All The Queen's Men (Fantasy Heights) (9 page)

Some voice in her head asked if she’d gone crazy. This was
Thomas
. She should shut up, be brave, and let him enjoy himself. Tomorrow morning he might wake up and decide to send her away after all, and she should grab every chance she could to enjoy him right back.

“I trust you.”

She would remember later feeling as if she had turned a dial, winding him up a few degrees hotter. He stood, keeping his body enticingly close, his mouth out of reach as he pulled her t-shirt over her head. Her bra shortly followed, and when he stripped her skirt and panties off, he applied his mouth to her belly, just below her navel. She felt it everywhere. Her nipples tightened, and her clit began to swell and heat.

He left her wearing only the ribbon lace-up sandals she’d worn to rehearsal. He made her climb onto the table, onto her hands and knees. He stood behind her, looking at her ass, at her pussy, and even that made the electric excitement climb. She could feel her juices begin to leak out, and the sweet, deep ache of intense arousal.

“Don’t move.”

She heard him walk away, and she thought how unkind it was for him to leave her there, aroused, at the mercy of her own imagination. Wild, wanton flashes of Thomas with his cock sunk up to the hilt inside of her warred with images of him banging her with those long, thick fingers. Her skin was practically steaming by the time he returned with an armful of yoga mat, pillow and a thick blanket. He made her crawl down and spread the mat and blanket over the table while he went into a cupboard for a bottle of grapeseed oil.

One more thing clicked when he went after a blue canvas bag that had been sitting on his counter when they’d come in. From it, he unloaded arm and ankle restraints, a thick red leather pouch and a second, longer black one.

“Have you been planning this?”

Thomas glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about this since Haynes House. Thinking about it, planning it, was the only thing that got me through the last few days.”

Those eyes. Twin furnaces turned on full blast.

She wanted to whimper.

He said, “You’ve never done anything like this. Maybe we should start with something tamer, but I think you’re ready.”

He opened the black pouch and pulled out a long metal wand vibrator with a round knob at the very end. She knew from experience that the knob could turn her spine and pelvis to cinders with enough pressure applied to the right spot.

He set the vibrator on the counter and opened the other pouch. This one contained another metal toy with a knob at the end. This one was shaped like a great big fishhook, knob where the barb would be, and a large round ring at the other end.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

A strong, entirely pleasant sizzle cascaded down her back.

“Get on the table again. Kneel, right in the middle.”

She did, grateful the table was a heavy old oak number that could bear her weight with ease. Thomas carried the restraints over. He bound her ankles first in black canvas Velcro bands clipped together by rings. A second Velcro band went just beneath her knees.

She wondered how much her blood pressure rose when he took hold of her elbows and drew them back. Not quite together, but they were pulled back much farther, much harder than she was used to, and secured that way. Even after she could relax and let the restraints keep her arms in place, she still had to arch her back to ease the tension on her shoulders.

Silent, Thomas picked up the metal-knobbed hook and strung the ring end onto the long, soft cord he then used to bind her wrists. She could feel the cool metal resting against her buttocks while he picked up what she’d thought was a key ring or something, but turned out to be nipple clamps linked together on a chain.

“Mmm, I love those.”

A smile backlit the heat in Thomas’s eyes. But there was also a wickedness there, a warning that right now, they were not on the same level. He was in charge.

She did try to stay quiet, but when he clamped the first one onto her left nipple, she hissed air through her teeth at the sharply erotic pang shooting between breast and pussy. Silence befell her once Thomas applied its mate. Not so much because of how it felt, but the effect the sight of her was having on Thomas. His skin was flushed, and his breathing had gone from heavy to ragged. If her hands had been free, she would have freed his erection from his jeans.

He caught her looking, and in a typically Thomas inflammatory—and likely calculated—fashion, began to undress. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, prolonging the stretch of it, allowing her to watch lean, rippling muscle shift beneath warm, healthy skin.

God, she wanted to touch him. His chest, his tummy, the back of those powerful, exquisite arms. She wanted to nip at his neck. Suck a nipple. Feel him flinch when she bit it.

Later, maybe. Off went the tennis shoes and scrubs he’d worn into rehearsal, leaving only boxers he shed a moment later.

Her body knew a couple moments of slight relief at having him naked and that much closer to sunken inside of her. He was so hard already. Whatever he had planned, surely it couldn’t go on very long before Thomas gave in.

Wrong. Thomas had much more self-control than she did. First he blindfolded her, and then carefully guided her to bend over. He got her head and shoulder situated on the pillow where she could rest comfortably yet still have her ass high in the air.

He exhibited the same gentleness when he began to touch her, stroking a hand up her left flank. She nearly purred. She wanted to sway into him so his hand would touch her pussy. He ran his hand up over her buttock, her wrists, before gently dragging the back of his fingers down her other cheek. The light contact tickled over her left thigh. His touch made the muscles there clench in reflexive, hopeful response to stimulation.

Her memory grew a cruel streak. She thought about the throne room and the sharp sting of his slaps. She hummed, wishing he’d spank her.

He didn’t. Instead, he began to drizzle oil over one buttock, and then the other. He smeared it around and much to her frustration, avoided any contact with her pussy or anus.

She would combust, soon. She could feel the muscles in her torso and thighs tensing into rigid positions, straining with arousal, fighting to rein it in. And inside, all those nerves were warmed up and pleading, begging for his attention.

When he took his hands away, it seemed to take an hour before he returned. This time, he brought something cool and metal. Sharp. He pressed it into her skin. Rolled it from the crease of her left buttock and thigh up to the small of her back. Whatever it was, it left a stinging trail in its wake, like pin pricks.

Alert to pain now, she could feel a different sort of awareness. Every move he made, every sound she could hear, was that much more vivid. She shook, and felt gooseflesh rise on her skin.

Thomas made a sound then, as if he’d been waiting for that sign. A moment later, he pushed a finger into her cunt, nice and deep.

Unable to move anything else, Amanda used her inner muscles to pull at him, squeezing on him, and that won her one of those gravelly sounds that raised the gooseflesh all over again. He began to lick her, then. First her pussy, then her anus. The pressure from the nipple clamps made the sensations even better than usual. Sharper. Deeper.

By the time he finally began to spread the grapeseed oil between her buttocks, she’d begun to rock slightly with the rhythm of his hands, never ceasing until he left her gasping once more with his finger stuck into her ass. She squeezed at him again. Another growl, and then a sharp spank to her right buttock. She was not allowed even that much liberty.

“Terrible sub,” he muttered.

He took the punishment a little further, pressing two fingers tightly together and pressing them in. Hard. The oil helped them to slide, but the pressure was still a bright and painful sting that made her cry out. He used his other hand to pour more oil onto her as he pumped those fingers again and again.

As intense as the pressure and sensation had become, she was disappointed when he pulled them out all the way. A moment later, though, she felt something cold press against her sphincter. She thought it was the wand vibrator for a moment, until she felt a tug at her wrist restraints. It was the other metal knob. The one at the end of the hook. The knob was about to go into her ass, and it was connected to her wrist restraints by that loop.

The thought of it started her on fire. Deep, white-hot combustion.

Thomas said, “Relax against the knob. Bear down a little and relax so I can push it in.”

She tried. The arousal had grown almost out of hand by then. It took a lot of focused breathing and concentration to relax her sphincter muscles enough that he didn’t have to push so hard and risk injuring her.

When the knob did finally slip past that final ring of muscle and the hook came to rest once more, both of them sighed out moans of arousal.

Thomas reached up to cup each buttock, pulling them apart, kneading them. She knew he liked seeing that hook. And she liked the way it moved every time her weight shifted and her arms had to shift with it. There was something to be said for this kind of fetish, kinky play. She couldn’t remember ever feeling such prolonged arousal. It felt as if every vein was a volcano, bursting with lava, longing and writhing for release.

Matters grew considerably worse when Thomas introduced the wand vibrator. He started mercifully small. He turned the vibration on and touched the back of her thigh, trailing down to one knee. Then back up again, through the oil on her buttocks.

He drew with the knob, around her buttocks and thighs, finally slipping between them where he drew a straight line up toward her pussy. She stiffened, both eager and afraid for him to make contact. He teased first, trailing the vibrating tip to either side before zeroing in.

Behind the blindfold, she squeezed her eyes shut. He only let the knob brush over her clit, choosing instead to guide it between her pussy lips and push in, firm but slow. The sensation outshone all else. She could hardly breathe from the intensity of it.

“Don’t come,” he ordered.

She couldn’t even manage a whimpered reply. It took all her concentration to drag a breath in. Corral the chemicals. Seize control of the bright-white fire forming around those knobs.

He began to pump the vibrator in and out. Slow and steady rhythm, stroking her inside.

Just when she was convinced she’d lose control, he stopped. He drew the wand out and replaced it with two fingers, continuing to stroke. A moment later, he touched the still-vibrating knob to the anal hook. Metal on metal, the contact was like an electrical shock that made her cry out in surprised pleasure.

She very nearly came. She might have, if he hadn’t picked that moment to take hold of her thighs just below her hipbones. He slid her backward, mat, blanket and all, over the end of the table, lowering her down until her feet were on the floor.

She thought she might die of pure ecstasy when she felt the hot tip of his cock press against her pussy lips. He wet the tip with oil and her juices first, and then sank in an inch. Pulled back out. He teased the tip of himself, and nearly incinerated what was left of her reserves.

“No,” he warned. “Don’t you dare come.”

As if to make it a thousand times harder to obey, he thrust his hips forward. All the pressure he put on that hook drove it in deeper, too, and she mewled out a helpless sound.

He thrust into her three times. Four. And then he pulled out again, leaving her pussy crackling right on the brink of orgasm.

She fought it. Concentrated. Breathed. Centered herself, forcing her body back into form.

“Good,” he said. “Stand up.”

He helped. Somewhat. Mostly he steadied her by cupping her breasts for a moment. He gave the chain between the clamps a couple sharp tugs that left her panting.

She felt the scratch of his chin just behind her left ear, felt the soft heat of his bottom lip at her lobe. “You’re beautiful.”

Had he left her any bit of her wits still operational, she would no doubt have thought of something appropriately provocative to say. As it was, she managed only a whimper before he moved off and she heard chair legs scrape against the tiled floor.

He knelt down to remove first the knee restraints, and then the ankle cuffs. Grasping one ankle, he said, “Lift.”

She took the weight off that leg and let him raise it until her foot was propped on the seat of a chair. Then he seized her around the waist and lifted, sliding the other chair into place so she could stand on the seats, facing him.

She remembered Neil doing this in
The Eastern Star
. Remembered Jerod standing nearby while he did it.

Before she could tense up at the thought, Thomas made her squat down until she could feel the tip of his cock poised at the brink once more. He rested his hands on her thighs, holding her still. Her muscles began to quake. He let his hands slide around and under her thighs, and thrust up just enough to get the tip of himself inside her.

“Be still,” he ordered. “I don’t have much control left. Better play it safe.”

He began to pull at her arm restraints. He untied the wrist parts completely and unthreaded the hook before freeing too her elbows.

He left the hook inside of her. No longer connected to anything, it didn’t move as much, but it still felt good as she clasped her arms around his neck.

Then he leaned back and lifted her off the chairs. Gravity made her thighs flex and brought her down onto his cock while he moved to place her against the wall. He supported her with his hands hooked around her thighs. The man was strong. Terrifyingly, gloriously strong, but his patience had begun to slip. He began to strain up into her, his body as tense and jittery as she had ever felt him.

And that hook, the knob inside plus the width and force of Thomas’s shaft combined forces to orchestrate one powerful, prolonged orgasm. It doubled in strength when the hook’s knob began to pass through all those rings of muscle, forced out by gravity and the natural muscle motions of orgasm.