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“Oh! That feels—” A squeak of shock followed as he tested her with a shallow thrust of his finger. “This isn’t so bad. Why does everyone complain about pain during lovemaking?”
He chuckled at her naiveté. “Sweet Clara. Usually a virgin’s first time involves a modicum of discomfort, though a considerate lover will try to ease it. However, there seems to be a lack of consideration among men towards women these days, hence the complaints.” He added a second finger experimentally, letting her adjust to the new thickness. “And while I’m glad to hear you enjoy my fingers, my cock will be quite another experience. Pleasurable but different. Pain might still occur despite my efforts. Does the thought scare you?”
“Scare’s a tad strong. Nervous might be better. But I trust you.” Her breathless words caught on the tangled strings of his heart. No matter the short length of their acquaintance, her trust meant something to him. Something important. “After all, if this is the precursor of what’s to come, a very wicked part of me looks forward to more.”
“Only one wicked part?” He ground his palm against her clit causing her to arch again in an attempt to chase the friction. “Clara, we both know you’re wicked through and through. From illicit books to this clandestine affair, you’re a naughty minx who needs to be taken in hand. Thankfully, I’m up for the job.”
“You should be. You’ve had many years to perfect a strategy of attack.”
“A quip about my old age? Careful, little lamb… This wolf’s preparing to dine on his prize.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dine? What had they been doing for the past half hour if not eating?
Perhaps direct your attention a little lower.
A curl of amusement wound its way through her body, eclipsed by the fever of need centering between her thighs. Hugh’s rough palm rubbed against a particularly sensitive part of her again, and she forgot all about food.
Revelation upon revelation piled high this evening. His easy acceptance of her circumstances. The obvious attraction to her overly curved body. And this: the frenzied lust he built in her blood with skilled seduction.
Hugh abruptly removed his hands from their teasing mission and lifted her higher into his chest before standing and sliding her onto the table instead. Clara’s bottom bumped bowls of fruit and saucers clinked together as Hugh eased her to the center of the wooden top, its intentional sparseness beginning to make sense. “Arms above your head,” he ordered, watching her follow the instruction before striding away.
Clara watched him dig through a dresser drawer, pulling out a black sash. Curious guesses hopped around her mind like bunnies in springtime as she tried to figure out possible uses for the long material. For the awkward position of her body and arms.
“Since you had trouble remaining still in my lap, I’m afraid I’ll need to tie you up, so I can finish my meal in peace. I’m rather ravenous, you see, and don’t fancy curbing my hunger any longer.”
Soft fabric wrapped around her wrists in a strong but comfortable hold before being drawn to either side and looped around two decorative table legs.This is odd.She wondered what game he was playing, toying with her body only to let it cool while he ate supper.
“So, I’m to lay here bound while you fill your stomach? That doesn’t seem fair.” Especially considering how riled he’d made her body. “Or very practical.” The wood grain beneath her cheek was smooth as she eyed the various dishes around her trapped form. In this position, he couldn’t reach even half of them.
“My comment earlier about not being a dictator seems to have you laboring under the assumption we’re on equal ground. Let me be clear: we’re not.” He paused his rummaging around the table to assess her reaction. “Under this roof, I own you, which means I say what, when, and how things will happen. If I’m in a generous mood, I’ll ask for your preference. But make no mistake, little lamb, I’m in control and will do whatever I please with your body. Understand?”
She wanted to argue. Wanted to ask more questions. And a speculative part of her almost felt like he dared her to challenge him, whether by the stern gleam flashing in his eyes or the teasing twitch at the corner of his full mouth—contradicting expressions that spoke of a war within himself.
Choosing to behave for now, Clara agreed, tipping her chin in acquiescence. She was a novice to the carnal arts, after all. Who was she to question his methods?
“Did you know I have a sweet tooth?” Hugh asked nonchalantly, the casual comment throwing her off balance. Silver clinked as he lifted a small spoon from the table before dipping it into a yellow custard, the domed dollop wobbling at its peak. “It's insatiable at times…”
The words faded, an afterthought spoken. Clara shivered as Hugh directed his gaze lower until it centered on the juncture of her thighs where he'd forced her knees up, allowing the silk gown to gather at her waist, leaving her exposed. "I believe I crave my dessert now, little lamb."
He punctuated the statement with a sweep of the spoon… along the upper curve of her left breast. An abrupt chill seeped into her heated skin as the custard’s edges slowly spread outward, reminding Clara of the lazy flow of sap dripping from a tapped maple tree.
“Am I to be your plate, then?”
Hugh painted another line of custard above her other breast before answering. “Hardly. You’re the main course, only lacking a few garnishments.” Setting the used spoon aside, Clara watched as a ripe peach was chosen and brought to his mouth. White teeth bit into the succulent fruit—an innocuous act made wicked as its juice burst forth—and he gently squeezed the peach over her knee, allowing the sweet liquid to dribble down the inside of her leg.
It tickled.
It aroused.
Clara panted in confusion, her body writhing against her bounds on the table. What was he doing to her? Why did the simplest action elicit such a visceral response? She should feel uncomfortable—a sticky mess of sweets—yet the only emotion she could muster was anticipation for Hugh’s next move.
Would he finally clean her up?
With his tongue?
You truly are a wanton minx.
