Angel in Scarlet (Bound and Determined #4)(29)

“Push your bodice down now. Let me see those pretty breasts. Are your nipples red and puffy with need? Are they sensitive? Do they long for me?”

Her fingers trembled as they pushed the bodice down.

God, she was pretty. And, yes, she was red and swollen. His mouth ached with the desire to take her breast in, to suck and nibble until she cried his name. “Pull your breasts out over the dress. Yes, just like that. They look so good all pushed up. Now cup yourself; hold yourself like an offering. Show me how much you want me. Show me that you want me to admire you.”

Her small fingers curled about the ample flesh, cradling it, lifting it, offering it, as he had demanded. She kneaded herself gently.

“Harder,” he said.

She said nothing, but he could see the pressure of her fingers increase.

“Yes, squeeze, squeeze tight. Feel the weight, enjoy the silk of your skin.”

He pressed his hand hard against his length. Her eyes followed, dark and heavy. There was curiosity there as well as the growing warmth of pleasure. She liked this all very much. Even without touching each other, the moment was exquisite. “Tell me what you are feeling.”

“My breasts are swollen, as if they want to burst, as if the skin is too tight for them. They ache as they never have before—even the other night in the garden. It hurts when I squeeze, and yet pleasure shoots through me, deep into my belly. It makes me want more, but I don’t know what more is. And my nipples—they hurt when I press them, and yet they want more too. I do not understand and yet I do not care.”

“If they want to be pinched, pinch them; press them hard and hold.”

She did as he asked. He could see the sharp intake of breath, sense her holding it, as she pressed her fingers tighter and tighter.

“Let go now.”

She did but gasped again.

“Tight again. Now brush your nail across the tip—notice how sensitive you have become.”

“That feels so good. It is almost pain, but not. It is so intense, almost unbearable.”

“And yet you will bear even more, will you not?”

Her eyes came up to his. “If that is what you desire.”

He desired her on her knees before him, her lips open and ready—but that was not for now, that was for…Was he really considering…? Yes, damn it, he was. She had started this game and he would take it there, soon; if not tonight…He might not be ready to define where “there” was, but it would definitely involve her eager mouth about his prick. “And what do you desire, Angela?”

“I want to know, to know what it is I feel, to understand what draws me to you. I want this.” She pinched her nails into the red tips of her breasts, pulling them out toward him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, squeezing his fingers about his cock. If he wasn’t careful this would be over all too soon.

Her eyes dropped down again.

“Do you want to see?” he asked.

She bit down on her lip, the white teeth cutting into the pink flesh, but she nodded with surety.

He undid his flap, reached in, and pulled himself out.

Her lips parted, and a small gasp escaped her.

“Is it so different than you imagined?” he asked, stroking up to the tip, until a small drop of moisture escaped.

“It is the right shape, but I thought you would look more like the marble statues I have seen. It is much more…more colorful and larger, much larger.”

“Ah, what every man wants to hear. Perhaps that is the real reason that most statues have the penis of a small boy. It makes every man feel large in comparison.”

“I never thought it would be so dark. And it does look painful. Does it hurt?”

He tightened his fingers as he ran them up the shaft. “Only in the best way. It aches, but it is an ache that one could keep forever and still want more.”

Her tongue came out to wet her lips. “And that goes inside me—inside a woman?”

“As frequently as it is allowed.”

Her feet moved together. Her knees pressed tight. That edge of nervousness returned.

He started to increase the pace of his stroke, harder, faster.

She was pulling at her breasts with the same rhythm, whether she realized it or not.

“I am going to come,” he said.

She actually leaned forward.

He focused on a single ripe nipple, swollen and sore yet begging for more attention.

The pace increased.

Soon.

Soon.

He held back.

Then could hold no more.

—

She’d never seen anything like that. It wasn’t the actual action, although she’d certainly never seen that before either; it was the look on Colton’s face, the way his whole body had reacted. Every muscle had strained and tensed—and then suddenly relaxed, absolutely relaxed. And his face: It too had been full of strain and tension, and then—she hardly knew the words—then he’d looked at her as if he were seeing into another world, a world both beautiful and terrifying, a world of agony and utmost pleasure.

If she’d been unable to understand her own feelings as she played with her breasts, this was a thousand times that. It was intense. Intense and—again she found herself at a loss for words. Her thighs were damp; her breasts ached. It was hard to breathe.

She felt as if she had been through something, although all she had done was watch.