Asteria In Love with the Prince (23 page)

He said a quick goodbye to the retinue and closed the door on them, then pulled me towards the bedroom.

“Right now?” I said, a little taken aback.

“Right now.” He closed the door behind us. The bed was emperor size, an ornate iron frame with luxuriant gray and black bedding. He picked me up like a doll and threw me, taking my breath away, and I sprawled on the luxuriant softness, gasping. He yanked his tie off and hurled it aside, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the raw lust radiating off him, the urgency to be naked with me, and a hot thrill spiked straight down to my groin. He tore his jacket off and hurled it aside. I could see his chest heaving under his shirt as he fumbled with the buttons at the neck, growing frustrated. Suddenly he ripped, buttons flying, and then he was yanking it down his arms and throwing it to the floor.

I was half-sitting against the pillows. He grabbed one ankle and pulled, and I slid down the bed towards him with a delighted squeal. Then he was on top of me, bare-chested and almost growling, hunkering down to devour me. His lips found mine, one of those hot, hungry kisses where you’re panting into it.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured. His hands were gathering the hem of my dress, lifting the skirt up my legs. He wrenched it up my body and I arched my back to help him. My body still felt sun-kissed and warm; the dress was a needless distraction and when he pulled it over my head it was almost a relief. How different from when we’d met, when stripping off had seemed shocking.
I don’t think I’m a librarian anymore,
went through my head.

He didn’t pull the dress all the way off, though. He left it bunched around my wrists, and then he twisted it, so that the fabric bound my arms together above my head. He smiled down at me, one huge hand planted firmly on the bundle of cloth. I tugged experimentally with my wrists. I was held fast. I looked meaningfully up at my bonds and then at him.

“We will improvise, for now,” he told me. “When we get home, I have more suitable things.”

“More suitable?” I was almost panting.

“More suitable to restrain a slave.” He grinned.

“I’m not your slave yet,” I protested. I was starting to learn that I liked to protest. The safeword ring made a lot of sense to me, now.

He reached under me with one hand and unfastened my bra, then lazily flicked the loose cups up so my breasts were bare. “You will be, Lucy,” he told me.

He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out to lap at my breasts. It felt like they’d absorbed the heat of the sun and swelled, until they were groaning and aching for him. Each touch of his tongue sent a new stream of pleasure rippling down through me: they linked and joined, forming a river. I writhed arched on the bed, trying to get my nipple under his mouth, but he moved with me. The breast he was focusing on grew shiny with his licking, an island in the center cruelly untouched. Then he started to do the same with the other breast. “Please!” I begged, figuring that was what he wanted.

He lifted his head for a moment and smiled at me, his eyes gleaming. Then he returned to his ministrations, leaving me to groan and grind my ass against the bed in frustration. I could feel the heat rising inside me, but he wouldn’t let it rise to that magic point I longed for. Long minutes passed, his tongue sometimes soft as silk, sometimes as firm as fingers, until I was moaning and thrashing my head. Then, at last, he tongued my nipples, watching me carefully. I gasped, my head coming up off the bed, gritting my teeth, ready to—

He stopped. Then with his free hand, he pinched that super-sensitive, slickened nipple and my moans grew shrill, the pleasure somehow turning to pain and then back again, hovering on the edge—

He stopped again, and now my whole body was throbbing, as if he’d locked in my arousal, leaving me a panting, raging mess. He used his free hand to push my panties down, leaving them midway down my thighs. He ran his hand down my body, from my cheek to my breasts, my thighs, my sex. He cupped me there, using his hand to open my thighs, and then plunged two fingers inside me.

“You’re wet,” he told me. “I want to fuck you right now....”

“Yes!”

‘...But not yet, I think.”

He twitched his fingers, just a tiny movement, and I nearly came, right there. He smiled at my helplessness and looked around the room for a moment. “I’m concerned that you may become noisy,” he told me. “Not that the guards would come in, but it’s not fitting for an exkella to be heard screaming.” He retrieved something from the floor with his foot and then grabbed it when it was close enough. His tie. He straddled me, his weight pinning me to the bed, and released my hands. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I assumed he was going to use the tie to bind me. Okay, I could go for that.

He finished and lifted himself off me again, his biceps flexing in a way that stirred something dark in me. The knowledge that he was stronger than me: not just a bit, but hopelessly outclassing me, that I was helpless in his grasp....

He showed me what he’d done. He’d tied a fat knot in the middle of the tie. “Open your mouth,” he told me. I blinked up at him for a second, not understanding, but opened wide.

The tie slid into my mouth, the knot filling it and pressing my tongue down. He pulled the ends behind my head and tied them tight. “What? What are you—” I asked. Only it didn’t come out like that. It came out as a muffled, garbled mess. He’d gagged me.

I fingered the safeword ring.

“Now,” he smiled, and with one hand pinning my wrists to the bed again, he slid so that he was lying alongside me, so that he could gaze down the length of my naked body.

His hand cupped my sex again and I gasped and closed my thighs instinctively. As he thrust two fingers into me again, the edges of his hand rubbed on my legs, deliciously hard against my soft skin. “Mmmf!” I moaned, my head going back.

He set up a rhythm with his fingers, stroking in and out of my tightness. Red spirals of fire twisted up my body, making me grind and writhe: I wanted to grab his hand and pull it deeper, to move it faster, to be in control. My wrists yanked against the fabric holding them, and I wasn’t just playing, but the thick twists of cloth were perfect: soft enough not to hurt, tight enough to hold me fast. His hand, pinning the fabric to the bed, might as well have been a steel girder. I’d never understood bondage before. Even that night in Monaco when he’d tied me to the stool, I’d thought it was about stopping me from escaping. It wasn’t – or at least, not this time. It wasn’t to restrain me while he did something I didn’t want. It was to restrain me while he did something I wanted too much.

His fingers moved faster...but deliberately just a little slower than my body craved. My eyes rolled back in my head, my eyelids fluttering. I could only wait and hope that he’d take me over the edge, and in the meantime hang on for the ride.

At first, I stayed silent: I had it in my head that the gag was to remind me to be quiet. After a few minutes of teasing, I couldn’t help it: I tried to beg him -
please
let me come. The garbled moan made him smile: but more than that, it felt
good
. I’d found I could breathe easily enough around the gag, the knot soft and springy enough to fill my mouth when I let it but not to block my air. I could feel myself panting hotly around it, and as his thrusts started to pick up speed I started to groan, to beg, to plead, and eventually to curse. Every shout was a release: it kept the tension from becoming too much. It wasn’t about keeping me quiet: it was about leaving me free to scream.

When I was a bucking, twisting wreck, he gently slid his fingers from me and I relaxed, thinking it was over. He moved up to my hands and I closed my eyes, thinking he was going to release them.

The soft whistle of his belt sliding through the loops. Then a jerk on the cloth around my hands, and my arms were pulled straight up above my head. When I heard him walk away, I looked up at my hands, confused.

He’d used his belt to tie my dress to the iron bed frame. The leather cinched the fabric tight, holding my wrists just as firmly as before: but now he had his hands free.

He wasn’t done, though. He pulled my panties the rest of the way off and threw them aside. He pulled one leg out diagonally so that my ankle touched the iron bedpost. He shucked off his pants, passed one cuff through the iron frame and around my ankle and tied it tight. I watched as he pulled my other leg far apart, spreading me wide, and used the other pant cuff to tie my other ankle, leaving no slack. I was stretched out, arms straight above my head and legs open, like an upside-down “Y’.

I stared at him as he took off his jockey shorts, his cock already erect. He didn’t come back to the bed. He just stood there, naked, and watched me. I could feel his eyes roving over my nude, bound body, even as I gazed at his naked form. The sun was setting, bathing the room in a deep orange glow and leaving dark pools of shadow. I could see him breathing, the curves of his hairless chest flexing as he watched me.

I was helpless on the bed. This man was going to take me.

My gaze roamed over his shoulders, so wide and solid compared to mine. Down over his muscled arms, the forearms traced by veins. His torso was lean, tight with power. I knew how it would feel, when he thrust into me, when he used that power to root himself within me. And then as my eyes sank lower, I saw he was holding himself, stroking his erection as he watched me.

It’s like he’s already enjoying me,
I thought. The conqueror, gazing on the captured maiden before he ravishes her.
This man will take me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I watched him swell and grow, watched the effect my body had on him. I tugged at my bonds, wanting him
now
, but that was the point: he was going to enjoy me as
he
wanted.

He must have made me wait, thrashing and twisting, for several minutes, until my body ached for his touch. He stepped closer, his cock straining upwards, every muscle in his body hard as rock, and rolled on the condom. He climbed onto the bed between my thighs and I waited for him to enter me, feeling the emptiness like a physical pain. But he placed his hands on my thighs...and lowered his head between them.

GOD!
My back arched off the bed as his tongue caressed my inner thigh: circling inwards, unstoppable, towards my core. After so long without touch, every sensation was hyper-acute. I let out a long moan, muffled by the gag.

He stopped and spoke, without lifting his head, so that the words themselves touched my aching, desperate sex like a phantom caress. “You know what I’m going to do now, Lucy,” he told me.

Yes, yes!
I thought wildly.

“But you need to learn that even as an exkella, you come when I say so.”

Was he serious? If he licked me there I was going to come instantly.

“You’re going to hold yourself back. You are not to come until I tell you. Do you understand?” He lifted his head to look at me. I craned my head up and stared into those dark green eyes that promised so much pleasure...
if
I played by his rules. I nodded.

He began.

I’d thought it was sweet agony before, but it had been nothing compared to this. His expert tongue traced my lips then dived inside, parting me, and I felt the wave of pleasure rushing over me, threatening to tip me over the edge. I strained and panted, a sweat breaking out across my body, leaving me gleaming. He was licking me steadily, the pleasure stacking up behind the dam I’d built. I thrashed and groaned and tossed my head, my hair sticking wetly to my forehead; had to, to release the pressure inside me. But even with that safety valve, I knew I couldn’t last; I was being pushed, inch by inch, towards the edge, towards a climax like I’d never known.

His tongue thrust and drove and when his fingers joined it, circling my throbbing bud, my whole body went tense. I didn’t dare move; I was like a violin string, stretched tighter, tighter, my nails digging into my palms, my wrists and ankles wrenching at their bonds….

He lifted himself and in one smooth movement moved up my body, guiding himself into me with one hand while the other tangled in my hair. “Come,” he said simply, and thrust deep inside me.

My world exploded.

A deep shudder went up my body from my groin to my head, the feel of him entering me reverberating through me. My wrists yanked hard against the cloth, my body spasming under him as the climax robbed me of speech: I couldn’t even moan. I felt his lips on mine, sweet with my juices, the silk tie pressing into my mouth in a way that made me melt.

I am his slave to control

I am his slave

I am his

I felt my heels banging on the bed: I hadn’t even been aware of my legs trying to kick. I couldn’t think. I was lost in dark, throbbing pleasure and I kissed him as if his lips were the only link back to sanity.

I flopped on the bed as the orgasm rolled away like a thundercloud. It had never, ever been like
that
before. He waited until he was sure I was back with him; then he started to move. Slow, glorious thrusts like ocean waves, the pleasure rolling over me. If I’d been able to, I would have wrapped my legs around him, urged him on, pressed myself hard against him. But he was in control: I had to wait and accept the pace he set, and that made it...
exquisite.

His naked body was like a machine above me, hulking and powerful, driving into me again and again, muscles bunching and flexing, his lips on my mouth, my ear, my shoulder. I gasped and moaned and eventually cried out through the gag as a second orgasm washed over me. Seconds later, he was pumping almost savagely into me as he came as well.

There was a moment when we just stared at each other: him still atop me, taking his weight on his elbows, me gazing up at him, the gag still in my mouth. He’d rarely been so open to me, so clearly readable, as in that second: not since he’d told me about his brother. I could see the love he had for me, and it made me ache with the need to wrap my arms around him
.