She's standing there—by the window—with her back to the room, silhouetted by the moonlight filtering through the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. I'm sure she hears me enter, but she doesn't turn around. Closing the heavy door behind me, I turn the dead bolt, and she flinches to the snick of it.
We've planned this, but she's still nervous. I can tell. Although she's perfectly still, I can read the apprehension it in the set of her shoulders. A little fear won't hurt. In fact, it'll probably help. I cross the room in four long strides, tossing my shoulder bag on the king-sized bed in passing, and I stand very close to her with my hands clasped behind my back.
Leaning forward so that just my breasts brush against her back, I bury my nose in her hair and inhale deeply. Her thick, dark locks smell like rain—warm, summer rain tinged with the cloying scent of honeysuckle blossoms. I lift her hair away from her neck and whisper into the skin just below her ear, "Listen to me." She shivers to the husky tone of my voice, the sensation of my breath. "Are you ready for this?"
In response, she drops her head back against my shoulder and sighs—half exhalation, half 'Yes' ... and all surrender. I smile. It's a devilish little grin, full of the most exquisite potential. Tonight will be well worth the months of waiting.
I grasp each of her arms from where they're folded against her chest and smooth them to her sides. Her neck and shoulders tense, and I take a little time to massage them. Not much, though. I'm impatient for her skin.
When she's relaxed a little bit, I reach around her body to unbutton and remove her blouse. Her creamy skin glows in the silvery light, and she gasps as I nibble on her bare shoulders. My hands continue to disrobe her as my mouth enjoys the salty-sweet taste of her flesh. When her jeans puddle around her ankles, she steps out of them.
"Don't move," I caution, crossing the room to fetch my bag. The zipper is loud against the backdrop of the night, and I pull it very slowly—savoring her fear-tinged curiosity. She starts to turn around, but stops when I say, "No." I extract two items, placing them on the corner of the bed, and grab a third.
Returning to her, I trail the silk scarf across her ass and up her spine. A blush suffuses her skin. I can feel it rather than see it—a slight increase in the surface temperature, a slight shift in her scent. When I drape the scarf over her eyes, she giggles nervously.
"Listen to me. Are you ready for this?" I ask as I fold it over her eyes and knot it at the back of her head.
She just whimpers. The sound of it stokes me, and I back away from her long enough to undress myself. She cocks her head to the side, listening—her other senses beginning to heighten due to the loss of vision. I can tell she's fighting the urge to turn but resists.
Grabbing the items I'd taken from my bag, I stand before her and hold them under her nose. "What do you smell, kitten?"
She inhales then groans softly, but doesn't speak. I grasp one wrist and buckle a black leather cuff around it. "Are you ready for this?"
"Please," she whispers, offering her other wrist to be cuffed. "Please."