AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The instant its tip touched his face, he stiffened. Muscles bunched and slowly released.
“Good,” she encouraged softly. “This is not meant to tickle. If it does, you must tell me and I’ll stop.”
A hard breath huffed from him before he nodded, and she marked with satisfaction that his smirk had fled. She ran the feather’s edge across his cheekbones and forehead, and then dragged it across his lips, watching them part slightly. Bending, she dropped a lingering kiss there to reward him for his tolerance.
Next came the strong cords of his neck and his finely sculpted collarbone. Her own arousal mounted when she moved the feather lower and slowly circled one of his nipples with its tip. His breath hitched, and he stiffened—in more than one place. Not only did his back arch slightly, but his cock leapt a little, as if begging to be touched.
Soon. Smiling, she again dragged the feather across his nipples, circling them until his breathing grew rough, and she could see he was growing impatient with her playing. This time when she resumed tormenting the most recently neglected nipple, she stopped after only a few circles and covered it with her mouth.
A long hiss exploded from between Blackthorn’s clenched teeth as he jerked hard. His hands pulled reflexively at the bindings but remained secure as she did to him what he’d done to her earlier, with little flicks, long licks, and delicate pinches.
Small, strangled sounds came from between his lips, as though they were escaping against his will. She paused, but he didn’t utter the stop word. This time when she repeated her actions, he let out a long, filthy moan. When his exhalations were nothing more than ragged gasps, his wrists pulling almost rhythmically at the silken restraints, his hips bucking up a little with each pull, then she stopped.
Straightening, she licked a fingertip and circled it around one abused nipple. From the corner of her eye, she saw his cock jerk. Feeling brave, she looked at the instrument of her planned undoing, fascinated. Long and turgid, it curved up from its thick base to rise up off him, its rounded head hovering just above his taut belly. Afraid yet to actually touch it, she again took up her feather and tentatively ran it up its length to gently circle the head.
Another profane groan issued forth from Blackthorn, sounding as if torn from the very root of his soul, and she saw a bead of clear liquid form at the very tip of his rod, which, amazingly, seemed to thicken further before her eyes. Mesmerized, she dragged the tip of the feather through the pearl and drew it down to the base of his cock, leaving a long, wet line.
“I’m a patient man,” rasped Blackthorn, startling her. He sounded wrecked. “But if you don’t touch me soon, I won’t be responsible for my reaction.”
Triumph surged through her in a heady rush, along with a frisson of trepidation. I must maintain control. Focusing, she hardened her voice. “Would you have me curtail your pleasure?”
An animal sound lodged in his throat, and she watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed it. “Of course not. But I should tell you, the disappointment won’t be solely mine if it happens too soon.”
Oh! She smiled and softened her tone. “You have but to say the word, and I’ll stop.”
His low, crushed-gravel chuckle was an almost tangible thing. “If you think I’ll break first, you’ll be waiting until dawn.”
We’ll see about that. Emboldened by the challenge, she leaned over him and, just as she’d heard René say once when the door hadn’t quite shut properly between their rooms, whispered against his lips, “Be a good lad now, and spread your legs for me.”
The flush across his chest deepened to scarlet, and she saw a muscle work in his jaw as he doubtless bit back a curse—but he did it. By George, he did it.
Repositioning, she knelt between his long, strong legs, running her hands up and down them to learn their shape. Staring up at him, she decided she quite liked the view from here. She could see almost all of him, from the secret, dusky flesh just below his sack to the underside of his clean-shaven jaw and chin.
Determined not to be a coward, she scrunched her eyes shut, then reached out and firmly grasped the base of his cock in one hand, getting her first feel of what would soon be inside her. At its owner’s hard flinch and soft, relieved groan, she cracked open first one eye, then the other, and grinned. “Shhh, quiet now,” she softly admonished, inordinately proud of herself for not backing away from this.
He stiffened but kept silent as she slowly stroked him up and down, exploring his flesh with her palm and fingers. It was a strange amalgam of hard and soft, like hot stone sheathed in fine silk.
Do I dare? Leaning forward slowly, she released him to run her hands over his abdomen and up across his chest and shoulders while contemplating her course. It was something she’d been told men absolutely loved. Certainly, Harrow and René had both professed to enjoy it immensely. But would she? Only one way to find out. Without preamble, she slid backward, dipped low, and took the head of his cock into her mouth at the same time as she again gripped its base with her free hand.
“Mmngahhh!” The hoarse outcry was torn from Blackthorn’s chest, and his back arched so hard it lifted his shoulder blades up off the bed.
Releasing him, she braced her hands on his hips and shoved, using her body’s weight to push him back into the mattress. The taste of his hot, firm flesh lingered on her tongue, slightly salty with a faint underlying tang that was not unpleasant. This time when she went back down, she dipped lower to lick a broad, wet stripe from the underside of his cock all the way to its tip before again taking the head into her mouth.
Blackthorn positively writhed beneath her hands, his hips jerking upward in little involuntary thrusts.
Again, she released him. This was going to get uncomfortable if he kept doing that. There had to be a way to make him stay down. A memory arose, something she’d seen in Harrow’s Hindu text. Smiling, she began slowly working one hand up and down his rigid length, granting him some small relief. When a large bead of liquid formed at its tip and began to slow
ly drip down the side, she stopped it with a swipe of her index finger instead of using it to ease the friction as she continued to slowly pump him.
She had a better use for it.
Blackthorn yelped, actually yelped when she touched that slicked-up fingertip to the soft patch of flesh Harrow had identified as the “perineum” on the drawing he’d shown her. She paused, but though Blackthorn’s breathing caught and hitched, he didn’t say the stop word, so she continued, sliding that finger down a fraction of an inch at a time, down, down, until she was able to ever-so-gently circle his opening.
…
Lucas had thought he was prepared for this, that he’d known what to expect.
This wasn’t it.
