The satin hood of the cloak fell to below my nose, cutting off any ability to see. To see the floor, to see the ceiling, to see the bed, or to see Etienne. The blackness before my eyes left me nothing but the alert senses elsewhere, and instantly they began to crawl and grow and expand until I felt I could almost feel the corners of the room, by the way the air closed in on my skin. For a moment I thought I felt the air move, my hand went back on the bed as I stepped back, I felt its silk quilt beneath the tips of my fingers. Cold, I pulled myself away, afraid it was too close, but afraid he was too close.
The inability to see him scared me past the loud thudding in my chest and into the centre of my soul where I wanted to cry and I wanted to slap him and I wanted to scream. This wasn't fair, that he had such an advantage over me. I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath to settle the screaming in my body. Without warning his hand brushed my left hip and the breath deep in my throat cut short and I pressed back on the bed again.
"Get on," he whispered in a voice full of honey. How was it possible to lust for a man you'd never seen? I shook my head. His body heat touched me first before his hand fell into place at my hip, and then his stomach leant, slightly, into mine. His cologne drifted through me like a ghost, I closed my eyes and controlled the buzzing electrodes beginning to swarm in my stomach. His closeness caused an ache to begin between my legs; but as quick as he came close he was gone again. I traced him by his steps around the room, pacing. Wondering what to do with me.
For the first time I felt safe in my cloak, the cloak he gave me when he took me from my home. The satin cloak that fell softly to my feet, covering almost all flesh on my body except my hands. The thin material had always prickled against me when he knew the only thing I wore beneath was panties and a bra. But now it clung to me in a dark safety capsule, growing hotter and tighter on my flesh, in anticipation. His feet were light on the cold wooden floor as he padded back and fourth, and then suddenly back toward me again. My breath caught in my throat, I parted my lips slightly to try and get more air in. Every hair on my body prickled and stood to attention; a flash of his hands underneath the satin and on my skin burned in my mind. Another little tingle between my legs.
"I hate it," he grit, the honey now gone from his deep, luring voice. Another hand fell across my right hip and be put a foot between mine and leaned slowly in. "I hate it all."
"Then why," my voice was hoarse, "don't you leave me alone?" But the slight movement I'd made said other wise, searching for his lips with mine, realizing he wasn't that close. I cursed myself. His hand moved from my hip and light fingers down the side of my forearm until he entwined his fingers through mine. I couldn't understand what he was doing. He leaves, then comes back, then leaves and comes back again. He'd been doing it all day, locking me in this room, in his room, letting my hands linger around to find my way. His fingers within mine wasn't his first romantic gesture, it wasn't the first time I'd smelt his dark, enticing cologne and hot breath as he leant in, wondering if he should or would kiss me. But his fingers had a purpose and they pulled me between us and to the front of his cotton suit pants. He pushed my fingers around the swelling, insisting solidity pressing against his zipper. I bit my bottom lip to stop the gasp.
"That's why," he breathed and flattened my palm out, slowly but firmly rubbing it down as he stepped closer. I hadn't realized how long he really was, nor the thickness if my hand told me right. Maybe it was my imagination, as I couldn't see anything, but through his thinning breaths it was hard and ready.
"I can't stop wanting you. I can't stop thinking about you." He released his hand from mine and left me to linger around. The battle in my head began, unsure if I should keep my hand there or not. If I did… I wanted him… if I didn't… I wanted him. I pulled my hand away and almost heard him cut off a yearning groan but he got hold of himself again, and me. He brushed his mouth against mine and hovered for a moment.
"You don't want me," I said. "You use me. You don't want me." The sweetness of his kiss alarmed me. Slow and sensual as his tongue prodded for a way in until finally I opened up to him and let his tongue in, almost as eager as his penis. His lips were soft and soothing behind a passionate, urgent, deep kiss. He tasted warm, and comfortable, then enticing when he slid his other foot between mine and slowly pressed my thighs outward. He had leant me back against the bed, grasping my back with one hand and leaning on the bed with the other, while he pressed his penis against me. A low moan left my throat and was followed by a deep, almost animal, growl from his.
His hips rose up and the thick head of his cock pushed against the satin material that he'd wrapped me in, and a million different nerve endings went of in the low depths of my stomach. He then pulled back and dug in again, deeper, trying to break the barrier between us while urging me on in the kiss. My toes nearly left the floor once my pelvis reacted and grew into him, its own desperate adventure seeking out more, until he pulled back again and, trembling, I searched out the front of his pants. I needed him to want me and to know that I could drive him insane. I could drive him to the very edge of sanity and bring him back again and then push further and higher than before. I needed each edge and rough taste of him.
I took his tongue into my mouth and began sucking slowly, licking it, tasting it, as if I were savoring his penis, and another groan came from him. I tugged at his penis through the material, as tight as I could, making sure he could feel each part of my hand against him. Etienne retracted his mouth from mine, air finally filling my lungs, leaving him in small gasps as my hand continued.