Under My Skin Ch. 01

'I am now,' I typed back with shaking fingers, and had to remind myself several times not to hold my breath. Just breathe. Relax and breathe.

I jumped again when the phone vibrated against my hand.

'Is it gone?'

I blinked for moment. It took a few seconds before I realised what he meant, but the penny finally dropped. I wasn't about to make this easy for him. 'Is what gone?' I answered.

The seconds now seemed to drag, the wait excruciating, lying there wondering if he was texting at that moment or not. Finally, the buzz.

'You know what.' Another vibration, and the photo of my bruised rib stared back at me from the phone's screen.

I acquiesced. 'Nearly.'

'Show me.'

I buried my head under my pillow and pressed my hands against my ears. What the hell was I doing? I knew what came next. Another photo of the fading bruise. And then what? Photos of what? Where could we go but down and down...

My mind was held captive with the thought of lying there on my stomach, his body covering mine, holding me down, pressed against me... The heat was overwhelming, I could feel myself begin to sweat with it. I was wet...everywhere. Damn him, damn him.

I yanked my damp nightgown up to my chest and flicked through the phone's menu until I found the camera. The first attempt was usable, though he surely wouldn't miss the edge of my cotton panties at the bottom of the photograph, the shadowy curve of the underside of my breast at the top. But I wanted him to see. Wanted to see if it affected him. If it did something to him, maybe he didn't have all the control after all.

My thumb hovered over the send button...then it was gone. Sent.

I lay, waiting.

I fell asleep, waiting.

* * * * *

The next day I was leaving a meeting when my elbow was gripped, vicelike. Skilfully manoeuvred around a corner and through a doorway, my eyes struggled to adjust to the darkened, empty meeting room. He let go of my elbow long enough to catch my wrists and press them against the wall at shoulder height. He was so near, I couldn't breathe. I could smell the soft edge of his aftershave. He leaned in, his breath hot on my ear.

"You still only sent me one."

I gulped for air and managed to whisper as defiantly as I could manage, "You didn't ask for more."

He pulled away slightly, his eyes flicking down to meet mine before sliding away again. "I had to stop myself," he said, his voice sounding slightly strangled.

"Stop yourself?" I asked, stupidly.

A hand dropped off my wrist and pressed against my ribcage, slowly caressing through the fabric of my blouse. My knees lost their strength and I had to force myself to stay standing.

"It stays longer than I thought," he said, thoughtfully, almost to himself. His eyes met mine again, searching. "You see it every day..."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded.

His thumb stroked over the spot where the bruise was fading. "Do you like it?"

This time I was certain I saw something flicker through his eyes. Uncertainty? Vulnerability? I nodded again.

Without warning, he pulled his hands away and stood back, distancing himself again. I couldn't move, and needed the wall for support.

"This isn't a good place," he said, frustration showing through in his voice. He checked his watch and twisted it on his wrist several times while staring at me as if thinking things through.

"You're free after work."

It wasn't entirely a question. But I knew how I'd answer. I nodded, and found my voice, finally. "Yes."

He leaned in again, his voice low, "I'll be waiting in my car. North corner, third from the end."

He looked back at me for a moment, his hand on the door handle, then he shut it behind him with a soft click.

I could only sag against the wall, cursing the moisture that threatened to trickle down my legs and the thrill of excitement churning in my belly.

Stupid, stupid girl.

* * * * *

The day crawled, and I was kept later than usual with a presentation deadline, but when I finally shut my computer down, it seemed that the day had just sped by. I would say it was decision time, but I knew already what my answer was. There was no going back now.

I'd never been down to the basement carpark, but I was pretty sure where the stairwell was. A few wrong turns and I finally pushed through the correct door. The smells of stale oil and engine fumes assaulted me, the air damp. I could hear the echoed rumble of a car engine pulling out on the far end of the garage, but otherwise everything was still and quiet. I'd gotten turned around in the staircase, so it took me a few moments to orient myself. I headed towards what I thought to be the north corner, the sound of my shoes on the concrete floor seeming much too loud in my ears. Maybe I'd stayed too late. Maybe he'd given up and gone home. Maybe. Tail lights flashed. Third from the end. My heart began to pound.

Of course it was a nice car. A very nice car. Understated but expensive. It matched his suits. I had to go around the car to get to the passenger door, and could only see a dim outline of him through the rear windscreen. Fuck. What was I doing here? I fumbled at the door handle, but it popped open before I could get my fingers in working order. He was leaning across the seat, pushing the door open for me. I opened the door further, very careful that it didn't knock into the next car. I smelled leather. As I slid in, my polyester skirt against the buttery softness seemed like some sort of crime. This car demanded silk, at the very least. I tried not to think about how bare skin would feel against the supple upholstery. My bare skin. Fuck.

"You came."

I what? It took me a second to understand that he just meant I'd actually showed up as agreed and not...something else. I hadn't even looked at him yet. Possibly a product of the state of denial I'd been in ever since he'd cornered me in the meeting room. This was exactly what your parents taught you never to do. I know...I was no child, but still. I turned towards him only long enough to nod, and faced back to study the stained concrete wall in front of the car.

He turned the engine on properly and reversed deftly out of the parking space. I was acutely aware of the arm he placed across my headrest.

He didn't touch me, but I could feel how near he was, my hair in its untidy bun just grazing the back of his hand. I could smell his aftershave or deodorant or whatever it was he wore. It wasn't fussy, just masculine, clean. I tried not to like it, but caught myself breathing deep through my nose. Combined with the leather, it was enough to make me salivate.

I squinted, blinded momentarily by the low sun as we reached the top of the exit ramp. I braced myself on the dashboard as we dipped out of the driveway into the street. Where we were going, I had no clue. I sat back, willing myself to breathe normally, watching him out of the corner of my eye. My peripheral vision took in the crisp white work shirt, the crease of his suit trousers at his hip, the lean muscular leg beneath the fabric, the way his shirt pulled across his broad shoulders as he changed gears. Heat flooded into my nether regions. I snapped my eyes forward again.

We drove for at least twenty minutes, my poor brain losing track of the turns we made or the direction we were going. I know I probably should've been thinking of all the horrors that could happen to me, driving away in car with a man I hardly knew. But it didn't even cross my mind. The danger was elsewhere. The danger was how far I was willing to let him take me. Which was pretty far.

He slowed the car on a dimly lit suburban street and carefully drew up to the curb, but left the engine idling. Why were we stopped here? I stared out at the glowing curtained windows of happy families.

He put his hand to his shirt collar and tugged sharply at his tie, slipping the knot free, pulling the length of it from around his neck. After folding it he just sat looking at it, as if in thought. Then, tie draped over his fingers, he dangled it in front of me.

"Put it on. Over your eyes."

My stomach lurched, but I took it from his hand nonetheless. It was silky and soft, dark grey and probably expensive. I gave him one last look before finding the middle of the slippery fabric and wrapping it over my eyes. Between the slickness of the tie and my hair, the knot at the back wasn't easy to tie. When my hands dropped back to my lap I felt a sharp tug at the back of my head. The bastard was testing the knot. Something caused a slight movement of air near my face as if he'd waved a hand in front of me to make sure I couldn't see. Behind my blindfold, colours sparked across the inside of my closed eyelids, but everything else was total blackness. The rushing sensation in my stomach had returned.

The car hummed back into life and I grabbed at the door handle as we started to move again. Some time passed...how much I have no idea. The road seemed to get rougher, gravel crunching under the tires and clinking against the underside of the car. When we did stop, the sounds of the city were gone. I heard the soft whine of a window being lowered, and wet, green smells flooded in. I leaned my head back, trying to breathe, clutching my hands tightly in my lap.

"I can take you back." He was matter-of-fact, guarded.

I shook my head, quickly reaching up to make sure the knot of my blindfold hadn't slipped. He must have thought I was about to remove it because my wrist was snagged firmly and pushed back against the seat.

"Leave it."

"I wasn't-"

The grip tightened. I shut my mouth.

His hold on my arm loosened slightly, and then let me go completely. My hand dropped with relief and a little gnawing disappointment. I could hear him shift in his seat. Being blind seemed to amplify the sounds around me, but it was incredibly frustrating not knowing what was about to happen next. I turned to face forward, desperately trying to keep my hands still and relaxed in my lap. For all that I wanted him to do something, anything, to me...I didn't want him to know how sick with nerves I was. How my heart was fluttering in my throat and my back prickled with sweat.

"Face me," he said, his voice low but unflinching.

I turned my body towards the sound of his voice as much as I could, but my knees bumped into the console, sparking pain up my leg. I reached out blindly for the dashboard to steady myself, my weight awkwardly pressing on my shoulder as I tried to do as he said.

Warm fingers slid under my knee, roughly tugging it up onto the seat between us. I could feel my skirt riding up and I could only imagine what he could see as I sat now, my legs practically open in front of him. I hated wearing sheer tights in the summer, so my legs were bare underneath my skirt. At least it meant I'd shaved my legs. Small mercy. His hand paused on my knee briefly, then was gone again.

"Just lean back," he instructed.

It was a little awkward, but I managed to find a more comfortable position for my back in the corner between the edge of the seat and the door. My knee on the seat only slid higher, exposing more leg to his watching gaze. The cool air drifting in through his window came into contact with my bare skin and I couldn't suppress a shiver.

"Do you touch yourself?"

Regardless of the fact that I was blindfolded and sitting in a compromising position, the question still hit me as...intimate. Invasive. It also sent a stab of stirring longing between my legs and I had to hold myself back from pressing my hand there through my skirt. I searched for my voice...though the truth wouldn't quite follow.

"Sometimes..."

"Just sometimes?"

My wrist was captured again and given a quick, burning twist.

"Tell me the truth," he growled.

The pounding of my pulse in my ears almost drowned him out and the heated flush that spread like wildfire over my whole body was equally distracting. What was the point of lying anyway?

"Okay. Most days..."

There was a silence, then, "Have you ever...at work?"

I could hear his voice getting hoarser, lower. So I did have some effect on him after all. This knowledge spurred me on. Foolish boldness.

"A few times...yes." My chin inched a little higher.

I thought I heard a rumble in answer. When he spoke again, his voice was flatter, as if he was restraining himself.

"Slide your skirt up," came the instruction, followed by another smarting twist of my wrist when I hesitated.

I found the hem with my free hand and pulled the fabric up towards me. It bunched around my thighs, caught underneath me.

"No...all the way up," impatient this time, dropping my arm so I could do it properly.

I pushed my foot into the floor and lifted my bottom. My skirt was soon up around my hips, my underwear most clearly on display by now. Not knowing what he was seeing was strangely freeing and humiliating at the same time. I could only be glad that the panties I'd picked that morning were one of my better pairs, not just plain, but lacy here and there, even if they were a laughable virginal white. Was he going to ask me to take them off too? I toyed with the thought of just going ahead and doing that, on my terms instead of his.

The pressure of the cloth on my eyes made me want to lean my head back, and I settled into the seat, my panty-clad private places on view and my hands with no clue what to do with themselves. The hum of need between my legs and the hot burning of my wrist was trying desperately to answer the question of what the fuck I thought I was doing.

"Show me your breasts..." he murmured. I hear him move in his seat and could only wonder if he was undressing along with me or just sitting there, impeccably dressed, watching me make an utter fool of myself.

With shaking fingers I pulled at the buttons on my blouse, only able to bring myself to undo the top few, the fabric gaping enough that he should be able to see my bra beneath. When I dropped my hands again, I could swear I felt gentle tugs of my shirt being pulled open wider. But the caressing hand didn't come. Was that what I was waiting for? Did I really expect a soft touch when all he'd offered so far was pain?

"How do you usually make yourself come?"

This time the question was heard by my whole body and while I managed to bite back the moan that attempted to force its way out of my chest, my hips arched slightly off the seat in response. Could words alone have such a powerful effect? The aching came in waves, the suddenness of it almost painful, like a swimmer's cramp.

How did I usually do it? I had to think about it very slowly, very carefully as if I was drugged and taking mental steps through treacle. "I...I touch my breasts first."

"Do it...now."

Tentative at first, but soon pulled in by the swirling in my head, I pressed my hands against my breasts through my shirt, the nipples already springing up and pebble-hard against my palms. My earlier shyness swiftly evaporating, I tugged at the few remaining buttons of my blouse and bared my lace-covered breasts to the cool night air.

"And then...?" he patiently, but tinged with strain.

Was he hard? Was what I felt between my legs the same as he felt with his dick? What was it about this that he was getting off on? The watching? Me being at his mercy? Did it matter?

My voice was nowhere to be found, so I just showed him, my hand drifting between my legs and pressing against the soaking dampness of my underwear. The buzz of need that had been building ever since the stationary cupboard could no longer be ignored, and I couldn't slow my fingers as they pressed where I ached to be fucked, and ground the heel of my palm against the throbbing nub of my clit. Could I go beneath the panties? Did he want that?

I froze, trying hard to slow my breathing and pull myself back from the precipice edge of that wild feeling.

"What do you want me to do?" I managed to whimper, cursing the shakiness and breathiness of my voice.

Did I hear a growl?

He inhaled more audibly. Then, "What do you want to do?"

What did I want to do? I wanted to be held down and fucked until I screamed, but could I say that? Even if I begged for it, would I get it? That was not the answer he was looking for, except to deny it, of that I was sure.

But there was another truth, a deeper one. Admitting it meant putting it in his hands. I took a deep breath before the plunge. What did I want to do...?

"Whatever you want. I want...whatever you want."

Silence, for what felt like an eternity. I nearly tore the blindfold off in my need to know. My ears strained, and eventually I could make out the hoarse sound of his breathing. Even with the window open it felt incredibly hot in the car. I wasn't expecting the hand at my throat, pressing me against the edge of the car seat.

His voice came from somewhere close to my ear.

"Don't fuck with me."

I lifted my chin, gulping for air. "I'm not..." I wasn't.

"I'll ask again...what do you want to do?"

"I told you...whatever you want." I waited, trembling, his thumb digging in sharply along the line of my jaw, sparks going off in my mind with all the things he might actually want. My imagination ran into a wall...this wasn't anything I'd ever prepared for.

He must have decided to give me the benefit of the doubt this time because his grip slackened, and he dropped his hand from my neck. Not before trailing his fingers along the place he'd first marked me.

"Give me your panties."

Oh god. Okay. So I was going to sit there with my skirt hiked up to heaven with my whole pussy on show to him? I tried to ignore the increased flood of wetness that particular thought caused me as I hitched my bottom off the seat and fumbled beneath the bunched folds of my skirt for the waistband. I steeled myself, and tugged them down, pausing just before I bared all to him. Fuck it. I pulled them down over my knees, kicking off my shoes so I could slip the damp lacy fabric over my feet. I sat back and instantly fell in love with the feel of the soft, warm leather against my skin. For a second I worried that I'd make a mess of it, then realised I really didn't care...it just felt that good.

I held the panties, bunched in my hand. I didn't know exactly where he was or where to put them.

"Over here," he growled, and I thrust my intimate parcel towards his voice and dropped them as if they'd scalded me.

I only heard a soft grunt in reply and could only imagine what the hell he wanted them for.

I was facing forward again, my knees clinging together despite my earlier bravado. I knew it couldn't last for long, and sure enough, warm fingers wound their way behind the back of my knee once again and dragged me bodily to face him. I could feel my legs trembling, working against their natural instinct to protect the vulnerable centre of my body. The hand lingered this time, and I was glad of the blindfold...it hid the blush steadily rising up my cheeks. The only word for what I was feeling was mortification. The sort of embarrassment you felt you could possibly die from. I could almost feel his eyes on me, slowly evaluating, savouring their prize. I wasn't shaved or waxed or anything fancy, though by now I wished I'd only had the foresight to prepare. My hands twitched at my sides, desperate to cover myself, but I didn't dare. My wrist still ached from my last reprimand.

Cool air from the open window found its way to the wetness between my legs, and I couldn't repress a shiver. Of cold or excitement I couldn't tell. My whole body was just one tightly wound spring, tense with dread or anticipation...again, I wasn't sure which.

The silence from his side of the car was starting to get to me. I could occasionally hear him breathing, but other than the quiet night sounds from outside the car, my ears were filled with the rush and thud of my own heart pounding like thunder in my ears.