Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(72)

“Don’t skip over them so fast,” he said, keeping his gaze determinedly up.

“What?”

“Knees. They are more fun than you think. At least, the backs of them. It is one of the more tender spots on the body—other than the obvious ones. Feel your own.”

That last was a bit too much of a command. She was the one in charge at this moment, and yet still she found herself complying.

She stared down at Stephan’s legs while slowly tracing a finger on the tender underside of one of her own knees. She did see what he meant. She very definitely felt what he meant. Rolling to her side a bit she peered at the bottom of his leg. “Please raise your leg so I can see.”

He lifted.

It didn’t look different than any other flesh. In fact, it looked exactly like the back of a knee. Could it really be as sensitive as it seemed? Well, she was all for exploration.

Letting her tongue slip from between her lips, she leaned over and delicately traced the seam. The muscles in his thigh tightened, and that part of the body she was not looking at yet quivered. She did it again, enjoying the taste of his salt, his musk. With each slide of her tongue she could feel his reaction—and that brought a reciprocal reaction in her own body.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as her tongue continued to play, tasting, licking, laving.



“For what?” His voice was almost a growl.

This knee play was definitely something he liked. “For not letting me miss knees. I must confess that I would have quite overlooked them on my own.” Reaching over, she ran a finger along the underside of the knee she was not licking. A definite jerk of his whole body took him.

“I think you would have figured it out when I have my turn. I can promise that I will not overlook them.”

She certainly hoped not. Her tongue darted out one more time. The knot in her belly began to coil as his body surged and rubbed against her. She pulled back. This was supposed to be about looking, not touching. Touching could come later.

She made a determined promise that she would not touch his thighs except for that final kiss before she moved on.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she reached into herself. She could do this. How hard could it be not to touch? She’d known him for years without touching him beyond the barest brushing of fingertips in greeting or during a country dance.

She opened her eyes. His thighs also had hair, although it was thinner in spots. Did his breeches rub it off? Based on the pattern she rather thought they might. Very nicely muscled. So hard-looking she wasn’t sure that her fingers would make an indent if she squeezed, not that she was going to squeeze—at least not yet. “Would you wiggle your feet?”

“What?”

“I want to see the muscles move. I like it when your muscles move.”

He obliged and his toes moved. Hmmm, very nice. Very nice. It would be wonderful to rub her breast against them, or other more sensitive areas of her body. She remembered how the fabric of her breeches had felt as his fingers pressed it tight against her as he thrust them between her legs. A soft moan escaped her lips and he responded, his body twitching, lifting and moving closer to her.



But, she wasn’t going to touch. No, she wasn’t. Her fingers itched for the feel of his skin, but she curled them into fists at her side and let out a long sigh. His body lifted again as her breath hit him. Unable to resist, she pursed her lips and blew, letting the air trail up his legs and along his inner thighs.

Her eyes widened. It hadn’t seemed possible that he could grow any bigger, but clearly she’d been wrong. A single drop of fluid formed on the tip of his cock as it strained up, apparently of its own accord, and she had to fight the desire to examine it more closely. Hands were next. She was not going right to his sex. That was for the end. Only…No, she would save her treat for last, even if waiting was not something she was good at. She’d always been happy to start the meal with a sweet if nobody was looking.

And she wasn’t done with his thighs yet. “Spread your legs a little.”

“God, you are killing me, Bliss,” he murmured, his words coming from between tight lips.

“Good.” She said the word very quietly, but knew that he heard.

“I will have my turn, remember.”

Yes, she had better keep that in mind. She was quite certain that no matter how she tortured him, he would have his revenge.

She peered closely at the very tops of his legs, remembering how sensitive she was there. The skin was finer and her mouth watered to taste the pale thin skin at the apex of his legs, right below his sack. No, don’t look there. That was for later. She hadn’t really touched his balls earlier. Surely it couldn’t hurt to just caress them slightly, to just learn their feel?



No. No. No.

Do not give in to impulse.

Hands. It was definitely time for hands. Hands were not sexy, hands were not…Only they were. Long, tanned, tapered fingers. Fingers that had brought her such pleasure. Fingers that she could not look at without thinking of how they had moved over her body. Hands that she could visualize only too well as they skimmed, stopping to fondle her peaked breasts, his darkened skin against her light. She knew the feel of those calluses, knew…

Hands. They were only hands. Long-fingered, flexible hands.

Blast. Wrists. She would examine his wrist, the beginning of curling blond hairs glinting against the tanned skin. She could imagine putting her lips to them, tasting the warm flesh, feeling the tender skin of the underside, comparing it to…