Blindfolded (5 page)

“Getting in with you.”

Regan felt the closeness of his body as he positioned himself behind her, spreading his thighs to draw her closer against his chest. He placed her unbound hands on his knees and encircled her with strong, muscular arms. Timidly, Regan ran her fingers along his thighs, feeling the outline of finely-toned muscles beneath her hands. She lifted her hands to trace his arms, not surprised to feel the solid bulk of strength under the lightly-furred forearms. His hands were larger than she had imagined, easily engulfing her own. The soft fur of his chest tickled her back and she could feel the firmness of his pecks… along with the other muscle that was rising to greet her.

“Sorry about that,” he laughed. “It's been a long time since I've been this close to such a beautiful and desirable woman.”

“You must be desperate if you think that I'm either beautiful or desirable,” Regan said bitterly. “You seem to know everything about
me
. Will you tell me about yourself?”

“Besides that I have exquisite taste in literature, design, and women?” he asked, ignoring her debasing comment about herself.

“J… does that stand for John? James? Jeremy?”

“None of the above. You have never met me face to face.”

“Have we ever talked before?”

“Again, not face to face. Now stop trying to guess. You will not succeed.”

“You’re frustrating me.”

“And you,” he reached between them to reposition his uncomfortable organ, “are exciting me. Besides my name, what do you want to know? You may ask three questions a day, and I have the choice of whether or not to answer them.”

“That's hardly fair.”

“My game, my rules. So, what is your first question?”

“Where are you from?”

“A tiny town called Beaufort, South Carolina. My father was a DI for the Marine Corps Boot Camp.”

“And your mother?”

“Is that your second question? I was being generous by giving you some extra information.”

“You're a butthead.”

“And you are feeling more comfortable. My mother was a housewife, made her own bread, gardened, the works. I had a great childhood. No younger siblings, just the ugliest three-legged dog on the planet by the name of Woof.”

“Woof?”

“Yeah, the stupid dog wouldn't come to anything except the sound of his own voice.”

Regan could not help but laugh, picturing a boy with a three legged dog and having to call the animal “Woof” just to get it to come to him. He joined her laugh, the vibration deep in his chest, and told her stories of Woof and the trouble the old cur got himself into. Regan was holding her stomach as she pictured the old dog covered with honey before rolling in a mess of feathers from the chicken coup, and then the expression on the neighbors’ faces when the boy and his parents walked through the neighborhood “woofing” after the old dog had turned up missing again.

“How about you? Did you ever have any pets?”

“I thought you knew everything about me,” Regan replied, closing her eyes as she relaxed against him.

“I know enough, but not all.”

“No. Never had a pet. My parents were practically allergic to
dirt
. I always wanted a kitten, but… well…”

“You never got around to it. Commitment issues, love?”

“No… Maybe… I don't know. I'm feeling waterlogged; can I get out?” Regan asked, suddenly uncomfortable as the conversation turned serious.

“You can’t always run when something uncomfortable is brought up. Sharing your heart is not going to hurt you.”

“That’s what
you
think,” Regan responded, drawing into herself again.

With a patient kiss to the cheek, he helped her out of the tub and folded a large towel around her body. He patted her dry, taking time to rub lotion over her body in long, nonsexual caresses. With his hand on the small of her back, he lead her back into the bedroom, careful to steer her away from any furniture.

“Can you tell me what this room looks like?” Regan asked, uncomfortable with the silence between them.

“Is that a question?”

“Oh, come on! Please?”

“You are going to be so spoiled. Very well.” He described the bedroom as being drenched in light, with a multitude of windows looking out over the trees, thick plush rugs that were shades of champagne, and a four-poster brass bed. He handed her a large bearded iris from the vase and chuckled when she asked about artwork. He then admitted to a fondness for the works of Daniel Merriam, a surrealistic watercolor artist.

“No way! I
love
Merriam's work. It is so… well… out there. Kind of disturbing, but way intriguing.”

“It's about dreams. He puts his dreams on canvas like you put yours into words. He's the one who painted my fresco.”

“My favorite is 
High Heaven
; you know, the cherubs getting in each other's faces,” Regan giggled.

“I like
Man on the Moon
. Like your books, they show many sides of his mind.”

“Kidnapping and bondage aside, I have to admit that I am finding you… interesting. I haven't met anyone who appreciated the oddity of art like I do.”

“You haven't allowed yourself to meet anyone. Until now, that is, and it only occurred with much protest and a little force. By the end of your stay, we will become the closest of friends, I promise.”

“You are really going to let me go?”

“Yes, if you desire, but not anytime soon. Now, would you like to dress or stay naked under that robe all day?”

“Ha ha. Dress please. And, well, I'm hungry.”

“Good!” he sounded pleased. “You blush beautifully when you are uncomfortable, you know. Lift up your arms.”

Regan obeyed, feeling him slipping something soft and warm over her head. By the feel of it, it was a large T-shirt or a loose, short dress. He then brushed out her short hair, pulling out the strands from under the hooded blindfold, commenting how beautiful it would be long. He sat her down on the edge of the bed and lifted her right foot up. Before slipping a sock over it, he took the time to rub more lotion into her skin, his strong hands massaging away her tension. His fingers brushed her naked sex as he rubbed the lotion into her thigh, making her jump slightly at the unexpected, but not completely uncomfortable, touch.

She wrinkled her brow as he slipped shoes over her feet. She had come to the house in slippers, and these fit her perfectly. Did he know her shoe size? Only one man had ever had access to her closet, and he was long gone. Plus, Steve was not interested in anything that did not directly involve him.
Selfish bastard
, she fumed, thinking of all the time he’d stolen from her. But then, she was as guilty for using
him
, she acknowledged.

Regan held her breath as he started to hum something. Again, vaguely familiar, yet she could not place it. He patted her shin before standing and pulled her up next to him.

“It's a beautiful day. I will toss some stuff in a basket, and we will have a picnic breakfast.”

“How…? I never wrote about that in my books. No one knows that it’s something I really enjoy…”

“No one?
I
do. Stop trying to figure this out, Regan. It will cause you to wrinkle. No mangoes, right? Allergic?”

Another fact otherwise unknown. She tried to think. Not even her medical records reported her mango allergy. Her parents had known, and a couple of girl friends from college. She was pretty sure Steve did not know, or care, about it. Again, if it did not involve him, he was disinterested.

Regan found herself becoming intrigued by this strange man, rather than being frightened or angry. There was something intimately tender and nurturing about him, yet she sensed an underlying threat of danger. It excited her, tugged at her, and left her uncharacteristically moist!

He led her outside and paused, seemingly just to let her gather her bearings. Facing the warm rays of the morning sunshine, Regan took in a deep, cleansing breath and listened to the sounds around her. Birds singing, a few flies buzzing, the chattering of tree squirrels… and the sound of his breathing next to her.

She had never been so aware of the presence of another person as she was now.

Sensing that she was ready, he linked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her through the cool thicket that was covered with a canopy of rustling leaves.

Her footsteps were timid and wary at first. She tested each step and tried to feel out in front of her in fear of tripping over something or walking into a tree. The confident manner in which he led her gradually gave way to her trust, and Regan found herself walking at a regular pace, focusing on his lead and gentle nudges. They paused after walking up a small hill, and Regan could feel the sun bear straight down upon her in a warm, soothing caress.

She listened to fabric being snapped open and the crunching of dry plants as it was spread out on top of them. He pulled her onto the blanket and kissed the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For trusting me to lead you. That must have been very difficult.”

“At first. You seem to be very surefooted. Have you lived around here for a long time?”

“Question two?”

“Yes.”

He placed a bowl of cut-up fruit in her hands after popping a grape into her mouth. “No. I moved here about four months ago. I have not spent a lot of time in this area.”

“Were you in South Carolina until then?” Regan asked.

“That is your third question. No, I was not. I've been… around. I went to college in Pennsylvania.”

“You are being very vague in your responses.”

“You need to learn to ask more specific questions. And I'm giving you more than you deserve right now, you little brat,” he chuckled, holding a cup of hot coffee poured from a thermos and placing it carefully into her hand.

“Is there a stream nearby? It sounds like water.”

“There is. Perhaps we will go there tomorrow, if you respond well to your training.”

“
Training
? What are…”

“Silence, Regan. I am going to give you instructions now and want you to follow them without arguing. Will you do that?”

“You're scaring me again.”

“There is no need to be frightened. Obey me, and you won't have your beautiful little bottom smacked. Well, not true. It will be smacked, and often, because that pleases me, but also to bring you pleasure and release. Are you done eating already? Very well. Get on your hands and knees. Quickly.”

Regan trembled as she obeyed. She suddenly felt exposed, and the breeze licked her pantiless backside and womanhood, making her shiver.

His hand gently ran down the length of her smooth skin and over her thighs. Over and over again, he stroked her as she stayed in this position, and she found herself lifting her chin to allow his fingers access under her throat and along her neck.

Regan felt him place something around her neck, not too tight, but somewhat wide and heavy. “What…?”

“Not a word,” he ordered, pulling himself to his feet next to her. Something clicked near her ear and she turned her blindfolded face in his direction, trying to determine what he was about. She felt a slight yank on her neck. “Come, Regan. That's a good girl.”

Her mouth hung open. She was hooked to a collar and a leash! She balked at his command, pulling back in protest. Instead of yanking on the leash, he leaned over to whisper into her ear.

“Be a good little puppy now, and heel. You don't want a spanking, do you?”

Regan gulped and tried to crawl next to him. The meadow they were upon was covered in flowers and grasses and was very uncomfortable for her hands and knees. She whimpered as she pressed down upon a sticker and lifted her hand painfully in the air.