Page 81 of Convict's Game

He took something from his pocket then brushed back my hair. Material landed over my eyes, and I touched my face to the blindfold he tied on.

“You make good use of the skeleton bandannas I always carry. Listen up. I know this place is a lot to take in. I also know you’re wound up so tight that if I touch you, you’re going to come so hard. So tell me, should I take you home, or do you want to play?”

Need laced his tone. I squirmed on the spot.

“Tell me what you want,” I asked.

“To find the nearest open place and fuck you in it. People will see. I won’t let anyone touch you.”

The thrill that had been building under my skin cascaded through me in an electric rush. I reached for him, but he caught my hands and linked them at the small of my back.

“Choose, Mila.”

“Here.”

“Good girl.”

He guided me deeper into the club, through the sounds of people fucking. Moans and gasps passed us, people coming or getting close, others encouraging them. Then we stopped.

A dizzying rush of hyperawareness chased my need as I waited to be touched. Anyone could be watching me. After so many years of playing the perfect granddaughter, I couldn’t have done this without the blindfold. I didn’t kid myself that it truly disguised me, but it stopped me from seeing others, and somehow that made it okay.

Convict stroked into my hairline at the back of my neck and angled my head to receive his kiss. “Hold the bar.”

He brought my hands down to a waist-height padded barrier. Then he wrenched at the front of my dress so my breasts spilled free. I gasped in shock, but it soon turned into a moan when his hands and mouth played and sucked. He teased my nipples until both hardened, then kissed my lips again.

“How does it feel to know every man and woman in this room is staring at your perfect tits, Mila?”

I shook my head, unable to answer. I didn’t even try to imagine myself, bare boobs out and my strapless dress around my waist.

“They wish they could get their hands on you. Should I let them?”

“No!”

“Damn right.”

With gentle pressure, Convict guided me to bend forward then shifted something over me. It clicked beside my head, and I flexed against a restraining bar, locked over my hands and neck.

I was in the stocks, a frame with a gap for head and hands. I was otherwise trapped and entirely at the mercy of whoever wanted to touch me.

Blindfolded, I’d never know.

Convict’s satisfied laugh told me he was behind me. Slowly, he inched the hem of my dress up over my backside. “I hope you aren’t attached to this underwear.”

He snapped the straps then kicked my feet apart. Cool air touched me between my thighs, and I gripped the padded bar, loving and hating the fact I couldn’t see in equal measures. But I could feel and I could hear. The rustle of his clothing. The graze of his touch over my bare cheeks.

I waited for humiliation to creep in. It didn’t. Only a growing need for him to fuck me.

He didn’t keep me waiting to start playing. Yet the first touch to my core wasn’t his dick. It was his tongue. With his fingers, he spread me open and lapped me from behind, his hot tongue sliding into me.

I made an ungodly sound of pleasure and backed into the touch, though the stocks restricted my movement. Convict rumbled approval against my body and thrust his tongue again, pressing on somewhere inside me that caused a gush of wetness.

“Can’t believe I haven’t done this until now,” he groaned.

While he ate me out, he toyed with my clit, and I whimpered, so wound up from the events of the night. The strip show, the way he’d kissed me when he came back from his meeting, the visual of people having sex around us, and my exposure.

He gave me no peace. Each lick and suck perfectly timed to drive me insane. So much I could hardly bear it.

“I need you,” I begged.