Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Chapter 14
Isabel
The soft cloth over my eyes is enough to heighten every other sense, and my heart hammers like it wants to leap from my chest. Without my sight, I’m hyperaware of everything else: the whisper of fabric as Lincoln shifts his position, the rustle of the sofa cushions, the slow, steady hum of the toy he’s guiding over my bare legs. Every brush of vibration against my skin sends a fresh spark of awareness through me—an electric tingle that leaves my breath hitching.
I don’t know which is more unnerving: that I can’t see him, or that I can hear his every exhale, every sharp breath that suggests he’s as affected by this as I am. It’s a strange kind of intimacy, the blindfold making me feel both vulnerable and strangely liberated all at once. With my vision gone, there’s nothing to distract me from the sensation of the toy—or from the press of Lincoln’s fingertips stabilizing my ankle when I shift.
My pulse thuds in my ears as he guides the gentle vibration in a slow path up the length of my calf. The swirl of air from the toy’s movement grazes the sensitive skin at the back of my knee, and I let out a small, involuntary gasp. Lincoln’s reaction is immediate: I hear him inhale sharply, like he didn’t expect such a strong response, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he carefully nudges the toy higher, a fraction of an inch at a time, building anticipation with every tiny shift.
A rush of want pools low in my belly, spreading outward with each pass. My fingers curl into the sofa cushion at my sides, searching for some anchor—anything to keep me from floating off into the swirl of new sensations. The tension is almost unbearable, the quiet hum of the vibrator like a heartbeat in the room. I can barely hang on. It’s all too powerful. My own breaths feel too loud, mixing with his in a chorus of ragged exhales that tell me I’m not the only one affected.
I wish I could see his face. There’s something oddly thrilling about knowing how he looks at me—knowing that he might be watching my every twitch and subtle shift. Is there a hunger in his eyes? That same longing burning in my chest? His breathing suggests yes, and the possibility makes my pulse spike.
A low rumble of sound escapes Lincoln’s throat—almost a soft, startled groan. I can’t see him, but the vibration in the air between us is unmistakable. He’s turned on. Just the thought of him struggling to stay composed while teasing me is a heady realization. It emboldens me enough to let out a breathy moan of my own when he presses the toy gently against the back of my knee, lingering for a beat longer than before.
My head tips back, resting on the arm of the sofa, and I feel my lips part, searching for air. The sensations are strong yet controlled—he’s keeping the setting low, but the softness of the contact, coupled with the slow build of tension, is almost more overwhelming than anything forceful. My toes curl at the abrupt flare of warmth racing along my nerves, and I briefly consider how much more I can take.
Lincoln must sense the shift in my body. He moves again, sliding the toy along the curve of my inner thigh, and my breath shudders out in a trembling exhale. The blindfold makes every second stretch out, makes every vibration feel sharper, more potent. In the stillness between the toy’s hum and his shallow breathing, my own heartbeat resounds like thunder in my ears.
The realization that we’re crossing a line—maybe even sprinting past it—is there, lingering in the back of my mind. But right now, it’s distant, a dull echo compared to the immediate reality of Lincoln’s careful, deliberate touch. With each brush of the toy, he coaxes a whimper or sigh from me, and in response, I hear him inhale, a quick, tight sound betraying his own strain.
The sofa creaks faintly as he shifts his weight, and suddenly I feel the warmth of his body closer to mine—his thigh maybe inches from my own. My skin tingles, uncertain whether to crave that extra inch of contact or fear it, but there’s no question about my desire: I’m drawn to him, to the heat he radiates, to the tension vibrating between us that’s so palpable I almost swear I can taste it.
A small voice in the back of my head reminds me that we’re doing this for a cover, for an act. But as Lincoln drags the toy another tantalizing inch up my leg, I know the truth: this goes beyond any mission. This is raw, unfiltered attraction, pulsing between us in each shaky breath and hitch of movement.
My eyes stay hidden behind the blindfold, but my other senses paint a vivid picture: the soft scratch of his shirt against the sofa’s upholstery, the ragged exhale that tells me he’s fighting his own mounting need, the hum of the toy that ties us both to this moment. With every passing heartbeat, I’m more certain that this isn’t just for show.