Blind Carnival

A Milder Alternative

"John."

She shifts and sits up on her knees.

"Yes, Liv?" he asks and jerks off his tee.

She's momentarily distracted his chest. Thank you all deities in the universe for this gift! Maybe for someone it might be too much - too wide, too heavy, too much coarse black hair - but she fancies it so much that she has to shake her head slightly to concentrate. Seriously, he needs a tattoo on his pectoral muscle saying My eyes are up here, Liv.

She finally clears her throat and asks, "I know you suggested handcuffs, but... What do you think of a blindfold?"

He freezes, and his eyes darken to a Yale blue shade.

"Blindfold?" He's raspy.

"You know, small steps and such? That is rather tame, but I've always wanted to try it."

She moves to him on the bed, and splays her hands on his chest. Goodness. Olivia's suddenly so turned on that her head swims.

He gulps - his throat bobs - and then he nods. It's not the first time he's reached this level of randiness that he can't even talk and just lets her lead. She points to the head of the bed, and he crawls up to the headboard. She dashes into her walk-in closet, rummages through her accessories box, and brings back her favourite silk chiffon McQueen scarf. It's Navy blue, has some sort of geometrical pattern, looks almost like a beehive, or chainmail.

On her bed she finds a very eager bloke, his lower half under the duvet, and she assumes... starkers. Wow, that was quick. A rather prominent hillock is tenting the duvet.

She comes up to the head of the bed, and he's watching her silently. The scarf lies across his eyes, and she catches her last glimpse of the blue irises before they're covered, and he leans forward a bit to let her tie it at the back of his head.

She doesn't know what it's doing for him, but she can assert that the amount of endorphins rushing into her bloodstream is off the charts. Because he can't see her.

Her oversized brain is analysing the situation. It's a well known fact that if you deprive a person of one sense, others will be sharper. Thus, his hearing, and his sense of smell, and touch - that is if she allows him to touch - will be heightened. He'll be more focused... while she'll be more relaxed. Because - and she repeats it to herself - he can't see her.

She shakes off the robe and climbs on the bed. He turns his head towards her.

"How's it going?" she asks.

Her throat is choked. His lips twitch.

"Quite well."

"What does it feel like?"

"Currently–" One black eyebrow crawls up from under her scarf. "Lonely."

She giggles and moves closer. And then she picks up a corner of the duvet and gently pulls. He turns again, to face her, trying to guess where she is. His fingers twitch on the sheet, and he lifts his hand. She tsk-tsks, and grabbing around his wrist she lowers his hand back on the bed. He complies, and she settles, sitting on her heels.

He's a bit tense, and she realises he's listening attentively. That's so hot that she squirms. And then she stretches her hand and brushes the tips of her fingers down his sternum, where the hair is the thickest. She can actually see the shudder that runs through his body.

"Liv..." he breathes out, and she leans and presses her lips to his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

She moves carefully, so he can't guess what she's doing, and this time her fingers stroke his thigh. This trick earns her a hissed inhale from him. His lips part, and he's obviously forgotten that he was going to say something.