Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(76)

He shook his head, trying to free it from thoughts he was not ready for. Once his ring was on her finger then he would think such things. Grabbing the oil from the table he poured a good dollop into his hand, letting it warm against his fingers. The bottle went back to the table and then he rubbed his hands together, enjoying the glide. Then it was time for Bliss. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and began to move his fingers with controlled vigor. He felt the tendons that rang along the tops of her shoulders, squeezing and releasing. Her shoulders moved into his touch. He felt, rather than heard, the moan that coursed through her. His fun-loving Bliss held more tensions in her than one who did not know her well would ever have imagined.

He rubbed the tight shoulders until he felt relaxation fill them, her back lifting and falling with a deep sigh. He moved on to her neck, his slick fingers easily gliding over her velvet flesh. More tension hid there and he caressed and rubbed until her head lay lax upon the pillow. He grinned in satisfaction. He would sweep all tightness from her body before causing her to tense for an entirely different reason.



Neck loose, he moved down her back stroking along her spine, kneading the long lean muscles to either side. He’d always known Bliss was a tireless horsewoman, but now as he came to know her body he understood all the more. Her full breasts pressed about the outside her ribcage, but he held his fingers back, focusing on moving lower down her back.

The base of a woman’s back, just above the curve of her buttocks, had always been one of his favorite spots, a place of strength and vulnerability. Unable to resist he placed a soft kiss upon the smooth skin, the heavenly scent of the orange blossoms and woman’s musk filling his nostrils. She shifted beneath him, lifting her hips slightly, inviting.

“I told you not to move,” he whispered against her flesh. Instantly she stilled, the scent of increased arousal filling his nostrils.

A few more moments at her waist and then he skimmed down, fingertips trailing over ass, thighs, and calves until he reached her high-arched feet. He too knew the proper place to end. He pressed his thumbs hard into her arches, watching her fight not to stretch and wiggle as he hit that first knot of muscular pain and forced it to release.

This time her groan was audible and filled with such intense pleasure that it caused his toes to curl. There were some sounds a man could not object to, even when he had commanded silence.



—

She was in heaven. She’d always hated the word “bliss,” had thought it a joke that she’d been given such a name, but if this was bliss then she would embrace all that it represented. It felt good, so good. She’d never known her feet were anything but a mode of movement and now, now they brought more delight than anything she could remember. Well, some things might have brought more, but nothing had ever made her feel like this. His fingers moved over her heels to the back of her ankles, pinching and rubbing at the hard cord that ran there. All parts of her body delighted in the pressure, her very womb seemed to tighten and soften as he pressed and rubbed. How could kneading her feet cause such deep sensation all through her?

She wanted to stretch and sigh, to give in to all the pleasure that filled her, but she held herself as still as possible, relishing the feeling of giving up control, in doing only what Stephan asked.

He pressed tighter and a quick surge of pain was followed by intense pleasure. She’d rubbed her own sore shoulders after a hard ride and felt the strange combination of pain and relaxation, of hitting a spot and knowing that the moment of hurt would bring only relief, but to have somebody else perform the task…

A deep long moan escaped her lips. And then another. She fought to hold them back but could not. She was lost in sensation and wonder, control of her body and voice slipping from herself to him.

The thin silk that bound her eyes prevented all thought but that of his fingers upon her. As those fingers trailed up her calves and then her thighs, her whole being prepared. She knew where this was leading, could not await the ending—and yet enjoyed every fraction of an inch of the journey.



Ahhhhhh, the backs of her knees. She’d already forgotten that lesson, but now as fingers—and lips—moved over that most tender sliver of flesh, her inside danced, flashes of lightning and glory raced up her legs, centering on that place at the fork of her thighs, that place she still had no name for.

Another moan. She wanted to beg—she knew not quite for what. Did she want him to move on or to never let his fingers progress from her current heaven?

And then they were on her thighs, still kneading, still pressing, still working the stiffness from her muscles, but moving ever closer to their final destination. Her legs pressed tight even as she longed to open them to him, to grant him access to her every hidden crevasse. He shifted upon the bed, his weight rising and moving.

His hands settled on her buttocks, the calluses rubbing over her overly sensitive flesh. Again he kneaded and rubbed, but each movement separated her, revealed her. It was maddening to know that he was staring at her there, to know that as she lay blind he was looking at spots that had never known the light. His breath brushed across her and she had to bite down upon her lip to keep from moaning—or protesting. It was so unfair. It was so perfect.

Another breath, warm air slipping over hot flesh. She felt him just above the crease of her behind, felt him pull the cheeks apart, felt—no, he could not be, but he was. The softest slide of oiled fingers over spots that she had never dreamed could bring pleasure. His fingers pressed upon her. Her flesh gave beneath his touch. She tightened in resistance.