Bound by Bliss (Bound and Determined #2)(86)

And just as thought returned, four more drops circled the deep pink flesh, each landing on flesh more tender. The burn grew, but so did the desire. Her nipples burned and they had not yet been touched, she could feel them clench and grow tight, blood filling them. They ached for the warmth of Stephan’s mouth, for the pressure of his lips, for the release she felt as they were sucked deep.

As her breathing slowed, she held Stephan’s gaze for a second and then dropped to her turgid peaks, trying to translate her need, her want.

He smiled and for a moment, the briefest blink of an eye, she thought he would comply. His eyes followed hers; she caught his deep inhale of breath, could not mistake the jump of his cock so close to her face. Her mouth watered at the thought, at the desire to feel him, to taste him.

Her gaze moved back to his and she saw the gentle smile reflected there, but also need and want.

He wanted her. There was no mistaking that, no mistaking the heat that burned in his sapphire eyes, heat that burned as surely as the wax upon her skin—and certainly no mistaking his turgid cock, still only inches from her face. She smiled in response, putting her own fragmented thoughts into her look.

It was time. Time for them to be together. Time to end this game between them.



Did he understand her? He always did when she did not wish him to, but did he now?

Should she speak, explain how she felt? Should she tell him of her fears, beg him to help her with them, lay her soul before him and trust him to treasure it?

How could she? Men did not stay. Love did not last. Stephan had not been there when she needed him before. Could she trust him to be there now? How could she open herself to him now? Her body she could, but her soul must remain her own, locked and guarded.

“I do not like those thoughts. I told you not to think. Feel. Only feel.” He lifted the candle holder before her eyes, tilted it again, made her watch as the wax melted, as it streamed down the side of the candle, as it pooled in the cupped base of the holder, more and then more.

Her whole focus shifted to that wax. She understood now what it would do, how it would feel.

Could she handle it, handle so much?

“Yes, you can,” he spoke, his voice full of confidence. “For me you can do this and more.”

For him. She had not understood that. For him.

Did she do this for him, or for herself—or for both?

Still holding the candle high, he bent his head and placed a light kiss on the tip of one of the needy peaks. Her want grew as she saw the contrast between them, the roughness of his cheek against her pale skin.

And then his lips were there, her every desire filled as he drew her deep, his tongue rasping against her, his cheeks drawing tight, pressing. God, it was good. So good. Her hips were rising on the bed, fighting the bonds that held them wide. And still she needed more and more. Her blood pounded within her, her heartbeat loud and steady. She could feel it course through her, sweeping desire and thrill to every needy spot.



And then he was gone, his mouth pulled back, the slightest scrape of teeth sliding against her swollen flesh.

Her mouth opened to protest. She needed. She wanted. She demanded.

And then the wax hit.

All thought left her, blasted away in a volcano of sensation.

Heat and pain. Pleasure and warmth. Sensation and desire. Too much. It was too much.

Before even that amount of thought was formed, wax landed on the other nipple, coating it.

A scream. She knew it was her own and did not care.

Too much. Her body was nothing but the feelings of burn and want. She was nothing but her swollen nipples, nothing but the ache that grew and grew between her legs. Want. Need. Desire. Ache. Pain. More want. More need. And delight. Even in the darkness the tingles of pleasure danced and grew. There was salvation in the pain. Light in the darkness.

His fingers were on her breast. She felt the soft peel of the wax, another flash of hurt as reddened skin met cool air. A gasp and then wonder. His lips were on her again, easing her, soothing her. His tongue laved the first nipple, seeming to know what she needed, needed as she had never needed anything.



The crack of wax on the other nipple. The contrast of his warm mouth and the cool air.

Her mind splintered, the sensations too different, too…There were no words for the feelings that filled her. All was too simple for the complexity of the feeling, physical and emotional.

She should not like this, should not enjoy it.

It was pain, pain was not good, but…

His tongue brushed her at the same time as his other hand pinched the overly sensitive peak tight.

The spot between her legs clenched and held, moisture spreading on her thighs as quickly as the wax had pooled.

He pinched again. Her body clenched again and did not release, coiling, tightening.

He pulled his mouth back from the first nipple, the warm moisture of his mouth meeting the air and cooling quickly. It was almost like being brushed with ice. Another clench.

“Look at yourself,” he commanded. “Look how red you are, how swollen you are. The reddest, ripest berry ready to be eaten. And so sweet, sweeter than sugar, than honey, than candy.”

With some difficulty her eyes focused. Was that her? The nipple was as big as she had ever seen it, the flesh as red as any rose, and glistening, the slickness of his mouth leaving her moist and shiny. It was beautiful, white flesh marked with reddened marks surrounding the swollen glory of her nipple. She really did look like a raspberry on cream, begging for a bite.