“Into surprises, hmm?” I drawl teasingly, but my stomach is tight with anticipation.
“Mmm.”
“Close your eyes,” I command, breathing hard.
“That’s the spirit.” He closes his eyes. I draw the silk around his face, tying the scarf securely behind his head, careful not to catch his hair, but I don’t think he’s the sort to complain even if I did. I push him down on the bed.
Ben sighs happily, stretching out languidly, like he has no bones, practically feline. I kiss the inside of his wrist, and so begins my project. He’s absolutely perfect, lying there all unabashed and beautiful. And the way he looks at me, so trusting, thrills me to the core. Better give the man what he wants, and then some.
I wrap and wrap and wrap, making artwork out of Ben. Around his wrists. Around the dark wooden slats of the headboard.
Left wrist—pink. Right wrist—orange.
While I work on him, I pause every so often to tease his body with a rogue kiss, nip, scratch. He groans and squirms.
“Keep going,” Ben urges. Mussed up hair falls over his blindfold. The angles of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, are highlighted by the snowy daylight. He quivers like a man unraveling.
When his breath catches as I circle and tweak a nipple, I move south to draw his seeping cock into my mouth. Shuddering with pleasure, he shifts beneath me, and I move down, past his balls, to trace the delicate skin of his inner thigh, the blue veins beneath.
Left ankle—green. Right ankle—blue.
God, Ben’s a sight, trussed up and blindfolded and unmoving.
Ben’s silent now, legs splayed to my specifications. I trace his warm stomach, rising and falling in response to my mouth, then the line of his rib cage, savoring the vision of him. He jumps slightly, his body taut, cock still rigid.
“Fucking hot,” I say, awed.
He’s a web of colors now, a tapestry caught against the dark wood bed frame, the sweep of crimson beneath him, the midnight blue of his blindfold. His blond hair is fanned out on the sky-blue pillowcase. And I reach for my phone and take a picture, because something so fucking impressive needs to be caught in time beyond my memory. After all, he’s my first craft project.
And then I begin to tease my way up his inner thigh as he shudders. I reach for the lube, and soon it’s the taste of Ben in my mouth and he’s gasping. Then one finger’s inside him and he groans with pleasure.
“Like that, huh?” I drawl, my voice low. His reward equals two fingers teasing him relentlessly.
“Oh God,” he manages.
“Shh…” I tell him, intrigued to know if he can be quiet when he’s so turned on. “Quiet.”
I’m fit to burst myself, watching him pale against warm sheets with the slashes of colors on his limbs, and that does something to me. Then I track a teasing, meandering path from his cock to his mouth as he practically purrs, twisting beneath me, our skin on fire as we touch.
When I kiss him hard, he gasps. After a condom, I press my cock in, unrelenting and without mercy, and his back arches as I dig my fingers into his twisting hips to keep him from bucking. And we move together, sob together, come together in a fit of urgency and longing and something that promises to be so much more, and fuck, he trusts me to do this thing to him and I’m lost in the ecstasy of Ben and me and this cascade of colors.
Eventually, we come back to our senses. Or mostly.
There’s trembling and it takes me a moment—it’s me that’s shaking, from exertion, from the rawness of being together with Ben. For letting him mean so much to me already. Like some core part of me recognizes something brilliant in him, along with the hot and sexy part. It must be something like intuition, like instinct, more reliable than my brain. But right now, it’s some other part that’s taken charge, my heart hammering away. Blissed out, I hold him tight. And I can’t remember a time before Ben, or ever wanting someone so much. I want to live in this moment forever.
I lift my head from where I’d buried it against his neck, brushing my mouth against his. The navy blindfold still covers his eyes. At last I shift it out of the way to restore his sight.
“Mmm…” Ben takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, then he absorbs the sight of the ad hoc bindings I’d made with his colorful yarn and his mystery and vulnerability when he gave himself over entirely to me.
A slow smile curls his lips, like dawn breaking over some magnificent vista, as he takes in what I’ve done.
“I suppose I’ll let you talk now…” I tease softly, kissing him reverently before he has a chance to respond.
“Oh, good.” Ben admires the colorful yarn securing him to the bed. “If you’re planning on keeping me as your prisoner, I’m going to have needs. Like shortbread, for example.”
“What if I said there’s a panic in your motherland ’cause there’s no more shortbread to be had?” I retort.
“It’s not all Walker’s, mate. Shortbread from airports, pfft. We bake, you know.”
