‘No, you’re not.’
‘You don’t feel it? I thought you’d like the feel of the ribbon along your shoulders.’
He dangled the ribbon down one arm and up and down the other. Every time it reached her hand, she felt like curling her fingers around it to see if it truly felt as warm and soft as it did when he wielded it.
It was maddening, especially when he dragged the ribbon down between the valley of her breasts to pool around her navel and then back up again. It affected her.
It seemed to be affecting him, too, if the darkening of his eyes and the flushing along his cheeks was any indication. His lips had parted again and they looked wet and slick. Tempting.
Was this what he’d thought of when he tied her gown earlier? To touch her like this? To see her like this? She felt the same. It made her feel as though she wanted to touch his lips again, to feel some of that soft slickness he had yet to give her.
‘Kiss me,’ she said.
His eyes flashed to hers, stayed there as heunwounded the pooled fabric and wrapped it along one breast and then the other.
‘Still talking,’ he said, but she saw his gaze dip from her eyes to her lips and back again. Felt the brief stuttering drag of the ribbon along her skin as if he couldn’t quite keep control because of her request before he found it again.
Around and around, in some pattern only he could see. She didn’t want to watch what the ribbon was doing to her body, she wanted to watch him.
She could, however, feel the effects of that ribbon. The goosepimples ever increasing, the tightening of her breasts as if she had laces binding her entire torso and then binding her again. Her nipples taut to a near unbearable level. The chill of the room almost accosting in comparison to the ribbon that was warmed her, but not in all the places she ached for it to.
He seemed to want it to touch her elsewhere as well for he wound most of the length around his left fist, giving himself more leverage to wield the soft fabric. Then he touched the tip of the dangling fabric against one nipple before he unwound the fabric to let it drip and slide along her breast.
Then he gathered it again to repeat it on the left breast. Then again...and again until the softsilk tip became almost sharp against her sensitive nipple, the warm glide almost soothing as it slid along the sides of her breasts.
Though she wanted to close her eyes at the sensation, she watched him. His gaze was narrowed and riveted to what he was doing. His lips had parted that much more and she gasped when she saw that hint of his tongue touching his lips.
Brown eyes returned to hers. Not so brown now, darker, so dark and within those depths, something was going on that she suspected was happening with her as well.
She didn’t need to see her body to know her skin flushed like his, her eyes had darkened, her lips had parted to take in needed air. She felt it.
The only difference between them was that he remained nearly immobile and she couldn’t remain still at all. The next touch to her breast and her back arched into it. Another glide of the thin silken strip and her hips rose as well.
He detected the changes in her body, her restlessness, her eagerness for another caress, and yet he didn’t lower his eyes from hers. ‘Is this better, Ailsa?’ he whispered, his voice raspy. ‘Is the lace better free like this? Loose from your gown?’
A flip to the ribbon and he dragged the band along her sides and up again. Down to where herhips undulated and then further along her outer thigh. Up again to encircle her other hip then along her inner thigh.
Closer to where he knelt so the ribbon now touched him, too. His breaths quickened, increasing the golden expanse of his chest. His skin gleamed and an almost unholy light entered his eyes.
‘Turn over,’ he demanded.
She was a midwife, a healer, she knew about the human form, but she knew nothing of this. Of how her own body simply did as he asked before she could think why or how she could do it with him between her legs.
She was clumsy with it. There was no way to manoeuvre otherwise than to draw her legs in and turn before lying flat once more.
The sound he made didn’t make her movements seem clumsy or too hurried. A rough groan choked off, a harsh swallowing. She knew then, that he’d seen everything. The cradle of her hips as they tilted towards him, the curve of her behind. How wet she was.
She lay there and waited for the ribbon, knew it was coming, but he held it aloft too long. He was doing something else now. He was gazing at her. Why she felt more vulnerable than when she had first stood naked before him, she didn’tknow. Maybe because she couldn’t see him or know why her back would be so interesting.
‘Women have backs, too,’ she said, trying to recall their earlier conversation.
‘Not like this,’ he said.
His words heated her more and she lost more control of her thoughts, more control of what was happening between them. ‘You remember the others, then.’
‘There was never one like you. There couldn’t be.’
When he lowered the ribbon to her skin, it was different this time. Different because that slight stuttering he made with the silk before was now almost constant. He, too, was losing control as he brushed the ribbon along the back of her arms, between her shoulder blades and along her spine. Brushed it along her until he pooled the ribbon in the small of her back, then wound it around and around until she felt as if he wound the silk between her legs, low down, and much, much deeper.
