Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(91)

His hand slid along her cheek to bury itself again in her hair, pulling her to him. He laid the softest, most delicious of kisses upon her lips, his tongue sweeping along the closed seam, but not pressing for entrance. Did he taste himself? Did he delight in the flavor as much as she?

She felt light-headed with need, her body floating toward …

“Don’t worry. We are not done yet, my dear.” His hands dropped to her breasts, the palms pressing flat against the aching peaks.

Why didn’t he pinch her again? She needed the squeeze, the sting. She just needed—and needed more.

He did not oblige.

She squirmed against him, trying to demonstrate her desires.

“Turn around,” his voice demanded.

That was not what she wanted. She squirmed again.

“Do it.” His voice had grown sharp.

Still she resisted.

“Louisa.” There was no mistaking the absolute command of the word.

“But …”

“Turn around.”

Unwillingly, she complied.

“Bend forward. Lay your body across my desk.”

She stopped, but then did as he asked, the blotter of paper soft against her breasts.

“Lift your skirts.”

Again, she felt a shiver of discomfort, but obeyed, her fingers gathering the fabric until it lay above her hips.

“Stretch your arms forward now, and grasp the front edge of the desk. Do not move them from there. No matter what.”

No matter what? The question echoed through her mind, but she did not voice it. Obedience was what he needed, demanded, and so she offered. It was a long reach to grasp the far edge of the desk, but she did so willingly, pressing up on the balls of her feet until she was standing on her toes.

He stood behind her, the weight of his legs pressing into her thighs. He placed a hand on each of her buttocks, massaging and separating. He’d done this before, but only in the dim light of night.

She felt so exposed, unable to see him while he saw her all, her every hidden spot.

The chair creaked behind, his legs eased away. Had he seated himself? Was his face level with her—with her cunny?

Her inner muscles clenched. Was that his breath she felt upon her thigh?

It was hard to tell. Her angle allowed her to see nothing but the bright sun shining on the patterned oriental carpet. At least it meant that Geoffrey could not see her face, which she was sure was red with embarrassment.

His fingers stroked her flesh, sending little shivers of excitement to her core. She closed her eyes again, trying to focus on sensation instead of the vulnerability of her position.

Her cleft was aching with need, dripping. His fingers wandered close, but refused her what she so desperately wanted. Her hips tried to push nearer, but the precarious position forced her to remain still.

Was that a chuckle she heard?

Moaning, she tried again. His fingers clenched tight, sinking into her soft flesh.

She felt him shift behind her, one of his legs brushing against her own, high above the knee.

He was not sitting then, not staring straight at her seeping cunny.

His fingers stilled, then slipped lower. “You were slow to obey me before—you resisted. I trust you will not do so again?”

Her mind was focused completely on his fingers, not his words. When his hand left her, she nearly begged.

She wanted his touch, needed it.

When the hard swat landed, she cried out in surprise—and pain.





Chapter Twenty-seven





“I will ask again: Now will you listen?” Geoffrey asked, his gaze upon the reddening imprint that marked her pale flesh. God, he had needed that. His demons were free, brought forth by her slight disobedience after the outpouring of emotion and vulnerability that he’d allowed. He’d needed discipline and control.

Again she did not answer.

He raised his palm and brought it down again, and then again, the hard slaps sounding through the room, the sting rising from his hand up his arm, his mark upon her darkening. She was his.

“You spanked me,” she sputtered.

“Will you do as I say instantly next time?” He ignored her outburst, raised his palm again and brought it down, twice in rapid succession, feeling his demons rejoice, his cock rising fast and hard, demanding.

“Yes. Yes, I will do what you say.” She spoke so rapidly her words blurred.

He brought his hand down again, but gently, caressing the pink skin. He wished she could see how pretty she looked, all pink and glowing.

She murmured a protest, but did not resist, her fingers still wrapped about the front edge of the desk.

It should have been impossible for his cock to swell again so quickly, but from the moment his palm had landed upon her quivering flesh he’d felt the blood rush down. He traced the outline of his palm print with a single finger, watching her shiver at his touch. “Does it burn?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel increased tenderness, feel how the slightest touch inflames?”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand how my every touch, my every breath, will be enhanced, magnified?”

“I … I don’t know.” Her voice shook as she answered.

He leaned forward and blew, his breath washing across her bruised behind. Gods, he loved the sight of reddened skin, the knowledge that he had marked her, that she was his. He hadn’t intended to take her, had thought to pleasure her with his mouth, but now he felt the need to be in her, to bury himself deep in her tender flesh.