Page 10

Her fingertips catch the lace of my thigh-high stockings, and she makes a wounded sound in the back of her throat.

“It pains me that you’re going to have to take this off,” Jo murmurs, her voice dropping into a hungry whisper as her thumb strokes the sliver of bare thigh above the lace. “You are a vision in this skirt, Alexandra. A lethal peril to my sanity.”

Her hands leave my thighs, drifting higher. Her thumbs trace the swell of my cleavage where the silk camisole dips low. She tracks upward, mapping my collarbones, before sliding up the column of my neck. Her hand wraps around my throat, finding my racing pulse and resting her thumb there for a fleeting second—letting me feel how completely she has me captured. Then, it slides to the back of my head. Her fingers tangle deep in my hair, gripping the roots. She pulls with enough possessive force to tilt my head and part my lips in a breathless gasp. Jo’s mouth crashes down on mine. I melt into her, anchoring myself to the beautiful beast that caught me in the dark.

My hands slide down from her waist, palms skimming over smooth fabric. I recognize the fluid glide of a silk robe. My fingers travel lower, slipping past the hem to cup the firm curves of her ass. The kiss deepens. I take a slow step backward, trying to drag her with me toward the door.

Jo breaks the kiss, catching my hips to halt my momentum. “Nuh-uh,” she murmurs, her breath ghosting over my damp lips. “Not so fast, love.”

My lower lip juts out in a dramatic pout.

Jo’s thumbs stroke my hips. “It’s my anniversary too, you know,” she reminds me. Her mouth brushes the corner of mine, then my cheek, then the edge of the mask. “And I would very much like my fiancée to strip for me.”

It’s unfair how easily one instruction from her can turn my knees to water. I tilt my head, an indulgent smile spreading across my lips.

“Put on some music.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Her hands slip away from my waist. A few seconds of rustling, the click of her phone, and a sultry, low-tempo playlist fills the room. The volume is perfect: loud enough to move to, quiet enough that I still hear the mattress dip as Jo sits on the bed.

Letting the music dictate my pace, I take small, measured side steps, swaying my hips to the rhythm. The stilettos sink a little deeper into the rug with each shift of my weight. I reach for the hem of my camisole, hooking my fingers under the fabric. I drag it upward, taking extra care as I pull it over my head, not to snag the blindfold. Once it’s free, I bunch the silk in my fist and toss it in the direction of the bed.

“Perfect aim,” Jo praises, her voice rough.

I turn my back to her and work the zipper down. I have to wriggle my hips, a less-than-graceful shimmy that almost breaks the spell. For a second I am back in my Halloween costume, the leather pants that refused to come off, both of us laughing. The memory threatens a giggle. I swallow it, keep my spine straight, keep the sway going. The skirt finally yields. All I have left is the black lace lingerie set, the thigh-high stockings, and my stilettos. And I know better than to take them off yet.

“You’re stunning, Alexandra,” Jo says. “The way you move. That mouth. Those heels.”

Still swaying to the music, I let my hands drift over my body the way hers would: over the swell of my breasts, down the plane of my stomach, tracing the lace.

“I wish I could see you,” I tell her, voice a little unsteady.

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” Jo replies, her voice lower now, already affected. “I’m untying my robe.”

I take another small step backward, and my shoulders bump the door. I let it ground me, pressing my back flush against it.

“God, you are so incredibly sexy,” Jo continues, her voice a hypnotic drawl over the music. “I’m sliding my hand down.” A pause, a soft inhale. “I’m so wet, babe.”

My breath hitches. I bring one hand up to cup my breast, my thumb brushing over the lace, while my other hand slides lower in perfect synchronization with her words. I press over the damp lace and listen to Jo describe what she’s doing to herself while she watches me. The music, her voice, and the slow drag of my fingers fill the space between us.

A moan escapes Jo’s lips, piercing straight through me. I can’t do this from across the room anymore. I slide down the door until my knees meet the rug. On all fours, I let the sound of her breathing guide my prowl toward the bed.

My hands sweep through the empty air until my fingertips brush her ankle. I lower my head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her toes, trailing my lips over the arch of her foot. I let my mouth travel upward, kissing the curve of her ankle, my hands smoothing up the line of her calf. Behind her knee, I linger, biting the sensitive crease until her thigh twitches.

Jo gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair. Taking advantage of her distraction, I slide my hands under her calf and lift her leg, hooking it over my shoulder. The mattress dips as Jo scoots lower on the bed, shifting her hips to the very edge to meet me.

Her scent hits me full force—warm and musky— and my mouth waters. I kiss higher along the inner thigh, nipping and licking. The heat radiating from her skin is a magnet, drawing me closer until my lips brush the damp edge of her panties. I bury my nose against the soaked lace and breathe her in like I need it to live. My head spins. If I could bottle this scent and wear it as my signature perfume, I would happily do so for the rest of my life.

“You smell incredible,” I murmur, my breath ghosting over her skin. “Forget the puzzles and the clues… I could have tracked you across the city just by following this.”

A breathless, slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of Jo. “God, you are so cheesy.”

“You love it,” I tease, my lips curving into a smirk.

I drag my tongue over the lace, slow and firm, tasting her through it. Jo’s hips buck upward with a sharp cry. I follow the motion, opening my mouth to catch the damp fabric and the swollen clit beneath it, biting down with enough pressure to make the Big Bad Wolf lose her mind.

My hands roam the length of her legs, palms gliding over the taut muscle of her thighs, the flare of her hips, caressing every inch while my mouth stays busy. I nuzzle deeper, nose and tongue working the soaked fabric in slow, greedy strokes. The music pulses around us, drowned out by the sounds tearing from Jo’s throat.