Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(23)

“I am glad. And you do taste very fine, like a strong red wine.”

“I think I understand that,” she replied. “Something you’re not sure about at first sip, but that grows on you with each swallow. And then suddenly you want nothing else.”

“I could not have said it better.” Another kiss.

And then he pulled her tight in his arms, holding her close against him.

It was something he wasn’t sure he’d ever done, except in the midst of coitus, but here, now, it was the right thing. The only thing.

Her hands ran down his back, feeling his muscles, rubbing, massaging.

It was his turn to purr.

She buried her face against his chest, her breath hot, her tongue darting out to lick. She nipped his nipple, paused, and then moved forward, her mouth feeling and exploring.

He felt himself stir against her leg. He shifted, trying to find ease, comfort.

Her hand slipped between them, wrapped about him.

He bit down. Shit. He held his teeth clenched.

“Oh dear,” she breathed against him. “What about you? I thought that you—well, I didn’t really think, but …” Her fingers began to move.

He was forced to reach down and grab them, to stop them.

Hell, he doubted she was ready for more yet—and he was more than ready.

He gritted his teeth. “I am fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. Should I do to you what you did to me? Is that what you meant when you said I could taste later?” She sounded almost … eager.

Blast. She really was going to kill him, inch by inch. “It is not later yet. Rest a moment and then we can move on when you are recovered.”

She pushed away, rose on one elbow, and looked down at him. Well, she didn’t look down at him, as she could not see, but he still felt that she was staring into his soul. “I am quite recovered. Do you need more time?”

He reached up, wrapped a hand about her head, tangled in her hair, and pulled her down.

This kiss was not soft, was not kind.

It was fire. It demanded to be fed, and fed and fed.

His tongue pressed through her lips, not asking for permission. It swept her mouth, deep and hard. He would show her what, however innocently, she was asking for.

But she met him. Taste for taste. Thrust for thrust.

One second gentle, the next demanding all.

He could feel her heart race against his chest, her breasts flattened by the force of his hold.

And yet she did not whimper, did not pull back. She gave and gave.

Offered more.

Finally it was he who pulled back—needing breath, his lungs crying for air.

“Are you sure you are ready?” he gasped.

“Do you need to ask?” Her hands brushed across his chest, stopping to pinch at his small, hard nipples.

“I always ask. Permission is needed, even when I demand. I am, in fact, asking.”

“Oh. Then yes, I am ready. What would you like me to do?”

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. His mind filled with images. Her on her knees, his cock deep in her mouth. On her hands and knees, himself behind, shoving in hard. Her bent over a chair, her legs parted, waiting. Her spread on his bed, against his dark coverlet, her hands bound, her legs quivering with want. And other images. Darker images that she would never be part of.

But then, she’d never lie upon his bed, either.

He would think about now, about what they could do now.

Rising up, he looked down at her.

He would not tie her, but he could certainly spread her, have her lie upon the bed like the sacrifice he had imagined. Indeed, it was a relatively customary way to deflower a virgin, to take her flat on her back in a large bed. The images in his mind might not always be so normal, but his outer actions could be. Well, almost. And she would never know the difference.

She accepted whatever he asked of her. Why would she think anything of his asking her to hold herself still again?

He’d enjoyed her arms up before, imagined the single rope tying them. Should he do that again or have her spread them? He could hold them either way, imprison her with his body.

That might be an even more exciting thought than actual bondage.

“Make your body into an X.”

“I am afraid I don’t understand.”

“Spread your arms wide above you—and the same with your legs. Open them wide.”

Her arms went up immediately, reaching toward the bedposts. Her legs edged open slowly. Six inches. Then a foot. A foot and a half.

“I said wide.”

Another foot.

“Wide.”

An inch or two.

“Surely you cannot be shy after what we just did? Or are you sore?” He had not even considered that possibility. She was surely unused to what he was asking her to do. Her muscles might be protesting.

“No, not sore. I know I should not be shy, but it still seems strange to open my legs, knowing you are looking.”

“And I promise you, I am looking. I wish you could see how beautiful you are. In different circumstances I would position a mirror to show you.”

He could see her shock. Her mouth gaped open a bit. “A mirror?”

“Yes, a mirror. Would that bother you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never even considered such a thing.”

He slipped off the edge of the bed and moved about the foot of it, memorizing every inch of her, locking this moment in his mind. He had never seen a more splendid sight than Grace, spread wide and awaiting his pleasure. He would have enjoyed actual bondage, but there was something erotic in her self-enforced stillness. “I want you to do me a favor, not now, but later.”