Trust Me (19 page)

“Lift your head and
listen to me.”

She raised her head.

“Go in to my
bedchamber, kneel on the floor and wait for me.” He traced a fingertip down the
chain of her necklace until he reached the sapphire pendant between her
breasts. “You are to keep your shift exactly as I have it now.”

Her breasts quivered,
a shudder racing through her body. Her nipples stiffened. God, she looked
fetching like that. He couldn’t resist touching those beautiful tips again.
Then he gave her a slight push. “Go.”

She arose slowly, as
though her legs were weak, and then he watched the sway of her gorgeous
backside as she went to his chamber.

****

His bed was far too
long and wide for him to be able to tie both her arms and legs to the posts.
But he wanted her to feel completely helpless. He took her hand and she lay
unresisting, her eyes cast downwards. Starting with the right, he bound her
wrists to the spires on the headboard with rope. Then he watched the gooseflesh
rise on her arms and her nipples became even more impossibly erect.

He took one of her
breasts in his hand and squeezed it. “Don’t move a muscle.”

He left the bed and
went to his desk, which even his valet, Toby, was not allowed to access. He
unlocked the bottom drawer and retrieved a wooden board. Attached to it were
ankle cuffs lined with soft fur.

As he approached the
bed carrying the board, she gave a soft gasp. He came nearer and let her take a
closer look at it. “I purchased this for you, before we went in seclusion in at
the farmhouse in September. But, sadly, there was no occasion during which I
felt you were ready for something like this.”

He leant over the bed
and squeezed her breasts again, to remind her that he owned them. They were his
to do with as he pleased. “I am going to attach your ankles to this bar, and
then you will be able to deny me nothing. You will be open to me for as long as
I deem it proper.”

Her throat worked as
she swallowed. He walked towards the foot of the bed, then leant over it once
more and stroked his hand down the inside of her thigh.

She swallowed again
but she remained quiet. Her silence pleased him, as did her lowered gaze.

He cuffed her ankles
to the board.

“You think it will be
easy, Nan. But it won’t. Before the night is over, you will beg me for mercy.”

****

Aware of Jon’s gaze
upon her, Anne lay with her eyes half-closed. Tied up as she was, the sense of
helplessness set her heart racing and little spirals of delicious anticipation
sparked in her lower abdomen. She pulled against the rope and tried to move her
legs but couldn’t. He had tied her well. The little spirals anticipation grew
from sparks into fiery sensations that shot straight through her, tingling
along the length of her body from her nape to her nipples to her belly, all the
way down to her toes.

He thrust into her
slowly, inch by inch, filling her, stretching her. She moaned low and her inner
walls clenched him greedily. Embedded in her to the hilt, he ground his pelvis
so that he brushed her nub. Her body hummed with pleasure.

He withdrew, quickly
and completely. The sense of loss took her breath. She gasped and strained
uselessly against her bounds.

He rubbed the head of
his cock on her bud, sliding over it in slick circles that made her cunt
contract in hunger upon its emptiness. She moaned, pleading without words for
his return.

He slid into her
slowly, as he had before. Maybe slower. Filling her gradually until he pressed
the door to her womb. Pressing, pressing.

Oh, oh, it was too
delicious. If only he would move. Thrust in and out of her with vigour and
force.

He kept pressing. But
he was also moving his hips in a circular motion, brushing her nub, giving her
just enough sensation that her craving for more grew and grew.

She knew better than
to beg. If she begged, oh lord, he would drag his teasing out even longer.

The mere thought of
his doing so sent wetness flooding from her centre.

He withdrew again.

“Oh no! No, don’t...”
The words flew past her lips before she could stop them.

He laughed softly
then began to trace soft, slow circles over her most sensitive spot with the
crown of his cock.

She clenched inside
and her hips began to dance up and down.

“Be still, wench.”

“I can’t seem to help
it.” The admission underscored her helplessness to his will. It aroused her all
the more. Wetness gushed from her cunt. The motion of her hips became almost
frantic.

He took hold of her
pelvis and ruthlessly stilled her. Being almost completely immobilized by him
sent her pulse racing all the harder. Desire pooled in her belly so intensely
it was like pain.

“Please, please,
please… Oh, Jon,
please
…”

He leant forwards and
licked at her nipple. Darts of sweet sensation shot through her, seeming to
make a direct connection to deep within her womb. She gave a long, lingering
wail.

He thrust into her
then began pistoning her with all the vigour and force she had longed for.
Driving her higher, faster, higher, faster.

Her cunt began to
draw and draw. Oh she was almost there, almost there. The first licks of
pleasure began—

He stopped the motion
of his body.

“Oh… please don’t
stop…” She twisted in the ropes.

“You cannot come. I
won’t let you.”

She moaned and twisted
against the ropes binding her wrists. “No, no, you’re jesting… you wouldn’t,
couldn’t be so unkind.”

He bit lightly at her
nipple. “Tonight I am your tormenter.”

He began thrusting
again, driving into her fiercely. Oh, such sweet torment. The beginning of a
perfect orgasm began to wash over her.

He stopped again.

Tears sprang to her
eyes. Desperate for release, she began to sob. “Please, please, please.”

She twisted in the
ropes.

He withdrew from her
and then moved up her body, straddling her, until he could put his erection,
still wet from her body, in the valley between her breasts. A sinking feeling
blossomed within her. She had a terrible inkling of what he intended. He cupped
her breasts and brought them together. His erection pulsed between them. The
sensation of that silken steel stroking between her sensitive flesh fired her
blood. Yet her cunt throbbed with aching emptiness. Desire to please him warred
with her own need. Her hips arched of their own volition. Her body shook. Oh
God, she was desperate, desperate for satisfaction.

He squeezed her
breasts together and pumped between them. Harder, faster. His breaths came as
harsh pants. Her own breathing increased, her arousal rising with his.
Dizziness overcame her.

His body stiffened
and he gave one last thrust, then he held very still. His hot seed rained over
her breasts. His harsh groan filled her with a sort of pride. She was always
proud of her ability to please him.

As she listened to
his panting slow to regular breathing, the tension in her pelvis ebbed,
settling into a dull ache.

Momentarily, he arose
and left her. He returned with a washcloth. The strokes of the warm, wet cloth
created a melting sensation within her. When he was done, he untied her wrists.
Then he moved to unfasten her ankles. Her arms and legs were stiff but she
managed to curl on her side.

He ran a caressing
hand over her back. “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Speak to me.”

“I am fine.” Her
voice sounded as though she were speaking in a trance. Perhaps she was. She couldn’t
collect her thoughts and yet she felt none of the customary panic associated
with such a state.

He reached for her
arms. “Here, sit.”

She didn’t resist as
he pulled her to a sitting position. He brought the lamp close and looked her
in the eyes.

Searching…

He replaced the lamp
on the night table.

Exhaustion swept over
her and she closed her eyes.

****

Jon couldn’t sleep. It was this
house. It belonged to the dead.

Its corridors and chambers were
too empty, too stark.

Only Grandmother remained.

He arose slightly earlier than
was customary for him, pulled on his banyan and went to his study, where he
would normally take breakfast.

As he opened the door, a soft
gasp drew his attention.

A young housemaid, not more than
sixteen, had been building the morning fire. She stood, her face pale, her eyes
large. Her hands were trembling at her sides. “Milord.”

Her voice quavered.

She was terrified of him.

He caught a sideways glance of
himself in the huge brass-framed mirror that hung on the wall.

In his own face, he saw the old
earl, his grandfather in profile.

The girl hurriedly collected her
things and she scurried from the chamber.

Scurried as quickly as she could,
as though her very safety or life had depended upon it.

So that’s how it was.

Despite the fact that he had
never, ever approached or touched a servant in his own employ, he was expected
to be just like the old earl. A rapist of servants. A late night drunken fiend
to be avoided at all costs.

He glanced at the mirror again.

He could hear the echo of
Grandfather’s deep, booming voice. Practicing yet another grand speech for the
House of Lords. Watching himself parade back and forth in the enormous mirror.
Exuding arrogance and command in both his posture and his tone, Grandfather had
seemed to be ten feet tall. Immortal, superhuman.

Once again, Jon pictured himself,
here in this study. Standing before his grandfather. Grandfather looming over
him, lecturing him on yet another disappointment, another failure.
Administering corporal punishment. Looking down upon him with cold disdain.

Never offering any praise or
showing the slightest affection to his grandson.

The old man barely acknowledged
that Jon was of his blood.

Because Jon was expected to be an
abject failure.

Just as his pitiful father had
been.

From the moment of his birth,
everyone had expected failure from Jon.

As a young man, he had run from
this past. From this house and all the memories it held. He had created his own
life, his own way.

Yet, inheritance, duty and
marriage had brought him back here.

And now, Anne too, had begun to
expect failure from him.

Was it this house?

Did the ghosts here whisper to
her?

Christ, how fanciful he was
becoming. Jon scowled at his own image in the mirror, seeing the familiar shape
of his nose, the furrow between his brow. The same blue eyes.

Grandfather’s hated face lay like
a mask over his own. The dutiful statesman and the noble earl who had been
venerated in public whilst feared in private by both his housemaids and family
members alike. Here, in this house, all had listened with fear for the approach
of his footfalls.

He glanced around, his attention
narrowing in on a marble bust of Grandfather’s grandfather. He strode to it and
put his hands on it, grasping tightly. He would take it and smash the mirror to
shards.

He closed his eyes and took a
deep, shuddering breath.

His grip on the statue relaxed.

No, he was not going to allow
himself to be moved to such violence. He was not going to allow the past to
make him lose his self-control.

Later today, he would have that
damned mirror removed.

For now, he remained alone, with
the ghosts of this house. This place wasn’t quite as empty as he’d thought.

****

She was in the
dark. The air was thin, so horribly thin. She couldn’t breathe. The casket! No,
no, no! She pounded at the lid above her and was startled by a splitting sound.
She drew her hands back and held them tight to her chest. A crack formed in the
lid. Light spilled in, hurting her eyes—

Anne awoke and bolted
upright. Her heart was pounding. She looked to the bedside clock.

Eight in the morning.

She was afraid and
she wanted nothing more than to be with Jon. That much she understood about
herself. She was too tired to think matters through any further.

She arose from Jon’s
bed and padded into the sitting chamber. Morning sun filtered through the sheer
pale-yellow curtains, producing a cheerful aura that clashed with her slothful,
sore muscled mood.