by Lavinia Kent
He took the whip and held it before her eyes. “You said you wanted to get past yesterday, and I wanted to show you that not everything is as it appears. Yes, it can be used as a whip—and I have to confess that even having promised to never use one upon you, I feel some desire—but this one does not hurt, not unless used to the extreme. It would take great strength or lengthy use on one spot to cause any pain, and I have no desire for that. Someday, if you ask—and only if you ask; and I rather think you will—we may experiment, but not in any way that causes even the slightest hurt … only, shall I say, a brightening of the skin. It is a true toy.” He brushed it the entire length of her body, until it came to rest between her legs.
He could see her legs strain to press against it, to feel the friction of its touch.
He dipped it down then, pulling it back up so that the strands ran between her folds.
Her breath caught, and he watched her eyes grow wide.
Letting it fall once more, he pulled it up slowly, then again trailed the tails across her belly. He watched the little quivers of her flesh, enjoyed the scent of her new musk. The ache grew in his balls. He was more than ready.
He closed his eyes, gathering strength, then dropped the flogger to the sheets. He needed to touch her with his hands, to feel her warm flesh, to taste the tight buds of her breasts. He could play with the toy later if he wished, if she wished.
Turning, he sat on the edge of the bed and yanked off his boots; he wasn’t sure he’d ever gotten them off so fast. Then he climbed onto the bed beside her.
It was hard to know where to begin. She was an entire feast laid out at once.
Control.
He must maintain control.
Her gaze was fixed upon his face, and he could feel a question in it. Then her eyes darted to the bedside table and back to him. The pearls. The oil.
Aah, the oil. What better way to touch her.
He reached over and took the jar, pouring a good dollop into one hand before placing it back on the table. Rubbing his hands together to warm it and release the scent, he moved to kneel between her spread legs. He reached his arms up and stroked his palms across the hard tips of her nipples.
A slight gasp escaped her lips and her ribs expanded, pressing her breasts up toward him. Spreading his fingers wide, he cupped her, filling his hands. He squeezed softly and then more aggressively, watching every nuance of expression. Her body rose toward him, straining against the scarves. He pinched the tips and a moan escaped her lips. She liked that—yes, she liked it very much.
Her breath was coming in soft pants, her chest rising and falling with his every move.
Continuing his massage, he leaned forward until he could place a kiss upon her navel, his tongue slipping out to circle the indent, to taste the sweet and salty flavor that was Louisa.
She was all slippery silk and warm velvet, trembling warm velvet.
He squeezed her breasts tight before pulling his hands back and then again pinching only the turgid tips. He twisted slightly, pulled again, feeling them plump and elongate beneath his fingers, ripe berries begging to be tasted. Rubbing his nails across the flattened peak, he felt her squirm and twitch beneath him. The scent of her arousal filled him. Her hips were rising and falling as much as they were able, her need clear.
Flicking his nails across the tip, he saw her gasp, felt her thighs clench, felt her body surge toward him, felt her hunger.
God, he wanted her.
Grinning, he sat back on his heels and surveyed his work, pushing down his own urgent response. Her nipples thrust up, inviting, begging for his touch, his suckle, his bite.
Her eyes gleamed with desire, with need. He reached forward and plucked the swollen buds. “Should I tease these until you come? I could, you know. I could do nothing but play with your nips and you’d beg me for more even as you shattered about me. Do you want that, or do you want something else?” This was all about her. He was all about her. Whatever his own desires, he wanted to remember that. He pressed her nipples tight one last time, her gasp of pleasure shooting through him.
Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he trailed his fingers down her breasts, across the gently curved belly, until he was stroking the top of her curls. Her body shivered and shuddered at his touch. He twined his fingers in the soft hair and tugged gently. “You want more? I see it in your eyes. Should I reward you for not talking? For resting those sweet lips? I rather think I should. I may believe in punishment, but I also believe in reward.”
Tugging softly upon the dark curls, he worked his fingers lower, then swept them down her thighs, spreading the rest of the musky oil. He reached back to the table and took the jar again, dribbling oil across her belly and trailing it down to her cleft. He watched as the thin stream bathed her, her flesh glistening as never before.
Again he was reminded of that first night, of seeing her spread before him on Ruby’s bed, of dreaming of ties—ties like the ones that now held her. He’d first tasted her that night also.
His mouth felt dry as he gazed at her, the pink flesh peeking from the dark hair. He licked his lips, and placed one hand upon each spread thigh, his thumbs grazing the edges of her cunny, playing with that most tender skin. He moved his thumbs back and forth, reveling in her every twitch and moan. Massaging the sensitive joining of leg and torso, he teased her, moving closer to her desire and then away. He stopped and reached to the side, lifting the heavy candleholder. He brought it forward until she was fully illuminated. He wanted to see her, to see her every secret.
Her whole body tensed.
“Has somebody been telling you things, explaining things?” he growled, seeing her wide eyes and curiosity.
“Yes.” She swallowed, her eyes on the candle.
“Who?”
“The Countess and Ruby,” she answered.
“You can discount everything the Countess told you. And as for anything Ruby said—I only want to see you, at least for now.”
Holding the candle near, he opened her with one hand, staring down at all that he dreamed of, shiny with oil and want. “I wish you could see how beautiful you are.” He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “Did you ever use the mirror I gave you?”
“No.” It was hardly even a whisper.
“Should I punish you for that? For not obeying my simple order?” He deliberately harshened his voice, watching as another shiver of pleasure took her.
She bit down on her lip, not answering.
“I think I shall, but not tonight. Part of your punishment shall be the wondering. Tonight has been about pleasure, and we shall keep it that way. Not that your punishment is not pleasure—for both of us.”
Her inner muscles tighten at his words.
He ran a finger along the length of her cleft, stroking briefly over her hard pearl of nerves, but only long enough to tease. His fingers trembled with desire. Laughing inwardly at his own need, he brought the candle to his lips and blew it out, then set it aside.
Using both hands, he parted her nether lips wide and, watching her closely, brought his lips down to her clit, sucking delicately at the most sensitive spot. Her whole body jerked, and then her thighs grew tight, straining against the bonds as desire took her.
He sucked harder, drawing the nub into his mouth, feeling her craving grow, her need become endless. He nipped gently with his teeth, then laved again. A series of soft cries left her lips. Using his tongue, he swept down her length, delving deep into her. Her cries increased, her legs attempting to tighten about his head, the tight restraints holding them back, restraining her for his pleasure.
He teased her further, playing and nipping, using all his skills to drive her to the brink and hold her there. She was ready to come apart, but he did not let her, pulling back each time he felt her tension grow, felt the tiny ripples that could grow to waves.
“Do not come until I tell you to,” he growled, feeling half-animal, his own needs growing along with hers. He had to end this soon.
He sucked her deep into his mouth, his tongue lapping at her honey. Faster, faster he pushed the pace, until he felt her whole body rise toward him, and then nipping with just the right pressure upon her clit, he pushed three fingers deep within her, finding that soft spongy spot with practiced care. His fingers pressed it hard, plunging and stroking.
“Now,” he commanded.
She exploded about him. Even stretched tight upon his bed, her body lifted and tugged, her moans filling the chamber. Her inner muscles clenched about his fingers, milking them. God, he wished it were his cock they were sucking upon.
“Geoffrey,” she cried as he felt her muscles tighten—again and then again.
He pulled back, thrust again.
Her head thrashed upon the bed.
And then the storm was over. Her body fell back upon the bed, her head relaxing to the side.
He waited a moment, then slipped his fingers free, lifting them so he could inhale her scent.
His body jerked in response. She might be finished, but he was not.
He reached down and released himself, his cock springing free.
All night he had waited for this, and finally it was time.
He raised his eyes and found her watching him, an easy grin spread about her face.
“Now,” she whispered.
It was impossible to move; her every muscle felt heavy and tired. And yet, as Louisa lifted her eyes and gazed at her husband, watched as his cock burst forward, ready to greet her, she felt need again curl in her belly.
Her eyes fastened upon the heavy purple head, watched as the first drop of cum seeped to decorate its tip. Why was it so beautiful? Why did she want it so much?
She watched Geoffrey look at her, saw his desire as he looked at her legs, bound wide, awaiting him. The scent of her own need rose to her nostrils and she shifted her hips as much as the bonds allowed. She was beginning to ache, yet all she could think about was him, was the need to feel him in her, to feel him fill her.
Her breasts longed for his touch, his pinch. But the greedy core between her legs wanted more. It might have cried its pleasure a moment before, but now it wanted more. It wanted him.
Geoffrey stared down at the V of her legs and then up at her. “I will not be gentle. I should be, but I cannot be. I need you too much.”
“Then take me. Take all of me,” she gasped. It was more than a single word, but he did not seem to mind.
In an instant he was between her legs, his hand positioning himself at her entrance, pressing against her sensitive core—and then in a single thrust he was in, deep and hard, filling her completely until she did not know where she ended and he began.
It was not gentle. It was not kind.
But it was more, so much more.
Her head fell back. Cries, and sighs, and moans escaped her lips.
Muscles that a moment before had been exhausted now tightened and stretched, urging him on. But he needed no urging. He pounded into her hard and heavy.
His eyes were dark. The cords of his neck rose and strained; his hips pistoned; sweat glistened on his muscled chest.
And still her need grew and coiled again, tighter and tighter, her hips straining to rise beneath him.
She could feel it coming, feel it grow, her whole body centered on that ache and want.
Straining against her bonds, she fought to press back against him, to tilt and grind.
Her head thrashed from side to side.
She was there, almost there; but still it remained just out of reach.
And then he pulled fully out. Her body screamed in protest and need.
He plunged back, hard and deep. So deep. It was like being ripped in half.
She could not take this.
She could not.
It was all more than she could bear without bursting completely apart.
He pushed harder, grinding his hips into hers as if seeking to make the two of them one.
And then she felt it, first in him and then in herself.
The first pulse, the sudden clench, and then euphoria, God, the euphoria.
The world exploded. His name. Hers. Color. Blackness. And sensation, oh so much sensation. And it was Geoffrey. All Geoffrey.
Her lungs could not pull in air, her mind could not comprehend all that had happened, all that she felt.
Another explosion, another swirl. The world grew large and then collapsed into dark.
When she came to, she could move again. Her limbs were free and Geoffrey was behind her, gently rubbing at her shoulders, cradling her against him. As if sensing her waking, he laid a kiss upon the nape of her neck.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, Louisa.”
He’d said it earlier, but she had not believed it, had believed he said it only out of guilt and the need to reassure her. This time the words pierced her, filled her heart in places she had not even known were empty.
Rolling over, she faced him, the tips of her breast brushing the sprinkling of hair upon his chest. She met his gaze and held it. “And I love you, Geoffrey. Now. Forever. No matter what.”
He pulled back slightly, staring deep into her eyes as if seeking to see into her very core. “No matter what?”
“No matter what.”
“What if I choose never to speak to my family? To ignore my father?”
“No matter what.”
“What if I marry Bliss off to Duldon?”
“No matter what.”
“What if I go mad and run about the kingdom raising llamas myself?”
“No matter what.”
He grew serious then, his lips losing their curve. “What if I decided that I did need to hurt you, to feel your pain?”
“Will you?”
“No, but what if I did?”
“Then I will tie you to this big bed and wait until the mood passes. Or perhaps I’ll take up your whip myself. No matter what, Geoffrey. Do you have any more questions?”
He lay back upon the pillows, staring up at the canopy. “No, but I am sure more will come to me. The great thing about forever is I have a lot of time.”
“Yes, you do.”
She sat up, naked in his bed, the scent of sex surrounding them. She’d never felt so powerful before. “But, Geoffrey, I must be honest: I am not sure I will be a most obedient wife. Here, in the chamber, I may enjoy … enjoy submitting to your desires, but do not think that I will always do as you say outside of it. And I am not talking of any game.”
That grin—she was loving this night, more and more—filled his face. “Yes, Louisa. I do realize that. I adore how you give yourself to me when I demand, but I also delight in the way that you fight me for what you believe. Perhaps it is why I love and cherish you so.” He reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his body about hers, creating a haven of warmth. “And, just so you know, I had lunch with my father today. I even listened to him discuss his llamas, and the scheme may not be as crazy as I thought. The duke actually seems to have thought it out. I am not quite ready to trust him, but it is possible, just possible, that he may be becoming a little more reasonable with age.”
Or perhaps Geoffrey was learning to deal with chaos. She did not say it, but Louisa could see changes working their way into her husband. “And you will not force Bliss to marry?”
“I will at least give her some time to meet someone she wants. I find myself growing more partial to the idea of a love match.”
It was not quite the answer that Louisa had wished for, but she’d give her husband time to come around—or herself time to persuade him. She lay back down, for a moment, and then rolled within his arms until she faced him. “I do have one question of my own, Geoffrey. Will you show me how to use the pearls?”
By Lavinia Kent
Mastering the Marquess
Hint of Desire
Price of Desire
Taste of Desire
A Talent for Sin
Bound by Temptation
Taken by Desire
What a Duke Wants
The Real Duchesses of London
Kathryn, the Kitten
Linnette, the Lioness
Annabelle, the American
Elizabeth, the Enchantress
Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess
About the Author
LAVINIA KENT is a former two-term president of the Washington Romance Writers and a four-time Romance Writers of America Golden Heart nominee. She lives in Washington, D.C., with her family and an ever-changing menagerie of pets.
The Editor’s Corner
Did you know August is Romance Awareness Month? It give us the perfect excuse (as if we needed one!) to immerse ourselves in some wonderfully romantic stories. And we have just the perfect ones. So wind down the dog days of summer with these great Loveswept reads.
We’re incredibly excited about New York Times bestselling author Ruthie Knox’s steamy new contemporary romance series set in New York City—if you haven’t yet experienced a Ruthie Knox book, you need to get Truly ASAP! You won’t regret it. Laura Drewry also returns this month with the witty and tender romance Prima Donna, which features a sexy love-shy doctor. Sidney Bristol proves that desire can be the most dangerous drug of all in her erotic tale of sensuality and suspense, Committed. And speaking of hot—have you seen the cover for Ashlyn Macnamara’s What a Lady Craves? It’s positively sizzling and the story is too—it’s a delicious tale of two souls torn apart by circumstances and reunited by fate. Then we have Vonnie Davis’s fantastic novel A Highlander’s Obsession, where two wandering souls discover that true love needs no words. And if you haven’t yet discovered Cecy Robson’s sensational Weird Girls series—or just want to return to where the magic first began—pick up a copy of A Curse Awakened, the prequel novella about four sisters coming to grips with their unique supernatural powers.
Lastly, don’t miss the newest Flirt title, Cassie Mae’s The Real Thing, which features best friends whose feelings suddenly become more than platonic.
