Page 40 of Pride, Prejudice & Wicked Pleasure

“The less willful will deem it easy enough.”

She arched a brow, wondering if he accused her of being difficult?

“Let us see how apt a student you are,” he said, resuming his delicious ministrations.

The lovely torment flared throughout her body, causing her legs to tighten and her toes to curl. She strained against him. Without realizing it, she grasped his arm for support. The nectar of her desire soaked her shift. She began to pant.

For a while she exalted in the pleasurable torture as he strummed her body without slowing, without pause. Her cunnie pulsed. She prayed he would not cease until the rightful conclusion had been reached, but as the fire between her legs grew, an imminent loss of control threatened.

“May I spend?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

She furrowed her brow at the unwanted answer, but she did her best to comply. Yet it was no easy matter for he did not stop fondling her. The pleasure intensified, and she wondered that her legs could survive the wave of sensations emanating from her womanhood. Her legs twitched involuntarily.

“May I spend?” she tried again.

“No.”

She silently cursed him. She could do it if he would but stop his stroking. His fingers teased and strummed and pressed,

“Oh God,” she whimpered. The intensity was too much. Her body felt as if it was coiling within itself. Surely her body would hurl itself against the bedposts when all the tension released?

“May I spend? Please?” she tried again.

“No.”

She was too polite to glare at him, and it took all her concentration to suppress the euphoria threatening to erupt.

He aided her by abruptly desisting. She knew not which was worse: stemming the volcano of desire or being left bereft, dangling upon the precipice her body yearned to fall from.

“On your feet,” he directed.

Dazed, she had to collect herself and calm the riot inside her body before complying with his order. She watched him as he pulled the sash from the robe she had worn earlier.

“Present your wrists to me,” he said.

“My wrists?” she echoed.

“I mean to bind them.”

“For what purpose?”

“The restriction of movement frees you to concentrate upon other aspects of our engagement.”

“How is freedom gained from constraint?”

“Allow me to demonstrate and you shall understand."

Skeptical but intrigued, she held out her arms and allowed him to tie her wrists with the sash. He bound them—tightly—then looked upon her arms and hands as if in admiration. She followed his gaze and, to her surprise, found the simple visual provocative.

He took the sash off a curtain gracing the bed and stood before a bedpost. Though she knew not what he intended, she knew to go to him. He pulled her wrists above her head and used the second sash to strap her to the bedpost. Her pulse quickened. Thus tied, she could not defend herself. She could not flee. She was at his mercy but for the word of safety, provided he chose to honor it. Abigail would surely not place her in a harmful situation, but once again she wondered if was she foolish to place her complete trust in a woman whom she had known for less than a sennight?

“Your word of safety,” her instructor said. “Recall it.”

“Montreal.”

“You will not hesitate to use it?”