She could feel the barely-leashed lust in every shake. As he couldn’t see her, she allowed herself a small smile of pleasure before swallowing it and her own eagerness down. She knelt on the mattress, and tugged one of his hands as she directed him. “Lie up on the bed, head on the pillows.”
As he swung his legs up and around to lie, she carried the wrist she held and wrapped the cravat around it, then around a carved wooden bed post. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she did so, and she smiled, excited she’d found a worthy playmate.
Not ready to use leather cuffs and risk frightening a novice, she used his shirt for the other wrist. Crumpling it beyond repair, she secured his second hand then slid a finger between his skin and the fabric to ensure his hands would not go numb.
Scooting back, she stood at the foot of the bed and scanned his length. He was delicious. Reminding herself that this was a summer fling, she basked in the moment. This rakelet wanted her. Oh, she knew she was attractive enough. But he could have anyone, a different girl in his bed every night. Yet, he’d chosen her. Her ego preened for a moment before she reined it in. He was not hers to keep, only to enjoy for a short time.
So enjoy, she would. Legs sprawled haphazardly framed a mouth-watering bulge she was salivating to see again. Candlelight flickered over the planes and ridges of his lean torso. A hint of rib under pads of muscle led to puckered nipples begging to be pinched. A trace of hair led from each tiny bud, narrowing to a single line that disappeared into his waistband. His throat bobbed as he watched her, his biceps still twitching as though testing his bonds. The lily white underside of his upper arms invited a feathery tickling touch to make him squirm.
Her mouth watered, wanting to skate over each inch, tasting and savoring. Her fingers would lead the way or follow. Her breasts grew heavier, and she was tempted to cup them, or feed them to him. The sensitive folds between her legs pulsed and throbbed, ready for more.
But, oh, where to start?
Chapter Thirteen
William closed his eyes to attempt to regain some control. He would be mortified if he came in his trousers simply from Mistress positioning and observing him. He opened them a heartbeat later, not willing to miss a second of this.
She stood in chemise and petticoat, and he remembered what was beneath. The firelight flares allowed him to see the dusky shadow of one nipple behind her chemise, now hard and poking the fabric.
He arched his back a bit, testing the give in his bonds. Being tied, basically helpless, amplified his desire, his cock pulsing and leaking its eagerness through his trousers. He might be daft for doing this. A sane man would be nervous should a woman they’d met a handful of times restrain them and stare at them with such hunger, wouldn’t they? Instead, he was eager to please, ready to follow whatever commands she wished to give.
I want whatever my Mistress wishes to do with me or to me.He stopped tugging as the phrase “my Mistress” reverberated in his head. This was his place. It felt right. More than that, not having to make any decisions was freeing. He was forced to lie still and learn.
He relaxed to indicate his subservience. Then surged against his bonds once again when she ran her palms up his legs, kneeling between his thighs.
She skipped his torso to whisper her fingers over the insides of his arms, raising gooseflesh and causing an all-over shiver of sensitivity. Moving to his nipples, she pinched.
“Ah! Blazes,” he gasped. Realizing how close her knees were to his heavy sac, he shook his head to clear it so he could appreciate all the sensations as she surrounded him.
Raising his head, he dared, “Mistress, I want to touch you. Please, may I touch you, kiss you?”
“No. Now lay back. And no more talk.”
Feeling daring, he started to ask about repercussions.
She forestalled him by saying, “Or you shall not get the reward I have in mind for you.”
For heaven’s sake, that reward better include relief for his cock soon or hewouldembarrass himself. Throwing his head back on the bed, he concentrated on not thrusting up to seek friction for his cock.
Charlotte drew patterns on his chest and stomach with her fingernails. “You appear to have a secret desire to submit, William. The gentleman doth protest too much about the Wife of Bath’s Tale, methinks.”
He squirmed, barely following her mixed Shakespearean and Chaucer references. Uncertain if he was allowed to answer, he hoped it would further his cause. His voice gruff behind a clenched jaw, he ventured, “Not so secret,” and licked her finger when she laid it across his lips.
“Hmm…useful.” She circled the wet tip around one of his nipples, and the cool air and hot finger hardened it further.
He thrashed his head from side to side, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on controlling his cock’s reaction. Her hands on the fall of his trousers shot his eyes open, and he curled his head up to watch, unable to conjure chagrin at the wet spot there.
She unbuttoned him, the back of her hand brushing his rod.
“Unh.” Lava surged in his bollocks, her fingers branding his shaft, claiming him as hers. He flinched and gulped, pleading with all the deities he could think of to not spurt as soon as the air wafted over his sensitive flesh.
Watching her, he found her focus both admirable and infuriating. He needed to touch her, to be touched. Saliva pooled in his mouth with the desire to taste any part of her, if she’d just get close enough. This slow, methodical unveiling was killing him. His teeth would be ground to nubs by the end of the night.
Cataloging the silk of her skin and fullness of her lips in the candlelight did not help his trouser predicament. However, he had no idea if he’d be granted this experience again. Thus, it was important to commit everything to memory.
She seemed to know how close he was, carefully peeling back his trousers then tugging the fabric below his hips to free him.
His cock bounced out to thump against his stomach, and they both gasped.
