Page 16 of Into the Blue

Men are so easy.

As a second point to this list of reasons why I underestimated my abilities: it only took three days to settle myself deep in Blue’s mind.

On the other hand, I did have him embedded in my thoughts too.

Far more than I’d like.

Yes, everything depended on this job, but I was finding it hard to separate the work hours from not work hours.

And dammit, he had ruined sex for me. Just one night with him and not a single toy in my drawer could get me close to the feeling I had in his possession.

On that vein alone, I wanted to taunt him.

Just like my orgasm that was evading me farther and farther the longer I was without his touch—he would wait for the time with me he wanted.

“Been busy?” He asks and I chuckle internally.Hurts, don’t it?

Each night, I felt his energy barreling into me—up on the pole, across the floor, even the break room. My experience was all I had to fall back on to keep me unbothered and present in my tasks at work. It was like a warmth that held weight unlike any I’ve felt before. If I believed in magic, I would suspect he had something like it to press you without having to be close.

In this room now, I feel it—feel him.

My baser self wants me to present myself like a feast so I can feel what I felt before. But my more rational self knows, if I can just—for a moment—get my bearings, I can manipulate the situation how I need to.

Men are so easy.

Blue is a man.

“Thankfully,” is how I respond as I trail a hand up my thigh to the garter clip that holds the stocking I’m wearing tonight and open it.

He sucks his teeth, a sign of displeasure though he still sits on the loveseat. He’s not making a move and the restraint is evident in how his angular jaw ticks.

The stocking is quick to relax down toward my calf. “Could you help me with these? They’re driving me crazy.”

His eyes follow the line of my legs to my feet and then back up again.

Come on, Blue. Move when I say because I’m the one in control now.

He just leans back in his seat—half shadow, half man—with the kind of calm that screams predator, and I almost forget what I came here to do, again. His energy is begging me to fold under it, give him whathewants.

I double down in resisting just that.

A few seconds pass before I entice a little more in opening the other garter clip and the second stocking rolls down my leg.

He’s up out of his seat then, taking long strides to get to me quickly. The man smells like sandalwood and sin. A slow burning scent, one that doesn’t beg for attention but leaves its memory to haunt you long after he’s gone.

Like him.

He watches me, strong arms stretching against his sleeves, tattooed fingers clenching in the moody blue lighting. Calculated. Dangerous. Beautiful in the way a knife is beautiful right before it ruins everything.

Or simply changes the way you think about pleasure.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he remarks and it feels like he’s making a point before kneeling in front of the bed. He rolls one stocking down with slow movements, lingering against the smooth skin of my calf. I fight the shiver from the heat his touch leaves behind.

His voice is the kind that curls around your spine and tells your survival instinct to sit the hell down. I hate how easily I want to let it.

“I’m thinking…” I hedge.

He looks up at me from where he kneels. “’Bout what?”