Read Online Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) by Nikki Sloane - Free Book Online
Authors: Nikki Sloane
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was aware of my surroundings. The electronic chime sounded on the front door, and heavy footsteps pounded in.
“Hey,” a male voice said. “Did Silas come by?”
“Hey, Johnny. Yeah, he’s in the back stall with a customer.”
We both froze, Silas’s cock buried halfway down my throat. His hands tensed.
“Shit,” the voice muttered. “He’s got the curtain pulled. I was hoping to watch him work.”
Silas withdrew from my mouth, and tucked himself uncomfortably back in his pants. “Shit, that’s the owner,” he whispered.
I wanted to giggle. I was thirty years old, and felt like we’d just been caught by his parents. He climbed off the chair and retrieved his shirt, tossing my bra back at me. I didn’t put it on, choosing instead to watch his broad, muscle-bound back as he tugged his shirt over his head.
His gray eyes flared when he turned and saw I was still topless. “You need help?”
I shook my head and put the bra on, gingerly sliding the strap over the bandage. My shirt was in Silas’s hands, and when I reached for it, he pulled back.
“This is a pause.” His expression was deadly serious. “We’re picking up where we left off as soon as possible.”
I laughed softly. “You better believe it.”
When I was dressed, Silas pushed out a deep breath. He adjusted himself in his pants as if still uncomfortable. I felt the same unsatisfied ache he did, I was sure. I hoped his place was close by. Silas barely looked at me as he moved quickly through the space, putting the tools back and trashing what needed to go.
The owner was waiting up front for us, curious to see Silas’s work. They chatted briefly and I thanked him for letting us use his shop. It was immediately clear how much this man respected Silas’s craft, and there was something charming about an inked-up, large, bearded man who was essentially an art groupie.
When we were outside and beside the bike, he didn’t ask if I wanted his jacket. Silas held it out, wordlessly demanding I put the enormous leather coat on.
“No, thank you. It’d be huge on me.”
His jaw set, increasing the hard, beautiful angles of his face. “I’m going to be driving a lot faster this time.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” I played dumb.
“Because we didn’t get to find out if I can think while I’m in your mouth.”
I smiled and sharpened my gaze. “I bet you can’t.”
“Let’s find out. Put on the coat.”
My smile faded to one that was strained. “I already said no, and hey, here’s some friendly advice . . . Don’t tell me what to do.”
He reluctantly pulled his arms into the jacket, his gaze not leaving mine until he reached for the helmet. “All right, thanks for the tip. Put on your helmet. Please .”
Chapter
SEVEN
The ride back was torturous, but my pride wouldn’t allow me to be cold. It was exhilarating to get close to the edge with Silas, and then pull back, but kind of cruel, too. I clung as tightly to him as my freshly tattooed skin would allow. I had one hand beneath his shirt, my fingers fanned out on his defined abdomen, and the cold wind whipped my hair. Beneath my legs, the throaty engine growled and vibrated.
He drove us back to his studio, and I shouted over the motorcycle’s roar while he parked.
“I thought we’d go to your place.”
“We did.” He turned off the bike and removed his helmet, once again sweeping a hand over his long hair to put it back in place. “My apartment’s upstairs.”
I stared at the building. It looked two stories tall, but the gallery had vaulted ceilings. His apartment was . . . where?
It was like he could read my mind. “It’s in the back.”
He opened the door and ushered me inside the gallery, and the same assistant from before appeared. He gave me a curious smile. “Hello again.”
“Hi,” I said.
“We’re heading upstairs.” Silas nudged me, hurrying me along. “Do you mind, Andre?”
The black man shook his head and flashed a knowing smile.
“Hey,” a male voice said. “Did Silas come by?”
“Hey, Johnny. Yeah, he’s in the back stall with a customer.”
We both froze, Silas’s cock buried halfway down my throat. His hands tensed.
“Shit,” the voice muttered. “He’s got the curtain pulled. I was hoping to watch him work.”
Silas withdrew from my mouth, and tucked himself uncomfortably back in his pants. “Shit, that’s the owner,” he whispered.
I wanted to giggle. I was thirty years old, and felt like we’d just been caught by his parents. He climbed off the chair and retrieved his shirt, tossing my bra back at me. I didn’t put it on, choosing instead to watch his broad, muscle-bound back as he tugged his shirt over his head.
His gray eyes flared when he turned and saw I was still topless. “You need help?”
I shook my head and put the bra on, gingerly sliding the strap over the bandage. My shirt was in Silas’s hands, and when I reached for it, he pulled back.
“This is a pause.” His expression was deadly serious. “We’re picking up where we left off as soon as possible.”
I laughed softly. “You better believe it.”
When I was dressed, Silas pushed out a deep breath. He adjusted himself in his pants as if still uncomfortable. I felt the same unsatisfied ache he did, I was sure. I hoped his place was close by. Silas barely looked at me as he moved quickly through the space, putting the tools back and trashing what needed to go.
The owner was waiting up front for us, curious to see Silas’s work. They chatted briefly and I thanked him for letting us use his shop. It was immediately clear how much this man respected Silas’s craft, and there was something charming about an inked-up, large, bearded man who was essentially an art groupie.
When we were outside and beside the bike, he didn’t ask if I wanted his jacket. Silas held it out, wordlessly demanding I put the enormous leather coat on.
“No, thank you. It’d be huge on me.”
His jaw set, increasing the hard, beautiful angles of his face. “I’m going to be driving a lot faster this time.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” I played dumb.
“Because we didn’t get to find out if I can think while I’m in your mouth.”
I smiled and sharpened my gaze. “I bet you can’t.”
“Let’s find out. Put on the coat.”
My smile faded to one that was strained. “I already said no, and hey, here’s some friendly advice . . . Don’t tell me what to do.”
He reluctantly pulled his arms into the jacket, his gaze not leaving mine until he reached for the helmet. “All right, thanks for the tip. Put on your helmet. Please .”
Chapter
SEVEN
The ride back was torturous, but my pride wouldn’t allow me to be cold. It was exhilarating to get close to the edge with Silas, and then pull back, but kind of cruel, too. I clung as tightly to him as my freshly tattooed skin would allow. I had one hand beneath his shirt, my fingers fanned out on his defined abdomen, and the cold wind whipped my hair. Beneath my legs, the throaty engine growled and vibrated.
He drove us back to his studio, and I shouted over the motorcycle’s roar while he parked.
“I thought we’d go to your place.”
“We did.” He turned off the bike and removed his helmet, once again sweeping a hand over his long hair to put it back in place. “My apartment’s upstairs.”
I stared at the building. It looked two stories tall, but the gallery had vaulted ceilings. His apartment was . . . where?
It was like he could read my mind. “It’s in the back.”
He opened the door and ushered me inside the gallery, and the same assistant from before appeared. He gave me a curious smile. “Hello again.”
“Hi,” I said.
“We’re heading upstairs.” Silas nudged me, hurrying me along. “Do you mind, Andre?”
The black man shook his head and flashed a knowing smile.
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