Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(117)

“Answer fully. At this moment I want to hear your words. Does being tied frighten you?” He rubbed the silk against her cheek again, and she turned her face into it, purring like a cat.

Her eyes drifted closed. He could not see her thoughts.

“I want it,” she whispered. “I am not sure that I should, but I do. For all I wanted to move in the past, there was something about imagining you telling me to hold still that made my womb tighten. I want to understand what it truly is to be at your will.”

Her words bit into him. His cock swelled until he thought it would burst the seams of his trousers. She wanted to be under his power—at least here, in this chamber. God. What had he done to deserve such a woman? He would love her endlessly.

He nodded, suddenly unsure of his words as emotion undid him.

He would deal with the practical. Turning, he looked at the bed, grabbed a couple of the pillows, and placed them for her hips. They would provide extra cushioning and allow him to position her however he wished. “I want you on your back. I want to see your face, your eyes. Is that a problem? Do you think you would be more comfortable if your ass were not pressed to the pillows?”

“And would you not be pressing into my ass?” she asked.

Cocky minx. He had been looking for a yes or no, but he would let it pass. “On your back then. I will enjoy playing with your breasts, teasing them until they can take no more.”

She shifted from foot to foot, her breath growing rapid and shallow. He could see her nipples peak against the thin fabric. Yes, there were very subtle forms of playful retaliation—and forced anticipation was one of them.

He looked over the bed, turned away from her. “Take off your dress. Lay it over the chair. Then get on the bed—in the middle. Be sure your hips are on the pillows, that you are comfortable.”

“Aren’t you going to …?”

“I think it is time for you to be silent.” He did not look back at her. If she wished this to be, and to go on, she would need to learn not to question, to learn that he had reasons for what he asked. He walked to the dining table and lifted his wine, taking a deep swallow, and then another.

Calm. He needed calm. Calm and control.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself.

The floorboards creaked as she shifted to remove her gown. He heard the sound of her steps as she laid it upon the back of the chair. Someday he would f*ck her in that chair, her legs spread wide over the arms, first with his tongue and then with his cock. Maybe he’d even pull out a mirror and some toys.

Blast. The things this woman did to him. He’d come in tonight wondering if they’d ever have sex again, if only to procure an heir, come in unsure if he’d ever find the courage to touch her after what she’d been exposed to, and now his mind was filled with ties and dildos. Gods, he just wanted to f*ck her, to pound himself into her hard and fast. How had this turnabout happened so quickly? And yet, he wanted so much more. More than sex. He wanted to cherish her, forever. Was there any more frightening thought a man could have?

The bed groaned as she climbed into it. He heard the pillows shift and a slight sigh from her as she settled herself. Had it hurt much lying down? He hoped not, trusted not.

And, Gods, if she didn’t hurry he was going to explode, here and now. He reached down and pressed a hand tight against his swollen shaft, willing it to obedience.

He waited.

A sudden meow broke the silence.

He turned just as Charlie jumped onto the bed, eager for his mistress’s caress.

Doing his best to ignore his naked wife, Swanston marched to the bed, patted the cat once, then lifted him, strode to the connecting door to her chamber, and placed him on the other side of it.

The cat might have led him here, but some things needed no audience.

He turned to his wife. Was that a smile playing about her lips? He adopted a firm expression. Yes, that definitely was a smile.

And what did it say that he was staring at his naked wife, spread across his bed, and the first thing he noticed was her smile?

He strode over to the bed, fighting the grin that played about his own lips.

She was so beautiful. He could probably just sit and watch her and think that thought over and over for the next few hours. He’d certainly thought it enough tonight. He glanced at the fire, which heated the already warm room—and she wouldn’t even get cold.

He shook his head slightly.

The woman clearly had him bewitched. When did a man think about just looking instead of doing? Part of being a man was that the looking was all about thinking about the doing. He shook his head again.

God, she was beautiful; he didn’t even attempt to stop the thought. Her mane of hair spread about his pillows like a mermaid’s. Her full lips beckoned him, their succulent fullness drawing him closer, leading to thoughts that definitely needed to wait a few days. Her dark eyes whispered of longing and desire.

And her breasts—if he’d been a poet he could have written sonnets about the full globes, about their sharp rose-colored tips, crying to be touched, pulled, teased, suckled, nipped.

His arousal pressed hard against his trousers, but he ignored it. That was for later.

Picking up the scarves, he walked to the foot of the great bed. He’d never had another woman here, never tied a woman here, but he’d certainly thought about it.

Her legs were close together, ankles touching, in the center of the bed. He lifted one of her dainty feet and, after placing a quick kiss upon the arch, wrapped a strip of the emerald silk about it, careful not to pull it too tight, but making sure that the knot would hold. He pushed her leg to the side until the silk reached to the great post at the corner of the bed. A quick knot and she was secure. Repeating the process with the other leg, he kept his gaze on her face as he pulled her legs apart, watched her awareness of just how far she would be spread, of how open she would be.