She shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll follow the rules you set for the activity. I can take direction.”
She couldn’t tell if the noise he made was an under-the-breath groan or a grunt of approval, but he returned to the exercise. His fingertips slid down the side of her neck and marked a whisper-light path across her throat that had her holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut beneath the blindfold. Without consciously deciding to do so, she tilted her head back, giving him better access.
He traced over the line of her collarbone, ever so softly, but so damn effective. It was as if each brush of skin pressed a button on her circuit board, lighting up places that had long gone dim. Delicate threads of warmth traveled down from the press of his fingers to the curve of her breasts, settling right into her quickly hardening nipples.
Dark thoughts of Jace moving his hands lower, slipping beneath the neckline of her dress and cupping her breasts in front of all these people had liquid heat gathering between her thighs. His touch would be firm, confident. He wouldn’t even care that others were watching. He’d just touch her however he pleased. And she’d let him.
She bit her lip. Stop. This is Jace.
She crossed her legs more tightly together.
Even if she could forgive him for how he’d treated her all those years ago, she definitely could never risk being around him again. Not as a friend, and certainly not as anything more. When he’d pushed her away, her entire existence had folded in on itself. Not before or since had she ever fallen for anyone that hard—let a person’s place in her world define if life was worth living or not. It had been stupid. And dangerous. She’d spiraled into the pit of her depression so fast, she’d gotten whiplash.
She knew she wasn’t that bad off anymore. She had taken steps to work with those damaged parts of her makeup. But she also knew Jace being near was like setting heroin in front of a recovering addict. She needed to run in the other direction.
Now if she could just convince her hormones of that.
Jace’s voice broke through the quiet of the room. “If you feel comfortable doing so, you can use the silk scarf to bind your partner’s hands above their head, so they can experience letting go of even more control. Then, you can move to touching the lower half. Keep the touch light and easy.”
Evan could see a bit of movement through the shadow of the mask, and a warm hand grasped her wrist. “Evan, sit up straighter. I’m going to bind your hands behind the chair.”
“Yes, si— I mean, sure.”
Sir? Where the hell had that come from? It’d slipped off her tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world to call him. Must’ve been that authoritative tone he kept using with her. Man, she needed more sleep. She was getting loopy.
Jace made quick work of securing her hands behind the chair. The binding was loose, but the effect potent nonetheless. Her heartbeat picked up speed. She’d never considered herself a control freak, but she’d also learned very early on not to trust anyone but herself. She wet her lips, reminding herself that they were in front of an audience. That this was completely harmless.
A warm palm ran along the back of her calf as Jace lifted her leg from the crossed position and set her foot on the floor. Goose bumps prickled her skin. Okay, maybe not completely harmless. Her libido was under a full-frontal assault.
She could picture him there, kneeling in front of her, knowing he could do whatever he wanted because her hands were tied. He could nudge her knees apart, slide her dress up her thighs, and run his tongue along the outside of her already damp panties. She sucked in a ragged breath. Shit. She needed to stop the fantasy reel before she started panting.
A new vibrator was definitely coming home with her tonight. Depriving herself this long had her on the verge of doing something stupid, like whispering to Jace to meet her in the maid’s closet after the workshop.
And making that kind of mistake would ruin everything she’d worked for.
Not. An. Option.
* * *
Jace was going to fucking lose it. He hadn’t planned for this exercise to go on very long, but there was no way he could turn around and face the audience at the moment. Evan’s lightning-quick physical responses and eagerness to follow instruction had his cock swelling painfully against the zipper of his dress pants.
She’d almost called him sir for the love of God. What was she trying to do? Kill him?
He’d known immediately that doing this exercise with her would be tough, but he thought it’d be because of the old guilt of knowing what had happened the last time he’d really touched her. But hell, he couldn’t even spell the word guilt if he tried at the moment.
All he could think about was how tempting those hard little nipples looked pressed up against the pale blue cotton of her dress. How silky the skin of her legs felt against his hands as he slowly drew his fingers up and down her calves. And how fucking hot she looked blindfolded and bound for him.
No. Not for him. She was someone else’s. He needed to keep that at the forefront of his mind. Shit. He closed his eyes and tried to block out what was happening—focus on something else. War. Sick puppies. Female bodybuilders. Anything that would get the blood flowing back to his brain and out of his throbbing dick.
Because he could not tread in this territory. This was Evangeline—not some chick he could haul off to his hotel room, fuck, and leave. And beyond that, he didn’t mess with other people’s women—not without permission. He’d been on the receiving end of that equation before and refused to inflict that on someone else.
He moved his hands to her knees, hoping those wouldn’t be as tempting as the soft flesh on her legs. But when he grasped them, he felt the little give of her thighs, the slight parting, and he had to bite back a deep groan.
He tried to picture Evan the very first time he’d met her when she was all bones and wide eyes—eyes way too jaded for a fifteen-year-old. But the image wouldn’t appear. All he could think about was the gorgeous woman who sat before him. A woman who probably hated him, who couldn’t even bear to have lunch with him.
He swallowed hard and, using his thumbs, drew tiny circles on the sides of her knees. Counting the rotations as he went, praying it would refocus him. Evan adjusted in her seat a bit and her knees parted enough for him to glimpse the lacey white panties underneath. And holy shit—the view was only half the torture. The sweet, hot scent of female arousal wrapped around Jace like a fist.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and his grip tightened on her. Get up, moron! End the exercise. But instead of listening to the shouting voice of reason in his head, he found his hands inching higher, brushing the tops and insides of her lower thighs, careful not to hit the jellyfish stings. Her legs quivered beneath his touch.