S.E.C.R.E.T.: An Erotic Novel (23 page)

The next day, just after sunset, the limo pulled into the U-shaped driveway and deposited
me directly in front of the Mansion. The previous time I had been here, the limo had
pulled into the side entrance. This time the car came to a full stop at the grand
front entrance. I had become accustomed to waiting for the driver to open the limo
door
for me, something a girl from Michigan could never have imagined before, and again
he obliged. I stepped onto the cobblestones wearing the heels, which were, to my surprise,
quite comfortable. Perhaps because they had cost a small fortune. Looking up at the
house that night, I saw every room was ablaze with that same ocher glow, as though
it was waiting for me before it could come alive again. An Arctic chill nipped at
my bare ankles, and I was grateful for the full-length coat covering the rest of me.

I slowly ascended the wide marble stairs that lead to the front double doors, my stomach
lurching at the thought of what tonight’s fantasy would bring. I hoped that I had
attained enough fearlessness, trust and confidence from the previous steps to really
go through with this one. Those were the qualities I’d need to muster, Matilda told
me. Plus, I needed something fulfilling and heady to push the final thoughts of Pierre
out of my body, and Will out of my heart. I felt around in my pocket for the velvet
bag. I had a feeling I’d accomplish both tonight.

Two knocks and Claudette greeted me in the foyer like an old acquaintance, falling
short of the intimacy you’d use to meet a friend.

“I trust your ride here was comfortable?”

“It always is,” I said, looking around the imposing entrance, taking in its beautifully
curved staircase. I was grateful that the room was dim and warm, almost too warm,
the heat coming from the parlor to my left where I could see a roaring fire. I noted
the gold balustrade and plush red carpet running
up the middle of the steps. The black-and-white floor tiles formed a spiral that culminated
in a coat of arms inlaid in the center. The design featured a willow tree shading
three nude women, each with a different skin tone—white, brown, black—under which
were carved the words:
Nihil judicii. Nihil limitis. Nihil verecundiae
.

“What does that mean?” I asked Claudette.

“Our motto: No judgments. No limits. No shame.”

“Right.”

“Did you bring it?” she asked.

She didn’t have to specify what “it” was. “Yes, I did.” I pulled the velvet bag out
of my pocket and handed it to her.

“It’s time,” she said, taking the bag from me and stepping behind me. I could hear
her open the drawstring. Seconds later, she was securing a black satin blindfold across
my eyes.

“Can you see anything?”

“No.” And I couldn’t. Just utter blackness. Claudette’s hands were on my shoulders,
pulling off my coat. And before I could even ask about what I was supposed to do next,
I heard her quietly pad away.

For several minutes, I stood there, hardly moving. The only sounds I could hear were
the crackling of the fire, the clack of my heels as I nervously shifted my weight
from one leg to the other and the tinkle of my bracelet every time I moved my arm.
I was grateful the room was so warm, because apart from my blindfold and heels, I
wasn’t wearing a thing. The Step card had specified that I should bring the velvet
bag in my pocket and arrive wearing
only
the camel
coat and heels. I stood for what felt like forever blindfolded and naked, waiting
for the fantasy to begin.

After a while, I found that without sight, my other senses became heightened. At one
point I was certain someone was in the foyer with me even though I hadn’t heard anyone
enter. I could just sense a presence, one that sent a slight shiver down my spine.

“Is anyone here?” I asked. “Please say something.” There were no words, but a few
seconds later, I heard breathing.

“Someone
is
here,” I said. Despite the intense heat, I began to shiver out of nervousness. “What
do you want me to do?”

I heard a man clear his throat, which caused me to jump.

“Who are you?” I asked, a little too loudly. I was blindfolded, not deaf, but for
some reason my voice projected more than usual.

“Make a quarter turn to your left,” the voice said. “Take five steps and stop.”

It had a very sexy timbre, maybe belonging to a man who was a little older, perhaps
someone used to being in charge. I did as instructed, sensing I was heading towards
this voice.

“Please put your hands out.” I did so. “Now walk forward until you touch me.”

There was something about the languidness in his voice that pulled me forward. I took
one, then two careful steps, aware how blindness can seriously throw off your balance.
I stretched out my hands until they made contact with toned, warm flesh. Though I
didn’t have the nerve to let my
hands trail down, I got the sense that he was naked, too, and tall, with a taut, broad
chest.

“Cassie, do you accept the Step?”

His voice was like liquid smoke, his
s
’s curling around the vowels.

“Yes, I do,” I said, with a little too much enthusiasm perhaps, as I finally let my
hands trail down the sides of his lean torso and back up his stomach to his collarbone.
I realized that my shyness was gone, it had melted, or I had left it somewhere at
Halo, or maybe in the middle of the Gulf, or perhaps in the back of a limo. I didn’t
know, couldn’t remember, and didn’t care.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter, Cassie. May I?”

“May you what?”

“Touch your skin?”

I dropped my hands to my sides, as willing as I’d ever been to submit. I nodded as
he stepped so close to me I could feel his fingers brush my nipples, which were already
responding. He moved his hands slowly, artfully, across my breasts, cupping one and
taking it into his cool, wet mouth. His other arm wrapped around me, lingering at
my buttocks and pulling me into him so that our bodies were pressed skin to skin.
I could feel him hard against my thigh. His hand slid behind me and up. I was already
wet.

I remembered how in the beginning it had taken a while for my body to respond, but
now, my passion was instant. I wanted him. No, not him. How could I want
him
, a man I
didn’t even know? But I wanted
this
. All of
this
. And I began to understand what Matilda meant when she said that if I could get back
into my body, I could move thoughts of Pierre out of my head. Then, just as quickly
as things had begun, the man released me from his hot embrace and I almost tipped
over on my heels.

“Where are you?” I asked, my hands reaching into the air around me. “Where did you
go?”

“Follow my voice, Cassie.”

It was now coming from the other side of the foyer. I turned slightly to follow it.
We were moving away from the fire, away from the warmth of the parlor to another room,
a different room.

“That’s right, one foot in front of the other,” he whispered. “Do you know how sexy
you look wearing just those heels?”

His words were making me hotter and wetter, as I carefully made my way towards his
voice, my arms out in front of me. I felt the warmth of another fire on the front
of my body. When I felt carpet under my heels, I almost tripped.

“There’s a chair right in front of you. Two more steps.” My fingers hit a highback
wooden chair, which felt as big as a throne. I took a seat on what felt like a raw
silk cushion. I felt self-conscious of what my stomach looked like in a seated position.
I pressed my legs together.
Stop it, Cassie. Now’s not the time to think
. The silk felt lovely under my butt, though, and my hands began stroking the fabric.
I could sense the man moving around the room until he was directly behind my chair.

I felt his large, warm hands on my shoulders, caressing my skin. They trailed up my
neck, where he left one hand cradling the back of my neck, while the other fetched
something in front of us. The rim of a glass grazed my lips, and my nose was hit with
the warm, full-bodied smell of red wine.

“Take a sip, Cassie.”

He gently tipped the glass forward. I took an eager gulp. I was no connoisseur, but
the wine tasted rich and layered. I don’t know if I tasted oak or cherry or chocolate
tones, but I knew it was probably the most expensive wine I had ever swallowed. I
heard him gently place the glass back on the table. Seconds later he moved in front
of me and his mouth was on mine, his tongue searching. He tasted like wine, too, and
chocolate. Every cell inside me came alive to his taste and touch, smell and feel.
Then he stopped.

“Are you hungry, Cassie?”

I nodded.

“What are you hungry for?”

“You.”

“That’s later. First, open that delicious mouth of yours.”

I did so and he began rubbing morsels of fruit across my lips, leaving me just enough
time to smell them and then reach out my tongue for a delicate taste. I tasted the
juicy flesh of a mango, and when my tongue curled around a small slice that he proffered
with his fingers, I licked them both. Then he fed me some strawberries, one after
the other, some dipped in chocolate, others in cream. But it was the truffles that
sent me over the edge; he only
allowed me to lick and nibble at the edges, never letting me have a full bite. After
each swallow, he pressed his mouth to mine, kissing me. I couldn’t see his face, but
the sensation was excruciating, the way he urged my mouth open with his tongue.

Then he was straddling my legs, standing over me as I lay back in my cushioned throne.
I could feel his naked thighs against the outside of mine. I gulped as he grabbed
the chair’s wooden arms, jerking it forward.

“Hold your hands out,” he said, and when I did, I came in contact with him, firm,
warm and soft.

I wrapped a hand around him, eagerly bringing him to my mouth. Using both hands, I
took him in deeper, feeling the pleasure I was giving, of pleasing, coming over me
again. I imagined what I must look like in this chair, blindfolded, in heels, with
this beautiful body over me. A tingle passed through me at the thought.

“Stop, Cassie,” he said, easing back from my mouth. “That feels amazing, but you have
to stop.”

He lifted me off the seat and onto my feet. My limbs were wobbly with desire. Standing
behind me, he walked me forward a few feet, placing my hands on what I thought was
the arm of a silk divan. I took in the smell of oranges and wine and vanilla candles.
I could hear the fire spit and spark in front of us, and my heart raced. My back arched
as I felt his hands firmly grasp both sides of my hips, tugging me back towards him.
I could feel his desire for me, and he hardened and stiffened more.

“I’m going to put myself inside you now, Cassie. Do you want that?”

I lifted up to him, to show him that yes, I wanted this, very much.

“Tell me, Cassie. Say it.”

“I want you,” I whispered, my voice choked the feeling.

“Say it, Cassie. Tell me you want it.”

“I do! I want it!”

“Say it!”

“I want you. I want you inside me.
Now!
” I commanded.

I heard him ripping open a packet, and seconds later, I felt all of him slide into
me, plunging deep and fast and hard. I felt him reach around and under me, his fingers
touching me in a dazzling rhythm. His other held my hip so firmly he was practically
lifting me up off the floor. He gathered a fistful of my hair and tugged my head gently
backwards. His hands trailed down my arched back, finally grabbing my buttocks and
kneading them with an intensity that sent me spinning. His low growls made me feel
like I was driving him mad.

“You look so hot with your ass in the air like this, Cassie. I love it. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it. Say it louder.”

“I love it … I love fucking you like this,” I said, surprising myself with the words.
It felt animalistic but so divine.

He spread my legs open wider, and began moving harder and faster.

“Oh God,” I said. It was all happening at once and so fast, desire gathering a storm
inside me.

“You can come now. I want you to come, Cassie,” he urged, and that’s what I did, full-bodied
and wholeheartedly. Then he followed. And when he was done, he pulled away and I lay
forward across the divan, so completely spent that I slid gently onto the bearskin
rug and lay there on my back. I felt him slide down next to me. I went to lift my
blindfold.

“Don’t,” he said, grabbing my hand, keeping the blindfold intact.

“But I want to see you. I want to look at the face capable of doing that to my body.”

“I value my anonymity.”

Sensing my frustration, he leaned towards my face and took my hand in his.

“Here, feel my face,” he offered. “But leave the blindfold on.”

He took my hand and brought it to his slightly stubbly cheek. I felt a sharp, angular
jaw, wide-set eyes, soft hair, longish, with sideburns at the temple. My fingers caressed
a wide mouth, and he playfully bit them. Then my hand moved once more down his muscular
chest and across his taut stomach.