He thought. She could see when it registered.
“Mistress.” He leaned toward to her, arms out to hold her, but she held an arm out.
“William, I’ll say it if you will not. I cannot have children. I assumed you’d realized that when we did not use protection against pregnancy. And you need heirs.” She turned away, walking to sit on the edge of her bed, face averted, hand now clutching the necklace. Every time she had to admit that fact hurt, but they both needed brutal honesty to reach an agreement.
Kneeling before her, he put a hand over hers in her lap and laid his forehead on their joined hands.
She dropped her other hand from her throat to his hair.
He grabbed it and kissed it before putting all of their hands on her thighs and holding her gaze. “Mistress, I am sorry. What end date did you have in mind?”
Here was the catch. She hadn’t been able to make herself set one. “Michaelmas?”
Gracious, she had not meant to frame it as a question. Where were her negotiating skills?
“Next Season.”
“No. Christmas.”
“Next Season.”
She smothered a grin. “Ah, perhaps they did not teach bartering skills at Oxford. The goal is to find a compromise.”
He arched a brow. “Apparently you did not understand my starting point. Forever. Next Season is as far as I’m willing to compromise.”
Mischievous, unrepentant puppy. She could also see he had no intention of holding to that date. She’d regret this, but Belle and Sophia and even Ruth, as well as her own longing for him, weakened her will. She answered, “Fine. For now. I reserve the right—”
He’d slid out of the chair to his knees before her. “Yes, Mistress. No, Mistress. Oh yes, Mistress.”
She swore if he had a tail, it would be thumping the floor.
Running her fingers through his hair, she firmed her expression. “Now, there is the matter of you writing to me when you were meant to be studying, in addition to touching me without permission earlier.”
He was still grinning like a loon.
She shook her head at him, holding her pose for a moment before standing. “Remove your clothing and get on the bed. Oh, and unlace me please. I dismissed the servants for the night.”
He bounced up and followed her toward the bed, tugging at her laces hard enough she feared he’d break one. In no time, her gown and stays were loosened and his clothing was flying off.
“Kneel here, please.” She pointed to a spot on the bottom half of the bed, facing the headboard. After removing everything except her chemise, she checked on him.
His focus was on her face, as though awaiting commands. Hers, however, roamed his length, settling on the bobbing erection between his splayed knees. It bounced with each pulse, liquid beading at the tip then tracking in hot tears along the shaft to wet…her ribbon.
Ignoring the thump her heart made at that, she licked her lips. But no, this was a punishment, and while it would eventually be fun for him, he needed to work for his pleasure. She stepped back to her dresser and drew out two pair of leather cuffs attached by leather straps. Like the first set she’d used with him, these were new. She’d bought them for him after sending her letter to Oxford, knowing it would come to this.
They’d arrived a week ago, and she’d slept with them the first night after an amazing bout of self-pleasure completed while envisioning how she’d use them on him. Now reality and memories coalesced, and she squeezed her thighs together at the spurt of wet heat between them.
Approaching him, she pulled her chemise off. Naked, she shortened the straps to place the cuff at each end a few inches apart from its mate.
He clenched his muscles and his cock thumped against his stomach.
She allowed the hint of a smile to play on her lips before containing it. “Widen your knees and hold your ankles.”
He shifted so his bollocks hung in the space between his legs, his bottom still on his heels. His arms went straight down along his sides, long fingers wrapped around ankle bones. A cuff went around his wrist, the other around the ankle. She slid her fingers between the fabric and skin to check the fit before she climbed onto the bed on his other side to tether his right wrist and ankle.
She knelt there next to him, just behind his shoulder, trying to corral her thoughts. Half her brain was setting up a torturous path to bliss for them both. The other half was running around tearing at her hair, caught between fear and elation. She’d been fighting being in love with him since last summer, but gracious, he was tempting.
He knelt before her, wrists holding ankles in a grip tight enough she wasn’t sure she needed cuffs. He had no idea of the extent of his allure. If he knew she’d fallen in love with him, almost ready to forget society’s rules in order to keep him, he’d never give up. But her fight was for his sake and his family’s. She also hated the idea that he’d be hurt as much as she would be if this didn’t work.
