This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, and events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Listen to Me © 2012 by Alessia Brio
Cover art © 2012 by Alessia Brio
All digital rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
A Purple Prosaic Production
Smashwords edition
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License Notes
This free book is intended for the personal enjoyment of its readers, may they be legion. It may be copied, shared, and freely posted as long as it is not altered in any way. It may not, under any circumstances, be sold or used in trade. To do so is in violation of its copyright.
She's standing there—by the window—with her back to the room, silhouetted by the moonlight filtering through the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. I'm sure she hears me enter, but she doesn't turn around. Closing the heavy door behind me, I turn the dead bolt, and she flinches to the snick of it.
We've planned this, but she's still nervous. I can tell. Although she's perfectly still, I can read the apprehension it in the set of her shoulders. A little fear won't hurt. In fact, it'll probably help. I cross the room in four long strides, tossing my shoulder bag on the king-sized bed in passing, and I stand very close to her with my hands clasped behind my back.
Leaning forward so that just my breasts brush against her back, I bury my nose in her hair and inhale deeply. Her thick, dark locks smell like rain—warm, summer rain tinged with the cloying scent of honeysuckle blossoms. I lift her hair away from her neck and whisper into the skin just below her ear, "Listen to me." She shivers to the husky tone of my voice, the sensation of my breath. "Are you ready for this?"
In response, she drops her head back against my shoulder and sighs—half exhalation, half 'Yes' ... and all surrender. I smile. It's a devilish little grin, full of the most exquisite potential. Tonight will be well worth the months of waiting.
I grasp each of her arms from where they're folded against her chest and smooth them to her sides. Her neck and shoulders tense, and I take a little time to massage them. Not much, though. I'm impatient for her skin.
When she's relaxed a little bit, I reach around her body to unbutton and remove her blouse. Her creamy skin glows in the silvery light, and she gasps as I nibble on her bare shoulders. My hands continue to disrobe her as my mouth enjoys the salty-sweet taste of her flesh. When her jeans puddle around her ankles, she steps out of them.
"Don't move," I caution, crossing the room to fetch my bag. The zipper is loud against the backdrop of the night, and I pull it very slowly—savoring her fear-tinged curiosity. She starts to turn around, but stops when I say, "No." I extract two items, placing them on the corner of the bed, and grab a third.
Returning to her, I trail the silk scarf across her ass and up her spine. A blush suffuses her skin. I can feel it rather than see it—a slight increase in the surface temperature, a slight shift in her scent. When I drape the scarf over her eyes, she giggles nervously.
"Listen to me. Are you ready for this?" I ask as I fold it over her eyes and knot it at the back of her head.
She just whimpers. The sound of it stokes me, and I back away from her long enough to undress myself. She cocks her head to the side, listening—her other senses beginning to heighten due to the loss of vision. I can tell she's fighting the urge to turn but resists.
Grabbing the items I'd taken from my bag, I stand before her and hold them under her nose. "What do you smell, kitten?"
She inhales then groans softly, but doesn't speak. I grasp one wrist and buckle a black leather cuff around it. "Are you ready for this?"
"Please," she whispers, offering her other wrist to be cuffed. "Please."
I push her hand away and press my bare body to hers. Warm, almost feverish, skin greets me from shoulder to thigh. She searches for my mouth—blindly—with her own, but I do not let her catch it. Her desperation amuses me. Her body excites me. Her submission thrills me.
Circling her, I cuff the other wrist and join the two behind her back with a metal clamp. The bonds pull her shoulders back and lift her breasts. Her nipples are taut—eager for my attentions. I lead her toward the sofa, pausing to push the small coffee table out of the way.
She hesitates then takes the tiniest of steps, hampered by both her lack of vision and inability to balance. When we reach the sofa, I position myself against the back and pull her down so that she's sitting in front of me, between my legs. I can feel the heavy leather cuffs against my bare mons and the wiggle of her fingers when she realizes where her hands rest.
"Nice," I growl into her hair, pulling her backward until she's lying against my chest. Her back arches toward the ceiling, and she turns her head toward mine. This time, I let her kiss me—and the taste of her lips coupled with the movement of her fingers brings a surge of wetness. She feels it, too, and chuckles softly into my mouth.
Breaking the kiss—lest I get lost in the pleasure she's giving me—I snake my arms through hers and wrap them around her waist to caress her skin. She holds her breath, waiting for me to move toward either her nipples or her pussy. I do both—abruptly—and she voices her appreciation.
"Hush!" I scold, giving her pussy a slap and twisting a nipple. "You'll wake the neighbors." She doesn't hear me, though. She's in the zone.
With her feet planted on the floor, she pushes her hips upward in search of my hand, lifting her ass off the sofa and crushing my chest with her shoulders. I release her nipple and allow both hands to settle between her legs, one focusing on her clit while the other dips deeper to slide a couple fingers into her wet cunt.
The scent of her arousal permeates my mind, and I want to taste her—to drive her crazy with my tongue. But that's too easy, too fast—for both of us. This rendezvous requires at least a little patience. Plus, I'm waiting for something.
She bucks against my hands, trying to prolong the contact, but I'm not ready for her to come. Not yet. When I move both hands to her tits, her fervor calms a bit and she seems to concentrate on the sensations—moaning softly. A light sheen of sweat coats her body. It catches the moonlight.
Once she's backed away from the edge, I feel her fingers exploring my pussy and I allow her to play for a while before returning one of my hands to her sex. I take her back to the edge, then again calm her. Twice. She's writhing and gasping and begging me to let her come, but I'm still not ready.
I hear a small noise and look up to find him leaning against the doorway, watching us. She hasn't noticed, being unable to see and too lost in her own pleasure to hear him.
Now, I'm ready.
"Be still now," I say and wait for her to comply, delivering another slap to her pussy to emphasize my words. "Listen to me. We have company. Are you ready for this?"
# # #
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Electronic publishing has gone a long way toward lessening the layers between authors and readers. This helps to ensure more of the money readers pay for books actually reaches the authors, which is a very good thing. Still, there are middlemen nibbling—sometimes taking big bites—of the sale price: vendors and payment processors. Some even censor the content they allow to be sold. That pisses me off royally, and it should piss you off, too.
I respect the law, and I will never attempt to sell erotica that violates it. I do not, however, respect the imposition of someone else's values on my artistic endeavors. Thus, to ensure you have access to all of my available publications, I encourage you to buy my books directly from www.PurpleProsaic.com
I realize it's convenient to one-stop shop from megastores, and I realize it's a hassle to create accounts for multiple sites. However, please listen to the authors you enjoy reading and make your purchases from the sites they endorse. Not only is it a better way to support your favorite authors, but it also sends a message to those meddling middlemen that you do not condone their arbitrary censorship. Thank you.
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About the Author
1Take one part Appalachian redneck, one part aging wet dream, and one part filthy-minded wordsmith. Mix well and serve with chocolate-covered cherries. There you have the one and only Alessia Brio.
Alessia writes all colors and flavors of erotica, from heterosexual to ménage to same sex, and from twisted to humorous to deeply touching. Sometimes, usually by accident, it even qualifies as Romance (with a capital "R").
Her work has earned her critical acclaim in the form of an EPIC eBook Award for Best Erotica (fine flickering hungers), two EPIC eBook Awards for Best Erotica Anthology (Coming Together: Against the Odds and Coming Together: Into the Light), a Romantic Times Top Pick (Coming Together: For the Cure), and two Next Generation Indie Book Awards for Best Erotica (Coming Together: For the Cure and Squeeze Play with partner, Will Belegon) in addition to a plethora of glowing online reviews.
Since 2005, Alessia has also been the driving force behind the Coming Together erotica series. Each title in this series benefits a specific charity. Please check out the site at www.the-erotic-cocktail.com and support it by purchasing a title or three. You'll be doing good while being bad!
The Internet is both Alessia's office and her playground. She can be found online at various social networking sites:
http://www.twitter.com/Alessia_Brio
https://www.facebook.com/brio.alessia
https://www.facebook.com/purple.prosaic.llc