Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(120)

He gathered the oil, the pearls, and the flogger and walked over to the bed.

Louisa turned her head as far as she could, watching him, watching the flogger.

He placed the oil and the pearls upon the bedside table and then, taking the flogger with him, moved to stand beside her.

“You want to know about this, don’t you?” He held it up and then lowered it so its long tails danced just above her belly. Her skin trembled.

She nodded.

“You are correct that it is a whip, but it is so much more than that,” he said.

She nodded again, but he could see excitement course through her body, tensing every muscle. He just might need that massage oil.

He lowered the flogger until it barely touched her skin, then drew it back and forth in a slow stroke. “I’ve always liked to think of it like a feather, the softest of touches that teases and plays.” He ran it up to her breasts and then from one pebbled nipple to the other. They grew even tighter as the flogger floated over them, the pink skin darkening. “I debated whether to bring it out, but tonight is about trust and growth. I needed to feel your trust. And I do.”

Trailing the flogger from peaked nipple to peaked nipple, he watched her respond, watched her eyes dilate, watched them follow every movement of the whip. Her whole body trembled with pleasure.

He’d just come, yet his cock was already straining at his trousers again.

He let the soft suede play across her belly, watching each shiver, and then drew it up and down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. A soft mew escaped her lips.

“You like that, do you?” He repeated the process until she moaned and strained against her ties—and not in an effort to escape. He was going to have her begging before the night was through.

He took the whip and held it before her eyes. “You said you wanted to get past yesterday, and I wanted to show you that not everything is as it appears. Yes, it can be used as a whip—and I have to confess that even having promised to never use one upon you, I feel some desire—but this one does not hurt, not unless used to the extreme. It would take great strength or lengthy use on one spot to cause any pain, and I have no desire for that. Someday, if you ask—and only if you ask; and I rather think you will—we may experiment, but not in any way that causes even the slightest hurt … only, shall I say, a brightening of the skin. It is a true toy.” He brushed it the entire length of her body, until it came to rest between her legs.

He could see her legs strain to press against it, to feel the friction of its touch.

He dipped it down then, pulling it back up so that the strands ran between her folds.

Her breath caught, and he watched her eyes grow wide.

Letting it fall once more, he pulled it up slowly, then again trailed the tails across her belly. He watched the little quivers of her flesh, enjoyed the scent of her new musk. The ache grew in his balls. He was more than ready.

He closed his eyes, gathering strength, then dropped the flogger to the sheets. He needed to touch her with his hands, to feel her warm flesh, to taste the tight buds of her breasts. He could play with the toy later if he wished, if she wished.

Turning, he sat on the edge of the bed and yanked off his boots; he wasn’t sure he’d ever gotten them off so fast. Then he climbed onto the bed beside her.

It was hard to know where to begin. She was an entire feast laid out at once.

Control.

He must maintain control.

Her gaze was fixed upon his face, and he could feel a question in it. Then her eyes darted to the bedside table and back to him. The pearls. The oil.

Aah, the oil. What better way to touch her.

He reached over and took the jar, pouring a good dollop into one hand before placing it back on the table. Rubbing his hands together to warm it and release the scent, he moved to kneel between her spread legs. He reached his arms up and stroked his palms across the hard tips of her nipples.

A slight gasp escaped her lips and her ribs expanded, pressing her breasts up toward him. Spreading his fingers wide, he cupped her, filling his hands. He squeezed softly and then more aggressively, watching every nuance of expression. Her body rose toward him, straining against the scarves. He pinched the tips and a moan escaped her lips. She liked that—yes, she liked it very much.

Her breath was coming in soft pants, her chest rising and falling with his every move.

Continuing his massage, he leaned forward until he could place a kiss upon her navel, his tongue slipping out to circle the indent, to taste the sweet and salty flavor that was Louisa.

She was all slippery silk and warm velvet, trembling warm velvet.

He squeezed her breasts tight before pulling his hands back and then again pinching only the turgid tips. He twisted slightly, pulled again, feeling them plump and elongate beneath his fingers, ripe berries begging to be tasted. Rubbing his nails across the flattened peak, he felt her squirm and twitch beneath him. The scent of her arousal filled him. Her hips were rising and falling as much as they were able, her need clear.

Flicking his nails across the tip, he saw her gasp, felt her thighs clench, felt her body surge toward him, felt her hunger.

God, he wanted her.

Grinning, he sat back on his heels and surveyed his work, pushing down his own urgent response. Her nipples thrust up, inviting, begging for his touch, his suckle, his bite.

Her eyes gleamed with desire, with need. He reached forward and plucked the swollen buds. “Should I tease these until you come? I could, you know. I could do nothing but play with your nips and you’d beg me for more even as you shattered about me. Do you want that, or do you want something else?” This was all about her. He was all about her. Whatever his own desires, he wanted to remember that. He pressed her nipples tight one last time, her gasp of pleasure shooting through him.