Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(45)

He devoured her, allowing no gentleness. If she were going to tempt the tiger, she would learn the consequences. She squirmed beneath him, but not in any effort to get away. He could feel her chest rising against him, her breath hard and fast. Her hands wrapped about him, moving to tangle in his hair and then to stray down his back, caressing his hard muscles and then…

He grabbed her wrists in one hand, and then, pulling her arms tight, lifted them above her head and held them against the trunk of the tree. She squirmed, trying to gain the freedom to move, but he held her tight, pressing his mouth even more against hers, his tongue filling her.



With his free hand he found the edge of her bodice and slipped in. With no play he found a nipple and taking it between thumb and forefinger pressed it tight, before giving it a sharp twist. Her body jerked in response and he could feel her moan against his lips. He squeezed tighter, feeling her jerk as the spike of pain speared through her. She moved against him more urgently, the taste of pain heightening her need. Her lips pressed back against his, her tongue moving rapidly as it sought its own dominance in their dance of passion.

He could feel her desire grow, feel her body tighten as she approached that point, her hips stretching forward to rub against him even as he ground forward. His own body’s response grew ever more impatient, his eager cock finding the crux of her thighs and seeking to tear through clothing to find its home. He closed his eyes, allowed feeling to flow through him, experienced that moment of almost pleasure—and then pulled back, dropping her hands and stepping away, his fingers slipping unwilling from her bodice.

She leaned against the tree, dazed, her eyes large and dark, the blue of her irises almost hidden behind the huge pupils. Her tongue darted out, dampening lips that were swollen and puffy, punished. One breast still rose slightly above the demure neckline, the white flesh begging for further touch.

She blinked.

And blinked again.



He could see her wits slowly return to her.

She reached out for him. He stepped back.

Another blink.

She moved toward him—and he moved away.

“Why?” she asked, her tongue flicking out again to wet her mouth.

“You needed to understand.”

She shook her head slightly. “To understand what? I thought I was understanding quite well.”

“You need to understand that I will make the decisions about when and where we indulge. It is for me to control and for you to follow.” He stated it simply as fact.

“And what if I wish to lead? Remember I like to have some control.” Her eyes dropped again to the tent of his trousers, measuring the enlarged shaft within.

“Then I will have to teach you differently. There are moments that you will most definitely not be in control and this is one of them.”

“Because you are a man?” Her voice rang with coming argument.

“No, because I am who I am. I have known women who sought to lead, women who always wanted control. Your friend the Countess was one such. I have no interest in such play. When you are with me you will do as I say.”

“You clearly don’t know me very well,” she challenged.

“I know you very well, Bliss.” He took a step toward her and, reaching out, placed a hand about her chin so that he could tilt it upward. He examined her face, focusing on the bruised lips and dark eyes, on the unsatisfied desire that marked her face. “I promised you I might find the need to punish you. You can consider this your first punishment. I will see you at the Milburnes’ soirée this evening. Perhaps then you will be in a more agreeable mood.” He dropped his hand from her face and turned away to walk without another word into the house.



—

Bliss pulled in her belly, trying to relieve the pressure of the ball gown’s fabric. The daffodil silk dress was not tight, but every brush of the fabric was maddening. She felt as if her whole body was burning and nothing she could do would cool it. Even breathing heightened her desire.

What had Duldon done to her? She hadn’t understood his words about punishment when he left. If anything she thought that he’d indulged her with the heavy kisses and rub of bodies. It was only after he’d gone that she’d realized how much her body still cried for his, how much she needed him. She’d tried to pinch her own breasts, tried to find that magic point of pain and pleasure that brought relief, but she’d only ended up more frustrated. And that spot between her legs, it ached for his touch. It wept with need for him.

She’d refused to let her maid help with her chemise for fear that she’d see just how damp Bliss’s thighs were.

Blast him to hell. She hurt and he’d done this to her.

Pressing her thighs tight, she tried to concentrate on anything but how she felt.

She’d tried dancing. She’d tried strolling. Nothing helped.

And there he stood, across the dance floor, acting as if nothing was wrong. He should be twitching with the same ache that she felt. He should be jumping with misery. She’d seen the state he was in when he left, seen how his cock strained for release. He should be prancing as he walked, not striding as if he owned the world.



Blast him to hell, she repeated the thought.

If he thought she’d come to him and beg for his help, promise to obey his commands, he was very, very wrong.

She would rather die than give in. If only she didn’t feel like she actually might die.