Her body still trembled, and her heart had not yet learned its ordinary rhythm.
“Then you are a wicked man,” she said, “because now I shall think of nothing else.”
His smile brushed her mouth. “Good.”
And when he kissed her again, Iris stopped thinking altogether.
Blaise’s mouth claimed hers with raw hunger, his tongue stroking deep as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. She gasped against his lips, her bound hands lay on her lap as he carried her to the bed.
“Put your hands above your head.”
Iris did as she was told, and in one smooth motion, he laid her on her knees facing the headboard. Before she could catch her breath, Blaise secured her wrists to the headboard with practiced ease.
“Blaise…” she whispered, half protest, half plea.
“Yes, Little Flower?” he murmured, his large hands already working at the fastenings of her skirts.
“I do not know what to do.”
“I will do everything.” He kissed her softly before he moved behind her and began removing only the heavy outer layers of her skirts, pushing them up around her waist and leaving her chemise and stockings intact. His strong fingers gripped her hips, raising them until her wrists fell down the bar in the headboard, and she was on her knees, bottom lifted high, face pressed into the pillow.
Iris trembled with embarrassment and arousal when he lifted her chemise and cool air kissed her exposed skin. The bed shifted as he knelt behind her, spreading her thighs wider. Iris gasped when he slightly smacked her; the sting was sudden and so pleasurable that she felt the wetness gather between her thighs already. She heard his breath hitch before he slapped her again. He added a little more pressure, and Iris moaned. Blaise continued until her thighs began to shake; the discipline felt more intense than the pleasure.
She felt the bed shift under his weight again, and then he stopped.
“Blaise?”
Iris cried out when she felt his mouth on her core.
Another strangled cry escaped her as his tongue dragged slowly from her dripping entrance up to her swollen pearl. He licked her from behind with devastating thoroughness, groaning against her wet flesh as though she were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. His hand held her hip firmly in place while his other snaked around and pressed slow, torturous circles on her most sensitive spot. Blaise feasted on her, sucking and licking with relentless hunger.
“Oh God—” Iris moaned when she felt his tongue enter her.
She pushed back against his mouth instinctively. The position was obscene, humiliating, and impossibly arousing. Every stroke of his tongue sent sparks of pleasure racing through her.
Blaise pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against her soaked folds. “You are so sweet, Iris. And so wet for me already. You love being like this, do you not? You are all presented for your duke.”
Before she could answer, he returned to her with renewed fervor. His tongue circled her soft mound before plunging inside her with slow, deep strokes. Iris’s bound hands clenched above her head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.
“Can I pleasure you with one finger?” he asked almost gentlemanly.
“Y…yes!” Iris would allow him to do anything.
When he slid one thick finger into her entrance, she cried out. The stretch burned for a moment; she was so tight and so untouched, but Blaise was patient and gentle. He curled his finger gently, stroking a sensitive spot inside of her while his tongue returned and continued its assault on her pearl. The pain quickly melted into overwhelming pleasure. Iris moaned loudly, hips rocking back against his hand and mouth as the discomfort faded completely.
Every time she thought she experienced the ultimate form of pleasure, he proved her wrong.
“That is it,” he growled against her. “Look at how you open for me, Little Blossom.”
His tongue and thick finger pushed her over the edge. Iris shattered with a broken cry, her walls clenching rhythmically around his finger as intense waves of pleasure crashed through her.
She was still trembling when Blaise withdrew his hand and slowly turned her over onto her back, her arms twisted above her head but not painfully. Iris admired him as he towered above her. Blaise freed his member; it looked thick and heavy, and Iris’s breath caught at the sight of him.
“May I cuff your ankles?” he asked, voice rough with need.
Iris nodded, dazed and aching. “Yes.”
He secured her ankles to the bottom posts with soft leather cuffs, spreading her wide open for him. Then he climbed between her thighs.
