Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(119)

God, how could she be thinking these things after …

Trust.

This was all about trust.

That was the only important thing here and now.

She’d said that she needed to move past yesterday, to put it all behind her.

Perhaps he did too.

Perhaps he needed to see her trust in him.

Taking another deep breath, watching his eyes follow her movement, she let her body soften into the bed, gave him her most inviting glance.

Was he ever going to come to her? She’d thought this would all proceed much faster once she was on the bed.

As if sensing her thoughts, he relaxed his face and eased forward in the chair, letting his legs spread wide.

His eyes met hers and held. Yes, he liked what he saw, liked the sight of her awaiting his pleasure.

Her eyes were drawn to the heavy bulge between his legs. He saw her glance, and grinned.

When had Geoffrey begun to grin with such candor? She wanted to be there with him, to touch him, to feel him. Pulling slightly against her bonds, she longed to ask him to free her.

His large hand reached down to cup himself through the fabric, outlining the thickness of his shaft.

Her mouth grew dry and then filled with moisture. An ache grew between her legs.

Why had he forbidden her to taste him? Yes, her cheeks were sore, but …

He stroked himself through the fabric, and then loosed the buttons. His cock sprang free in an instant, reaching for her—although perhaps only in her mind.

He grasped it firmly, wrapping his fingers around the heavy shaft. With his other hand he reached out and lifted the small bottle from the table, popping the cork with his thumb. It looked like the bottle of oil the Countess had used yesterday, and Louisa waited for the smell of cinnamon to assault her nostrils. Instead the scent of something masculine and musky came to her.

She watched as he shook some of the oil onto one hand and then began to spread it over his cock, the skin shining as he drew it tight. Her mouth watered, her whole being focused on his moving hands. He cupped his balls with one hand and kept the fingers of the other wrapped about his shaft.

She watched, enraptured, as he began to move his grip up and down, his hips rising slightly to thrust against his palm.

It was one of the most erotic sights she had ever seen.

Was this what he’d done that first night at Madame’s when she’d been blindfolded?

Moisture was pooling between her thighs, and she could only hope she was not dripping on the coverlet. Longing to press her thighs tight, to ease the growing ache, all she could do was stare at him as he stared at her.

His hands might be upon his prick, but his whole focus was upon her.

She opened her mouth, wet her lips, licked them again and again.

He began to move faster, each movement of his hand met by one of his hips.

His muscles strained. She could see the cords standing out in his thighs and neck, see him fighting toward the goal.

“God, Louisa,” he murmured, his gaze burning into her, his focus complete.

She wanted to answer, but remembered his desire for her silence.

She licked her lips again, opening them a little wider.

Aah, he liked her mouth. He liked it a lot. He thought he could wait days to let her use it. She’d just see about that.

Keeping her eyes focused on his moving hand, his jerking cock, she allowed herself to imagine tasting him, licking him, taking his thickness between her lips, feeling him thrust against the back of her throat, softening herself for him.

Could he see her thoughts? She rather thought he could.

He was groaning now, short, fast sounds that came with each thrust.

Hips lifted from the chair, thighs tightened. His fingers clenched and released, his mouth stretched with strain.

With a sudden jerk, he grabbed a napkin from the table, covering himself as a long cry left his lips.

Her gaze focused on the white linen cloth, watched it move and dampen. She could see his seed stain it as he thrust again and again into it.

Then he was still, his whole body collapsing into the chair, his eyes drifting closed.

She wanted to protest. It could not be over. It had not even begun.

And then his eyes sprang open—staring into her, seeking her soul.



That had taken the edge off—but only the edge. He hadn’t meant to give her a show, but when he’d seen her look as he took out the flogger it had overwhelmed him. He’d thought to see fear—and instead trust had radiated from her. Trust and anticipation—and perhaps the slightest edge of anxiety at the unknown.

Could there be a more intoxicating combination? Not for him.

It had been either pound into her with no preliminaries—and she was still hurting—or pleasure himself. There had been no other choice.

Even his vaunted control went only so far.

And the expression she’d had as she watched him … He’d found as much pleasure watching her as he had touching himself.

Well, he knew that might be an exaggeration, but not by much.

He remembered that first night at Ruby’s when he’d done much the same thing. If he’d known then what it would be like to have her watch, to have her eyes devour him, her blindfold would have lasted only seconds.

Everything about her fascinated him, delighted him.

Wiping himself clean, he tossed the napkin on the stones of the hearth and refastened himself. Even that simple gesture had him half-hard already. There was something about being clothed while Louisa lay before him naked that caused the fire in his belly to fan and grow.