Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(11)
Her jaw had tightened to the point of cracking. He wondered if she was going to test him that far, but then she tossed her head, a whatever, fuck you gesture that had him biting back a smile as she put her arms behind her back.
He ran his hands down her arms, indulging a squeeze over her wrists before he clipped the wrist cuffs to one another, wrapping the dangling jesses around them, under and over, to reinforce the binding.
He eased her back to the pillows, ensuring they supported her upper body and provided a yielding cushion for her cuffed wrists, so she wasn’t uncomfortable lying on them.
Rising from the bed, he stood at the end, studying his queen. With her legs spread wide on her “perch,” he had a perfect view of her still glistening pussy, the damp folds. Her arm bindings had the intended effect, lifting her breasts high before his appreciative gaze.
He returned to her side, stretching out on his hip next to her. As he stroked her breasts, she bit her lip again, her breath shortening in an absorbing way.
“Nothing to fear from being touched, my lady. Not by me. Especially when I’m touching something this magnificent.” He curved his fingers over them. Stroked, kneaded.
When he finally closed his fingers on the nipple and squeezed lightly, she arched up as if he’d bitten her in passion.
She’d climaxed not long ago, but he was pleased to see she was well on the path toward that cliff edge once more. He was still at the top himself, his aching cock ready for whatever he was going to do, and not being subtle about its frustration with his pace. He ignored it. He wanted to hear her begging again before he took her.
“When my child takes hold in your womb,” he observed, savoring how valiantly she struggled to stay quiet when he thumbed her nipples, “your breasts will get even fuller and heavier. I’ll suckle them, keep them bound in nothing but the lightest silks as you move around my palace, your ripe body mine to view as you swell with my child.”
“What if I get cold?” she managed.
His answer was simple. No need to use many words when a blunt, irrefutable statement would do.
“I’ll warm you.”
The slave returned with the food and drink, quietly left it on the side table, and disappeared again. Picking up the glass of honeyed mead, Matt brought it to Savannah’s lips. “Drink, fierce queen. Keep up your strength against your captor. You might gain the advantage yet.”
“You assume I don’t already have it.” She sipped. If her hands were free, would she have put them around his to steady the cup? Maybe.
“You have to sleep sometime,” she said. “I’ll gut you with your own dagger and escape.”
“I look forward to that attempt. I’ll disarm you and retaliate by piercing you with a different kind of weapon, over and over, until you have no strength in your limbs to run.”
She set her lips to a thin line when he brought food to them, but he persisted, brushing it in a caress against her mouth until she relented.
He would never allow her to eat with her own hands again. Watching her mouth close over each morsel, sometimes over his fingers, as he gave her bits of bread, meat and cheese, spawned a wealth of different feelings. All good. The pleasure of having her take food from his hand was too intense to imagine denying himself the future indulgence.
But he was no fool. The way her tongue was occasionally brushing his skin was either unintentional, 0r his captive was trying to win his trust with deceptively innocent seduction tactics.
His cock had very strident opinions and desires about her, but it would never override his brain. When she at last shook her head, telling him she’d had enough, he tested his suspicion.
“You seem to be getting more relaxed with me, my lady.” Setting aside the plate, he slid his hand up her thigh. “Perhaps you’re more willing than you portray, your rebellion merely an act, meant to provoke me toward what we both want?”
Her backbone stiffened instantly, as he’d expected. “I am merely regaining strength. I’m immune to your touch, my lord, same as if I was covered in ice. Encased in it.”
“An interesting theory to test.” He brought a napkin to her lips. When he nearly got bitten for his trouble, he tsked.
“I don’t mind reddening your luscious backside again, my lady. Or introducing you to that ring gag I described.”
“I’m not afraid of your punishments.”
“No, I expect that’s not what you’re afraid of.”
The fears of a woman like her lay behind doors in her heart, rooms that held raw and vulnerable needs. Those needs had always been locked in the dark. A woman who shrank from nothing else could be paralyzed by the lights of love and trust. By the thought of someone who would care for her, not out of obligation, but because it was the most important damn thing he’d ever done or wanted in his entire life.
Get out of your head and into hers instead. “Let’s test this frosty theory of yours.”
Thank God they weren’t actually doing this in a tent centuries ago. It would have been devoid of amenities like a full ice bucket, discreetly placed on the side table. Propping it between two pillows within easy reach, Matt picked up one of the heaped, frosted chips. He glided it over the top of Savannah’s breast, to her nipple. He relished her writhing, the little gasp at the ice’s first contact, before he took it to her navel, and lower. “Your skin heats so much at my touch, it’s leaving a trail of glittering drops from your magnificent breasts to your gorgeous cunt.”