. Oh, wow. It feels amazing, sensitive—oh, God, Damien, please.”
“Please, what?”
“Everything. Anything.” I squirm, wanting simply to relieve this growing pressure, this demanding sensation. “Please, sir, can I touch myself?”
“Oh, yeah. We’re going to use the vibrator. Your fingers. I’m going to tell you how to touch yourself, baby. And you’re going to let me hear you come.”
I am awash with gratitude. I’ve been holding the phone, but now I put it on speaker and set it beside me, peeking out from under the blindfold just long enough to make sure I push the right buttons.
“Slide your hand up your thigh,” he says, “then gently stroke your clit. Are you doing it?”
“Yes.” I can barely speak.
“Can you turn on the vibrator?”
“I—I think so.”
“Fuck yourself with it, baby. I want it inside you. I want you imagining it’s me. Holding you, fucking you, burying myself deep in you.”
Oh my God . I fumble, turned on, frantic, weak with longing. I switch to my right hand, and stroke my clit with my left. The oil is amazing, and . . . “I’m close,” I say. “God, Damien, I’m so close.”
“I know, baby. Come the rest of the way for me. Let me hear it.”
“I—” But I can’t talk anymore. I’ve done as he asked with the vibrator, and it fills me, the dual sensation of the vibration and my finger stroking my clit coupled with my fantasy of Damien, and his voice on the phone telling me to “Come for me, baby, come for me,” is too overwhelming. I let my head fall back, and grind my hips, lost to everything now but the need for release that is close, so close, so very close, and then—
I explode, and as I do, I cry out Damien’s name.
“That’s it, baby,” he says. “That’s it. Keep touching yourself. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, baby, you can come again.”
I’ve turned off the vibrator and tossed it onto the seat, but I do as he says and stroke myself. I’m so desperately wet. Wet and wide open and wishing that Damien were right here.
I still have the mask on, but I can hear the mechanical sound of the privacy screen starting to descend.
What the fuck?
“Damien!”
“I hear it, too. It’s just the privacy screen. Don’t stop. Don’t put your legs together. Stay like that, baby. Open and wide.”
“Are you crazy? Edward .”
“I believe we agreed that you needed to be punished.”
“No.” I pull my legs tight together and rip off the mask even as I slide sideways, out of the line of sight of the driver.
And when I do, I realize that it isn’t Edward behind the wheel, it’s Damien.
He turns to glance, and I take deep, gasping breaths as I try to reconcile fear and relief and anger.
“Bastard,” I finally say, though that hardly covers it.
“Slide back to the middle.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Suit yourself.” He starts to raise the privacy screen.
“Fine.” I’m pissed, but I’m not stupid. And, yeah, I’m still turned on.
As he drops the screen, I slide back to center.
“Spread your legs,” he says, and as I do, he adjusts his mirror. “Now, that really is a beautiful view.” There is awe in his voice, and it makes me feel beautiful. Despite being exposed, despite the scars on my thighs. Damien makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, and that is just one of the things that makes me love him.
“Wider,” he says. I comply, and I hear Damien’s sharp intake of breath. He may be playing with me, but there’s no denying that he’s turned on, too.
“Are you excited, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Yes,” I admit. “Except for that one moment of terror, yes.”
“You should know me better. And you should listen better.”
“Listen?” And then it hits me. “The bag. How would you know about the goodie bag if you weren’t in the car?”
“Exactly. I gave you that clue. It’s not my fault if you were too distracted to pay attention.”