Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(18)

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Her head dropped as if she were looking at the floor, even though he knew she could not see.

Did she wish to hide her face from him? That could not be allowed. Even if he could not see her eyes, he would take what he could, learn what he could.

Rising from his chair, he strode across the room. When he reached her, he stretched an arm and placed one finger beneath her chin, lifting her face. The dark silk against her pale skin was enchanting. He’d always liked blindfolds, liked the way they raised levels of sensation, but this was beyond “like.” He ran his finger up her cheek and along the edge of the silk.

She was so lovely.

Her head turned and her lips sought his finger. He ran it across them once and then pulled it back. It was time to proceed with the evening, before things ran beyond his control again.

Although, for the first time he could remember, loss of control had not been awful—in fact, it had been rather wonderful.

“Are you ready to move to the next step?” he asked.

“What is the next step? Do I get to touch you again?”

God, he loved her eagerness. “Not yet. It is my turn to touch you. It is time for the bed. Do you need me to guide you to it?”

A slight hesitation and then she shook her head, and with those same sliding steps she walked to the high bed, her arm stretched in front. She reached the bed and paused again, before climbing up with some effort.

He almost offered to fetch the stool, but the movements her body went through as she struggled could not be missed.

He waited for her to lie down. It was hard to resist the image that his mind formed of her lying spread across the bed. But not this bed, his bed; not a thick white coverlet, but his own navy and gold. She would look splendid against the deep colors, her skin cream against a night sky.

He strode forward, waiting. He would position her as he wished once she lay down.

Only she didn’t lie down. He watched with some amazement as she moved to her hands and knees in the middle of the bed. Then she twisted her neck until she was almost staring up at the canopy. She twisted farther, her neck straining, her ass arched high in the air.

He could not decide whether to laugh or drool.

“Am I doing this right?” she asked.



This was not comfortable. It was as close as she could come to what she had imagined, but it felt strange—felt silly. Was there any other way to look at the ceiling while being on all fours? She turned her face forward and then stretched as far back as she could until she could almost touch her back. It didn’t feel as silly but it was no more comfortable.

“Just what are you trying to do?” Charles’s voice asked from beside the bed.

“To get ready. Isn’t that what you wanted?” she answered.

“But to get ready for what?”

She allowed her head to fall forward, hiding her face. Even with the blindfold it was hard to say the words. “For sex. Isn’t this how you do it?”

“It is a way to do it. I must admit that I do like a woman on her knees before me, and that the sight of you in such a position has me more than ready to go again. But what were you doing with your head? I’ve never seen that before.”

Her head dropped lower. “My mother told me a lady stared at the ceiling, but I can’t quite figure out how to do it. Is there another way?” She really couldn’t imagine any other way that her body could bend.

“Your mother told you to look at the ceiling? Did she also tell you how to position your body?”

“No. She didn’t say anything about that. Just that it wouldn’t take too long and that it might be unpleasant, but it would only hurt for a bit. I am not a fool, though. I have seen livestock. The female stays in this position and then the male mounts from behind. I have seen it several times.”

A small noise. A cough. A sputter. Was he choking? And then laughter filled the room, deep masculine guffaws.

What had she said that was so humorous? Embarrassment swept over her. She scurried up the bed, reaching for pillows to cover herself. Nothing had ever been so mortifying.

“I am sorry,” he tried to say, but the laughter overtook him. The bed sank as she felt him settle onto it. And then more laughter. It sounded unstoppable, like it really would choke him.

She hoped it would.

There were a lot of pillows. Big ones. Little ones. She began to pile them in front of her, building a wall between her and that—that buffoon.

She ducked her head, separating herself completely from him. If only she could go home. This had started so wonderfully—far better than she could ever have imagined—but nothing was worse than the shame that was filling her now.

If only she could escape—but she couldn’t without removing the blindfold. There was no way that she would ever let him see her now, not ever. If there had been the slightest temptation before, it was gone.

Embarrassment began to turn to fury. “Would you please leave?”

The laughter stopped instantly. “I am sorry. I should not have laughed.”

She did not reply, but hid behind her fort of pillows.

She felt him shift until his weight was more balanced on the bed. Sitting? Lying? She was beginning to hate the blindfold. It left her far too vulnerable. If only not being able to see made one invisible.