Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(118)
Pearly teeth came out and nibbled at her lower lip; her breath grew shallow, but she said nothing, her eyes focused on his hands.
He would have to remember to be sure they had longer scarves. These were great for the moment, when he wished her to have very little movement, but there were many activities that might require a little more … flexibility.
When both legs were secure, he took a step back and surveyed her. It was better than any of his fantasies. Her legs looked endless in their vibrant bonds, and the pillows angled her up so that all—and it truly was all—was revealed to him. Now he was the one to bite down on his lips, as he forced his eyes away, his mouth watering with the desire to taste her.
Moving to the side of the bed, he took up the red silk scarf and gestured for her hands. He bound her wrists tight together, testing to be sure the bonds were not too tight and that there was no chafing as a result of her time with the Countess, and then drew them high over her head. He grabbed another scarf and tied it to the end of the first until it was long enough to reach the single finial that decorated the center of the headboard. He pulled it tight, and then tighter still. Her breasts arched from the bed as the bonds pulled at her.
He waited a moment to see if she would complain, to be sure she was comfortable, and then knotted the silk.
He stepped from the bed and again looked over her.
Perfection. White flesh and colorful silk, her whole body open for his gaze, for his pleasure. Helpless. Vulnerable. His.
As he was hers.
Damnation, but he wanted her. Wanted her now.
He strode back to the dining table and turned the chair until it faced her. He sat, lifted up his wine, took a slow sip, then wet his lips with his tongue.
She gave the slightest groan. He took another sip, repeated the gesture.
Her whole focus was upon his mouth, her thoughts clearly on what exactly he might do.
He smiled and lifted the fork, taking a large bite of the ham. A man did need his strength.
He leaned back in the chair and watched her.
She clearly wanted to protest, but held back her words, her eyes questioning.
Under other circumstances he could have stayed like this for a good hour, watching her and waiting, but he did not wish to overwork her sore muscles.
He stood again and walked to his dresser, opening a lower drawer. First he pulled out a short wide candle in a quite large shallow holder. It was designed not to tip—no matter what. He lit it quickly with one of the other candles and then placed it on the bed so that it illuminated her sweet cunny, her honey glistening in the flickering light.
Her eyes grew wide. Surely, he thought, she did not know all the uses for candles and hot wax? Tonight he wanted only extra illumination.
He walked back to the dresser and looked in the drawer again. His own bottle of cinnamon oil sat there. He would have to dispose of it. He did not ever wish to smell that scent again. He pulled out a small satin bag and then another larger one. He placed them upon the dinner table. He opened a box of clamps and then shut it again with a click. No. Definitely not. Perhaps never again.
He lifted another bottle of musky oil. This one didn’t cause sensations, but was perfect for a massage.
He placed it on the table beside the two bags. The drawer shut with a click and he retook his chair.
Opening the first bag, he pulled out a string of large pearls with no clasp. Playing with them, he slid them from hand to hand. He glanced up at his wife and saw her curious gaze. Aah, there were some things she still did not know. Things he would enjoy teaching her.
He let the beads roll through his fingers one more time, then placed them on the table.
Opening the second bag, he watched her eyes grow large, her anticipation palpable.
He ran the strands of the suede flogger across his palm before laying it on the table.
Chapter Thirty-five
He’d taken out a whip.
Her eyes focused on it, taking in every strand of the leather.
She stopped breathing.
Was she frightened? She knew she should be; after everything that had happened, how could she not be? She was tied to a bed unable to move and Geoffrey had taken out a whip.
Yes, she should be frightened.
But she wasn’t, not the least iota.
She drew a deep breath in, watched as Geoffrey’s eyes followed the rise of her breasts, felt the power of that look.
Geoffrey was holding a whip and she was anything but frightened.
Her legs longed to clench tight, her skin tingled, but with anticipation, not fear.
Geoffrey would not hurt her, would never hurt her.
Closing her eyes, she let that realization settle about her.
She’d known that Geoffrey would never hurt her, but now, in this moment, she truly understood. Geoffrey would never hurt her, and he had brought out the whip to prove that to her.
Opening her eyes again, she stared at the thing.
It was very different from the crop. That had been hard leather. This looked almost soft, soft and velvety. Would it even hurt? She wasn’t sure.
Deep breath. Deep breath.
But he’d promised not to whip her, said he didn’t feel the need.
But what if she wanted him to? Even a few moments ago that would have seemed impossible, but now, as she looked at the soft fronds, she wondered, wondered what they’d feel like running along her body, wondered if they’d sting, or if they’d heighten her senses.