Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(17)

She shifted again. Why didn’t he just tell her to?

If he told her to then she’d obey and it would be simple.

It wouldn’t be because she wanted to, because she wanted him to see her, wanted to know what came next.

If he told her to she would simply be following orders.

She wouldn’t have to admit that she wanted.

And she did want.

She wanted him to see her.

She let the thought settle about her. Wanting had never been part of this. It was supposed to be about completing a task so that she could marry.

It was definitely not supposed to be about wanting.

Ladies did not want. They were ladies.

But she did want.

She closed her eyes beneath the blindfold.

Nobody would ever know. For tonight she was safe.

She could want tonight, could admit to wanting, and tomorrow she would no longer want and it would no longer matter.

Nobody would ever know.

Not even Charles would know. He would know somebody, some woman had wanted, but he would not know it was she.

For this one night she could be free. She could do what she wanted.

Want.

She wanted.

With quivering fingers she pulled the ties, felt the silk gape about her neck. It slipped from one shoulder—and then the other. She held it with her hands for a moment, catching it just above her breasts. She held her breath.

Wanting and doing were two different things.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She let it drop another inch. If only she could see him, knew if he liked what he saw. Another inch. It was just about falling off her nipples.

Was that a gasp that she heard, a groan?

She knew what that groan meant.

With sudden bravery, she let her arms slip to her sides, let the night rail slide to the floor.



He couldn’t breathe. She was exquisite, every inch of her formed just for him. He wanted to taste her, to lick her, to examine every bit of her, every crevasse, every orifice. He grabbed his cock again, squeezing the base tight.

God.

And then she bit that lower lip—and he groaned, unable to hold his silence a second longer.

“Turn around,” he growled.

She complied. She had an ass from heaven, high and full, wanting his bite. His swat. Just for a second he allowed himself to imagine the reddened imprint of his hand.

He closed his eyes, gave in to the image—and then put it away. That was not for tonight. Not for her—not ever. Because for the two of them, there was only tonight.

“Bend over.”

She hesitated, and he thought she would refuse, would say no, but instead after a moment she obeyed.

She was damp. He could see the glisten of moisture upon her upper thigh.

It was too much.

“Spread your legs.”

Another pause, but then compliance. She was pink and swollen between the dark of her curls, the upper hole dark and puckered—but the lower. The lower called to him, her honey beckoning.

“Stay still. Do not move unless I tell you. Keep your legs straight, your head bowed.”

And then he began to stroke, with firm, heavy motions.

He saw her legs quiver with the strain of standing so still, and it urged him on.

He wanted to stride over, to plunge into this offering.

To scream his ownership to the heavens.

But it was not time.

Instead he watched—and stroked.

With practiced motions he continued. And then suddenly it was here: the great gush, the straining of every muscle—and the cry. He could not hold back the cry. His whole body screamed in release as his cum covered his hand, more and more.

Her head had jerked up at his cry, but then she caught herself and lowered it back down.

“May I ask what just happened?” Her voice was quiet, questioning. “I am truly curious. I feel I should know.”

He gasped, trying to bring his mind to the moment—to escape the images that had filled his imagination and the sensations that had controlled his body. “You may stand and turn around,” he began. “I allowed myself to come.”

She stood slowly, and twisted from the waist before bringing her feet about. “I thought that was supposed to happen when we joined. Why did you do it now? Did you not want to … not want me?” Her voice rang with insecurity.

“I wanted you too much. I would have grabbed your hips and thrust into you with no care for you or your pleasure. That is not what I want for tonight, and so I released some pressure.”

Her lips pursed, and he could see her try to think, to understand. “You can do it again?” she finally asked.

A gentle chuckle left his lips. “Yes, I can do it again. More than once.”

“Then why did you not let me … keep touching you?”

“I wanted to wait, to have the first time be when I was buried deep within you, but I could not. You are simply too much.” He reached into a small drawer in the table beside him and pulled out a soft cloth and cleaned himself. Ruby was always prepared.

She looked like she was going to say more, but she did not. And then he saw her remember her nakedness. Her hands shifted to cover herself, and then she hesitated, returning her arms to her sides, restlessly moving from foot to foot.

He wished he could see her eyes, see her thoughts. He’d never before wished to study a woman’s eyes, to know her soul. He figured it must have been a factor of not being able to—what one could not have was always more desirable.