Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(84)

He could see the word on her lips, feel her need to speak it, but she held silent.

Slowly, still holding her gaze, he grabbed both her hands and pulled them over her head, securing them with the silk binding he had taken from the table. The black silk wound twice about her wrists before he pulled tight and secured it to the headboard.

A flash of worry, of fear, swept across her eyes, but still she said nothing.

Being sure she was held tight, he leaned back and took in the sight before him, breasts raised and high, white flesh tied with black scarves.

Her pupils grew large beneath his gaze, her breaths shallow. She was afraid, but the fear brought excitement, a hint of the thrill.

Grabbing the last two ties, he slid down her and placed a kiss on a delicate ankle, before knotting the silk about it.

“What…” The word leaked from her lips and then halted.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, even as his cock protested, its desires fighting everything else in his mind.

Again she did not answer, but her eyes filled with questions.

He grabbed the silk tie and knotted it about one of the posts, pulling it tight.



He repeated the action with her other leg, his eyes still on hers, seeking any sign that she was unwilling.

There was confusion and debate, and that edge of fear, apparent upon her face—but also desire. She might not understand, but her body did. He could see that in the rise and fall of her breasts, in the scent of womanly arousal that filled his nostrils.

Kneeling between her legs, he had a moment of debate. How did he take her to that next place, that place that opened doors and broke down boundaries? He knew where they needed to go, but finding the correct path might be tricky.

Her eyes were still upon him. They held his gaze and then dropped lower, widening, and then swept back up to his face. He had never been so aroused. An hour ago he might have made the same statement, but against all expectations his need for her only continued to grow.

Patience. He needed to find patience.

An idea began to form. Sliding off the bed, he gazed about the room. There was a single hardwood chair almost hidden between the wall and the bed. Grabbing his jacket from the floor where it had dropped, he pulled out a cheroot and lit it from a candle. He lifted the chair and moved it so that he could sit and watch Bliss. Then he sat and took a long drag of the cigar, letting the smoke fill his lungs, waiting for relaxation to fill him. It did not come.

He blew out, inhaled again.

Bliss squirmed on the bed, pulling against her bonds, turning her head to him. He could see the questions in her eyes, knew that she wanted to know what was happening. He gave no clue away. Let her wait. If he must learn patience so must she.



She glared at him. Opened her mouth. Closed her mouth. Opened it again. Closed it.

Closed her eyes.

Waited.

Opened her eyes.

Closed them again.

He spread his legs wide, leaning back in the chair.

Her eyes opened and, turning her head, she began to stare up at the mirror. He saw the exact moment in which she stopped merely looking and saw herself as he saw her, saw the full peaked breasts, the narrow waist and full hips, the nest of blond curls, the firm white thighs, damp and slick with desire, the barest hint of pink hiding between. And the bonds, the dark silk holding her open and spread, an offering, his to do with as he pleased, so vulnerable—so desirable. He could feel the shudder that took her as full comprehension settled about her, her gaze still locked upon herself.

His hand slipped down and stroked upon his long length. Her eyes turned and watched. He ran his hands up and down, slowly, so slowly, allowing not a hint of hurry. They had the rest of the night and he would take every moment that he needed to bring them both along.

Her gaze focused completely on his cock. He could feel the clench of her body longing for him, for his touch, for his attention.

Instead he paid attention only to the feel of his hand sliding up and down; he paused at the base, holding it tight and then up again, pressing along the pulsing vein, playing about the head.



Her lips parted, her tongue visible between.

“Do you want to touch me? To touch yourself? Do you want to run a hand over your breasts, to feel them swell with need, to pinch your nipples until you can bear no more, to trail your oil-slick fingers across your belly, to tug upon your sweet curls? Do you want to part yourself, to feel the cool air upon your hot flesh? Can you imagine looking up at the mirror as you do it, seeing yourself tremble, seeing your flesh beg for more? You would spread yourself, let your fingers play through your folds. Can you imagine the shiver coursing your body when you first touch that spot, when you first rub against your clit and then circle down? Would you press into yourself, feel the suck upon your finger, feel the moisture, feel the desire? Would you press deep, needing more, longing for more, imagining me lying between your legs, knowing how I would fill you, complete you? No, no words, my dear kitten. This is for me. I gave you your turn.”

A sheen of sweat covered her. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly and yet her eyes remained on him, watching the slick glide up and down his length.

“You are so greedy,” he continued. “You want to press your lips about me, to taste me, to know me. Do you imagine the feel of me in your mouth, pushing down into your throat, demanding that you soften yourself, that you take my all?” He stood on those words, pressing, pulling, stretching himself to his full length. He bit down on his lip as he saw her eyes gauge him, knew the thoughts that flowed through her mind. “Are you wondering if you could take me, if you could breathe as I reached my climax, as I pounded into you, deeper and deeper? Can you feel me spurt down your throat, feel yourself gulp and gasp, wanting more even as you fought for the next breath?”