Mastering the Marquess (51 page)

Deep breath. Deep breath
.

But he’d promised not to whip her, said he didn’t feel the need.

But what if she wanted him to? Even a few moments ago that would have seemed impossible, but now, as she looked at the soft fronds, she wondered, wondered what they’d feel like running along her body, wondered if they’d sting, or if they’d heighten her senses.

God, how could she be thinking these things after …

Trust.

This was all about trust.

That was the only important thing here and now.

She’d said that she needed to move past yesterday, to put it all behind her.

Perhaps he did too.

Perhaps he needed to see her trust in him.

Taking another deep breath, watching his eyes follow her movement, she let her body soften into the bed, gave him her most inviting glance.

Was he ever going to come to her? She’d thought this would all proceed much faster once she was on the bed.

As if sensing her thoughts, he relaxed his face and eased forward in the chair, letting his legs spread wide.

His eyes met hers and held. Yes, he liked what he saw, liked the sight of her awaiting his pleasure.

Her eyes were drawn to the heavy bulge between his legs. He saw her glance, and grinned.

When had Geoffrey begun to grin with such candor? She wanted to be there with him, to touch him, to feel him. Pulling slightly against her bonds, she longed to ask him to free her.

His large hand reached down to cup himself through the fabric, outlining the thickness of his shaft.

Her mouth grew dry and then filled with moisture. An ache grew between her legs.

Why had he forbidden her to taste him? Yes, her cheeks were sore, but …

He stroked himself through the fabric, and then loosed the buttons. His cock sprang free in an instant, reaching for her—although perhaps only in her mind.

He grasped it firmly, wrapping his fingers around the heavy shaft. With his other hand he reached out and lifted the small bottle from the table, popping the cork with his thumb. It looked like the bottle of oil the Countess had used yesterday, and Louisa waited for the smell of cinnamon to assault her nostrils. Instead the scent of something masculine and musky came to her.

She watched as he shook some of the oil onto one hand and then began to spread it over his cock, the skin shining as he drew it tight. Her mouth watered, her whole being focused on his moving hands. He cupped his balls with one hand and kept the fingers of the other wrapped about his shaft.

She watched, enraptured, as he began to move his grip up and down, his hips rising
slightly to thrust against his palm.

It was one of the most erotic sights she had ever seen.

Was this what he’d done that first night at Madame’s when she’d been blindfolded?

Moisture was pooling between her thighs, and she could only hope she was not dripping on the coverlet. Longing to press her thighs tight, to ease the growing ache, all she could do was stare at him as he stared at her.

His hands might be upon his prick, but his whole focus was upon her.

She opened her mouth, wet her lips, licked them again and again.

He began to move faster, each movement of his hand met by one of his hips.

His muscles strained. She could see the cords standing out in his thighs and neck, see him fighting toward the goal.

“God, Louisa,” he murmured, his gaze burning into her, his focus complete.

She wanted to answer, but remembered his desire for her silence.

She licked her lips again, opening them a little wider.

Aah, he liked her mouth. He liked it a lot. He thought he could wait days to let her use it. She’d just see about that.

Keeping her eyes focused on his moving hand, his jerking cock, she allowed herself to imagine tasting him, licking him, taking his thickness between her lips, feeling him thrust against the back of her throat, softening herself for him.

Could he see her thoughts? She rather thought he could.

He was groaning now, short, fast sounds that came with each thrust.

Hips lifted from the chair, thighs tightened. His fingers clenched and released, his mouth stretched with strain.

With a sudden jerk, he grabbed a napkin from the table, covering himself as a long cry left his lips.

Her gaze focused on the white linen cloth, watched it move and dampen. She could see his seed stain it as he thrust again and again into it.

Then he was still, his whole body collapsing into the chair, his eyes drifting closed.

She wanted to protest. It could not be over. It had not even begun.

And then his eyes sprang open—staring into her, seeking her soul.

That had taken the edge off—but only the edge. He hadn’t meant to give her a show, but when he’d seen her look as he took out the flogger it had overwhelmed him. He’d thought to see fear—and instead trust had radiated from her. Trust and anticipation—and perhaps the slightest edge of anxiety at the unknown.

Could there be a more intoxicating combination? Not for him.

It had been either pound into her with no preliminaries—and she was still hurting—or pleasure himself. There had been no other choice.

Even his vaunted control went only so far.

And the expression she’d had as she watched him … He’d found as much pleasure watching her as he had touching himself.

Well, he knew that might be an exaggeration, but not by much.

He remembered that first night at Ruby’s when he’d done much the same thing. If he’d known then what it would be like to have her watch, to have her eyes devour him, her blindfold would have lasted only seconds.

Everything about her fascinated him, delighted him.

Wiping himself clean, he tossed the napkin on the stones of the hearth and refastened himself. Even that simple gesture had him half-hard already. There was something about being clothed while Louisa lay before him naked that caused the fire in his belly to fan and grow.

He gathered the oil, the pearls, and the flogger and walked over to the bed.

Louisa turned her head as far as she could, watching him, watching the flogger.

He placed the oil and the pearls upon the bedside table and then, taking the flogger with him, moved to stand beside her.

“You want to know about this, don’t you?” He held it up and then lowered it so its long tails danced just above her belly. Her skin trembled.

She nodded.

“You are correct that it is a whip, but it is so much more than that,” he said.

She nodded again, but he could see excitement course through her body, tensing every muscle. He just might need that massage oil.

He lowered the flogger until it barely touched her skin, then drew it back and forth in a
slow stroke. “I’ve always liked to think of it like a feather, the softest of touches that teases and plays.” He ran it up to her breasts and then from one pebbled nipple to the other. They grew even tighter as the flogger floated over them, the pink skin darkening. “I debated whether to bring it out, but tonight is about trust and growth. I needed to feel your trust. And I do.”

Trailing the flogger from peaked nipple to peaked nipple, he watched her respond, watched her eyes dilate, watched them follow every movement of the whip. Her whole body trembled with pleasure.

He’d just come, yet his cock was already straining at his trousers again.

He let the soft suede play across her belly, watching each shiver, and then drew it up and down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. A soft mew escaped her lips.

“You like that, do you?” He repeated the process until she moaned and strained against her ties—and not in an effort to escape. He was going to have her begging before the night was through.

He took the whip and held it before her eyes. “You said you wanted to get past yesterday, and I wanted to show you that not everything is as it appears. Yes, it can be used as a whip—and I have to confess that even having promised to never use one upon you, I feel some desire—but this one does not hurt, not unless used to the extreme. It would take great strength or lengthy use on one spot to cause any pain, and I have no desire for that. Someday, if you ask—and only if you ask; and I rather think you will—we may experiment, but not in any way that causes even the slightest hurt … only, shall I say, a brightening of the skin. It is a true toy.” He brushed it the entire length of her body, until it came to rest between her legs.

He could see her legs strain to press against it, to feel the friction of its touch.

He dipped it down then, pulling it back up so that the strands ran between her folds.

Her breath caught, and he watched her eyes grow wide.

Letting it fall once more, he pulled it up slowly, then again trailed the tails across her belly. He watched the little quivers of her flesh, enjoyed the scent of her new musk. The ache grew in his balls. He was more than ready.

He closed his eyes, gathering strength, then dropped the flogger to the sheets. He needed to touch her with his hands, to feel her warm flesh, to taste the tight buds of her breasts. He could play with the toy later if he wished, if she wished.

Turning, he sat on the edge of the bed and yanked off his boots; he wasn’t sure he’d ever
gotten them off so fast. Then he climbed onto the bed beside her.

It was hard to know where to begin. She was an entire feast laid out at once.

Control.

He must maintain control.

Her gaze was fixed upon his face, and he could feel a question in it. Then her eyes darted to the bedside table and back to him. The pearls. The oil.

Aah, the oil. What better way to touch her.

He reached over and took the jar, pouring a good dollop into one hand before placing it back on the table. Rubbing his hands together to warm it and release the scent, he moved to kneel between her spread legs. He reached his arms up and stroked his palms across the hard tips of her nipples.

A slight gasp escaped her lips and her ribs expanded, pressing her breasts up toward him. Spreading his fingers wide, he cupped her, filling his hands. He squeezed softly and then more aggressively, watching every nuance of expression. Her body rose toward him, straining against the scarves. He pinched the tips and a moan escaped her lips. She liked that—yes, she liked it very much.

Her breath was coming in soft pants, her chest rising and falling with his every move.

Continuing his massage, he leaned forward until he could place a kiss upon her navel, his tongue slipping out to circle the indent, to taste the sweet and salty flavor that was Louisa.

She was all slippery silk and warm velvet, trembling warm velvet.

He squeezed her breasts tight before pulling his hands back and then again pinching only the turgid tips. He twisted slightly, pulled again, feeling them plump and elongate beneath his fingers, ripe berries begging to be tasted. Rubbing his nails across the flattened peak, he felt her squirm and twitch beneath him. The scent of her arousal filled him. Her hips were rising and falling as much as they were able, her need clear.

Flicking his nails across the tip, he saw her gasp, felt her thighs clench, felt her body surge toward him, felt her hunger.

God, he wanted her.

Grinning, he sat back on his heels and surveyed his work, pushing down his own urgent response. Her nipples thrust up, inviting, begging for his touch, his suckle, his bite.

Her eyes gleamed with desire, with need. He reached forward and plucked the swollen
buds. “Should I tease these until you come? I could, you know. I could do nothing but play with your nips and you’d beg me for more even as you shattered about me. Do you want that, or do you want something else?” This was all about her. He was all about her. Whatever his own desires, he wanted to remember that. He pressed her nipples tight one last time, her gasp of pleasure shooting through him.

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he trailed his fingers down her breasts, across the gently curved belly, until he was stroking the top of her curls. Her body shivered and shuddered at his touch. He twined his fingers in the soft hair and tugged gently. “You want more? I see it in your eyes. Should I reward you for not talking? For resting those sweet lips? I rather think I should. I may believe in punishment, but I also believe in reward.”

Tugging softly upon the dark curls, he worked his fingers lower, then swept them down her thighs, spreading the rest of the musky oil. He reached back to the table and took the jar again, dribbling oil across her belly and trailing it down to her cleft. He watched as the thin stream bathed her, her flesh glistening as never before.

Again he was reminded of that first night, of seeing her spread before him on Ruby’s bed, of dreaming of ties—ties like the ones that now held her. He’d first tasted her that night also.

His mouth felt dry as he gazed at her, the pink flesh peeking from the dark hair. He licked his lips, and placed one hand upon each spread thigh, his thumbs grazing the edges of her cunny, playing with that most tender skin. He moved his thumbs back and forth, reveling in her every twitch and moan. Massaging the sensitive joining of leg and torso, he teased her, moving closer to her desire and then away. He stopped and reached to the side, lifting the heavy candleholder. He brought it forward until she was fully illuminated. He wanted to see her, to see her every secret.