Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(52)

She puckered slightly, her lips reaching for his, but he did not move. This time, this one time, he would make her come to him, reveal her need for him. It was not what he had planned as punishment, but for this briefest moment in time it would be enough.

Her mouth brushed his, but came no farther. Her lips parted, he felt her invitation, her desire, but he held firm. He knew that she enjoyed their game, but it was time that she put her cards on the table and demonstrated her wants.

She mewed softly, the faintest, sweetest of noises, and then she moved. Rising on tiptoe she pressed her mouth hard against his, moving her lips slowly and with care. Still he held still, not moving, giving her the chance to play and explore.

His fingers itched to touch her, to crush her to him, but he restrained himself.

Her tongue darted out and touched his mouth, but then retreated. It flicked out again, tasting, dancing. He softened his mouth against hers, let his lips drift apart, tempting her tongue further. She licked along the edge of his lips, dampening them, and then slowly, with care, eased inside, her tongue tracing the tender flesh where gum met teeth. She played there, going no further, but not retreating. Her every move a temptation.



He eased from foot to foot, his cock swollen with need, straining to be free. He longed to press tight against her, to plaster her to the wall until there was no space between them. His whole body clenched with need—and still he held his mouth gentle, allowed her gentle nibbles and quiet teasing.

Her tongue slipped past his teeth, at long last, and touched his tongue before darting back out. He moved the slightest fraction in pursuit, but did not follow into her sweet mouth. Her tongue danced back, engaged again, stayed a little longer before falling back to safety.

His hands were locked at his sides now. He wondered if she knew his restraint, knew the effort it took not to move. He had planned this as her punishment, but it had become his own. Could anything in life be more difficult than not reaching out and claiming her, in making her his?

This time her tongue stroked his, inviting, enthralling. A fresh young maiden dancing for her lover, each movement an enticement. She was the magnet and he the iron rod—and God, he truly felt like iron at the moment.

—

He’d promised punishment, but this was delight. She’d wanted to experiment, to test her wiles, to find out what she liked and what she did not, but never had she expected Duldon to allow her such freedom, to let her lead while he followed—to allow her freedom and choice. If this was punishment she wanted more.



And he gave her more. His tongue began to mimic hers, darting when she darted, playing, fencing, following her retreat into her mouth, but then withdrawing in turn, letting her follow, inviting her to explore and taste.

And she reveled in it, feeling her own femininity in a way she never had before. It was not simply that she had the chance to give and take, it was that she had the choice to give and take. And when at last she gave over the lead, offered herself to him, gave him control, it was with knowledge and understanding. When he led it was because she wished to follow, wished to feel him deepen the kiss, wished to feel the heat rise up within her belly, to feel the fervor that he wrought.

He leaned into her then, pushing her tight against the wall, encompassing her in his heat, his passion.

She felt as if she merged with him, although still they did nothing but kiss. His hands remained at his sides and she imprisoned hers behind her back to keep them from sneaking out to stroke him.

Again and again his tongue sought hers, plundered her mouth and then pulled back. The image of Green on his knees before Black filled her and her cheeks drew tight, sucking on his tongue, drawing it deeper.

As if sensing her thoughts, he began to move in a slow endless rhythm, a rhythm that filled her and made her ache. Her whole body responded, easing toward him and then away, her cheeks pulling ever tighter, seeking ever more.

It became hard to breathe so great was her want, her need.



He pulled back slightly, his breath warm upon her face. “Do you still want to be punished? Or is this enough?”

Before she could answer his mouth was upon hers again, driving thought from her head, but not completely.

Want to be punished? Did she want to be punished? Not did he still need to punish her, but did she want to be punished?

She did not know how to answer, what to think, what to say.

Deep in her gut she feared she did want to be punished, not with pain, but with ecstasy. Was that wrong?

God, how could she think when all she wanted was for this moment to last forever—and yet to grow, to become more?

The need was curling in her belly again, coiling, growing—waiting for release.

Her hips pressed forward, finding his hardness, rubbing against him, making her desire clear.

Placing a hand on each side of her he held her still, pushed her away. “Slow down, pet.”

“No.” The single word was a demand.

She felt him chuckle into her mouth, felt the joy of his laughter. “You are a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

Well, she was. She’d never denied it. Her hips pressed forward again, seeking.

“It’s my turn to say no.” He did not let her move. “You must learn to do as I say, to trust that I will care for you.”

She moaned against his mouth. She wanted to fight his words, but her body rejoiced in them.



“Be still.” His voice was filled with command and her body obeyed before she could even debate the matter. Her back flattened against the wall and her head moved so that she was staring up at him again.