Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(69)

“That feels nice.” They were the first words she had spoken without prompting.

He did not answer, but continued his strokes, pressing more firmly.

He took a moment to shift his weight and kneel beside her. Her body tensed again, but then relaxed as he returned to his long, slow touch.

Her breathing grew even, and he knew that she was relaxed even to the edge of sleep. That was not his goal, although he would not fight it if it happened.

“I am going to straddle you. It makes it possible for me to put more of my weight into the rub while still retaining control—and yes, it will be the same position as before, but I trust you will feel the difference.”

She remained still. Her breathing halted as he shifted his body, settling into the softness of her buttocks while holding much of his weight with his thighs.

Up and down. Up and down his hands moved. His fingers did not stray; no wandering to the sides to feel the curve of breast, no slipping lower to caress her ass.

“I’d like to move the straps of your gown aside. It makes it easier to ease the tightness in your neck.” That was not strictly true, but bare skin against bare skin was almost always preferable.

He waited. She said nothing and he eased the straps aside, pushing them farther down her arms than was strictly necessary.

This time her muscles did not even tense at his movement. His confidence grew. This he knew how to do.

His fingers roamed up her neck, massaging the area at the base of her skull where her tension often lay. Then they ran down the length of her neck, the length of her spine, pulling her gown lower with each motion.

When he slipped the straps all the way down her arms, pulling her gown to her waist, the silk sliding beneath her, she did not demur, although he sensed she was now far from sleep.

Bending, he placed a single soft kiss at the nape of her neck, his tongue longing to dart out and taste the secret spot.

With the greatest care he let his fingers encircle her neck; he applied not the slightest pressure, but let her feel his power, his strength, his control.

He felt her swallow, once and again.

His hands stayed still. He neither released her nor took the gesture further.

She remained perfectly still—and yet, how different this was from every other night they’d been together.

He shifted his hips, aware of his own discomfort, his own desire. He flexed his thighs forward, pressing his cock tight against her, feeling the quiver of her buttocks as he settled near home.

He flexed his fingers once, not even enough pressure to be called a squeeze, and then let them relax and trail down her back.

Louisa’s face turned to the side, and he could see her bite down upon her lower lip again, her teeth finding the red indent that already marked her.

Another kiss upon her neck. And then slightly lower. He marked each shoulder blade with his lips.

And then, moving up slightly, he closed his mouth about the curve between neck and shoulder, letting her feel his teeth. He did not bite, but let her experience the barest moment of anxiety before turning the gesture into a long, lingering kiss.

A shudder ran through her, her buttocks clenching about him.

It took effort to suppress his own reaction.

He sat back and ran his fingers all the way down the indent of her spine, pausing at her waist where her gown was clumped.

“Can I take this off? I’d like to move my rub lower, to massage your—your behind.” Was that the proper word to use with a lady, a wife?

Her head turned back into the pillow as if hiding from him, her uncertainty almost palpable.

“I think I would like that, like it if you rubbed my … my … my ass.” She almost squeaked the last word.

He could not believe she’d said that—although he liked it very much, both her exploring her boundaries, pushing herself further, and the word itself being uttered in those soft, ladylike tones.

“I’ll need you to lift your hips.”

“Then I’ll need you to lift yourself from me.”

He complied, amused at the matter-of-factness of the exchange.

Amusement was good: It helped hold back his demons of desire, demons that faced a long wait before they could again roam free.

Slipping her garment down the length of her legs, he paused as he reached her ankles, liking the restraint the tangled fabric exerted there.

He settled himself again upon her ass, this time his heavy length slipping over bare skin. He allowed himself a couple of slow pelvic thrusts, picturing himself pulling those cheeks apart and watching as he plunged into her.

It felt so good—and could feel even better.

But not yet. He gritted his teeth and shifted his weight lower, resettling so that he was seated upon her thighs. Again, he caught much of his weight with his own legs. It would not do to crush her.

He placed one large palm upon each cheek and then held them quiet, waiting while she adjusted to the new angle, to the feeling of cool air upon her ass, and to the knowledge of all her position offered to him—the knowledge of what he could do, of what he must be thinking.

And he enjoyed—enjoyed the appearance of his own sun-darkened hands upon her pale, innocent flesh, enjoyed the knowledge of how that skin could redden and swell with a single firm swat of his hand, of how her body would clench and sigh beneath him. She was so pretty, so firm and pink and—God, he wanted to bite her, to devour her like the sweetest of fruits, to mark her as his and only his.