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His face was impassive. “And yet you acquiesce to being flogged and fucked over the back of a chair.”
His words shot straight to her cunnie. Indignation and desire fought for dominance within her, making her dumb and immobile. What a fool she was to have come here with him and how naïve to think she could withstand whatever he threw at her.
“Miss Herwood, do not make me punish you on the very first day.”
Chapter Six
HALSTEN DISCERNED BOTH FEAR and anticipation in her eyes at his statement. He knew when he had left her room last night that he had left her wanting. It had been no easy matter for him. He wanted nothing more than to make her spend as she had upon the table at the posting inn, but she needed to be well rested. And it had proven true that a slight delay of gratification could heighten her eagerness.
His own pants had been fit to burst last night. Even now, as he beheld her in those inflammatory hues and sparkling jewels, her one arm completely bare, he had to fortify his own patience. He reminded himself that he had far more years of experience than she, had learned from a practiced teacher, and been exposed to entirely different ways of regarding the pleasures of the flesh.
But he did not think he had judged her incorrectly. Her passion was apparent, and she was no stranger to flouting propriety. He surmised that her responsibilities and the weight of uncertainty made the opportunity for abandon appealing to her. She could appreciate releasing control, in the right circumstances, to another.
When she made no move, he undid the buttons of his cuffs and rolled the sleeves up his arms.
“Very well, we begin,” he pronounced.
He pulled her to him by the arm, startling the breath from her. To encase her to him, he circled his other arm around her waist. As he gazed down at her, he shook his head at himself. Did he truly think he could resist her? It had been hard enough before, but he had made the task doubly hard with the sari, for he much preferred the colors and cuts of the East. Dressed and adorned like an Indian princess, she was a bloom wanting to be picked. Her earlier flush of indignation had not dissipated. Desire glistened in her eyes.
Leaning down, he caressed the part of her neck below her ear with his mouth. He felt her relax against him. When he trailed kisses down the side of her neck, a soft sigh escaped her lips. He shifted his hand upon her lower back to position her better between his legs. How delicious her body felt pressed to him. The blood heated and churned about his groin.
He moved his mouth down below the necklace. She arched her back, causing her hips to move into him. He put his hand to the back of her head to hold it still when he took her wet and waiting mouth. The freshness of her bath from last night coupled with a nondescript scent all her own made for a heady mix that made the blood pound between his ears and in his cock. Parting her lips with his, he tasted of her. Deeper and deeper his tongue went. Her breath hitched at the penetration. His mouth moved over hers in constant, forceful motion. He allowed her little chance to return the kiss, a statement as to who held control. She could only submit to his plunder.
His hand traveled up her back, gently groping between her shoulder blades before finding and removing the pin that held the pallu in place. The fabric slid off her shoulder. With a swift and practiced hand, he unwrapped the rest of the sari. The garment fell to the ground with ease. There was much to recommend the sari. He considered having her wear nothing else while at Chateau Follet, and, at times, nothing at all.
He dropped to his knees and grasped both her hips, pulling her to him and drinking in the sight of her bared midriff. She let out a shaky moan when he kissed her there and darted his tongue at her navel. He inhaled the musk of her desire. His cock stretched even further. Reaching up, he grabbed a breast and kneaded the heavy orb. He brushed his thumb over her hardened nipple. Her head fell back, and she threaded a hand through his hair.
“Ask permission,” he told her.
She looked at him with a dazed expression, her eyes glossy. “Eh?”
“You are not to move without permission.”
He could see the thought sinking in. She withdrew her hand.
“Good,” he murmured. “Obedience shall be rewarded.”
She stiffened in obvious resistance to the idea. Undeterred, for he had expected she would not fully accept the practice—at least, not at first—he continued to work the nipple. Pinching, pulling, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until she whimpered. He pulled the blouse down below the breast. Rising to his feet, he lifted the exposed breast and attended the nipple with his mouth. She groaned with every swirl of his tongue, every nibble, every suck. When he had her panting, knowing she was wet with desire, he turned her around and pushed her up against the nearest wall. Her cheek was pressed against a tapestry depicting Kama and Rati locked in a naked embrace.
“Your obedience shall be rewarded,” he repeated, “and your defiance punished.”
He stepped into her, pinning her body to the wall with his. He ground his desire against her.
“What is the safety word?” he demanded.
“Rati,” she answered quickly.
“Good.”
He circled his right hand around her waist and between the front of her thighs, rubbing the petticoat against her. It quickly dampened. He fondled her more, using the garment to further the friction. She writhed, her movements hampered by the wall and by him. Her legs shook a little.
His left hand went back to the same breast, mirroring the rhythm of his right. The petticoat was drenched against his hand.
“Ohhhhh,” she moaned, a melodious sound.
When he sensed her nearing her peak, he slowed his ministrations. “Now, Miss Herwood, I had directed you to pleasure yourself.”
She shifted her weight but said nothing. He pulled his right hand away completely. Bereft, she let out a sigh.
