by BETH KERY
TWENTY-EIGHT
Ryan waited tensely, wondering how Hope would respond to his statement. It pleased him when she slowly leaned over the brass bedstead, but her quick, scolding look gratified him almost as much. He turned and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt while he scanned the large bedroom for the box he wanted.
"My father and I don't believe that men should try and control women," Hope told him as he ripped open the tape sealing the cardboard box.
"Hmmm," Ryan responded distractedly as he riffled through the various sex toys he'd acquired over the years. He found what he was looking for and whipped his shirt over his shoulders before he retrieved the items.
She still was bent over the bedstead, but she'd twisted her face around on her shoulder to watch him as he approached, her gleaming, dark curls falling in her face. He saw her eyes widen when she saw the spreader bar.
"Is ... is that all you're going to say?" she demanded, her voice a little higher than usual.
He set the bar and the ankle restraints on the bed and picked up a pair of padded wrist cuffs. He quickly buckled it around Hope's wrist and then used a hook to fasten the cuff around one of the vertical brass posts.
"About the fact that you and your father don't believe that men should try and control women?" he asked as he went around her and did the same to her other hand. She continued to rest her hands on the top rail of the bed, but she was restrained to it now.
"Yes."
Ryan grabbed the ankle restraints and spreader bar and knelt at her feet. He pulled on her slender ankle, placing it where he wanted it. He smoothed his palm down her calf, wondering again at the softness of her skin before he buckled the ankle cuff.
"I seem to recall a very wise, brave woman once telling me that ladies should feel free to please their lovers in whatever way they feel comfortable." He looked up at her when he'd buckled the other cuff around her ankle. "Are you trying to tell me that you aren't comfortable giving me control over your pleasure in the bedroom?"
Her already flushed, dewy-looking cheeks colored deeply. "I. .. I trust you, Ryan."
"Good," he murmured as he knelt behind her. He stared up at the jaw-dropping sight of Hope's plump ass. It was noticeably pink in comparison to her shapely, white thighs due to her spanking. Her dark pink, swollen sex lips glistened with moisture.
His cock tugged impatiently as he encircled her leg just above her right ankle restraint and slid her stocking-covered foot along the wood floor, holding her steady so she didn't fall. He instantly felt the tension in her muscles as he spread her very wide.
"Ryan ..."
"Shhhh," he soothed. "I know it's hard for you to open yourself for me ... to have me look my fill. . . lick it." He looked into her sweat-dampened face and sensed her profound arousal, making his cock throb with a dull ache. "But it would give me so much pleasure to have you at my mercy, witch."
She licked her upper lip nervously. "All ... all right."
He smiled and transferred his gaze to the intoxicating sight of her opened, damp flower, the petals spread wide. He salivated at the veritable feast before him. Deciding that he had her about at the right height for what he intended, he attached one end of the spreader bar to her ankle. He adjusted the length to fit the distance to her other foot by sliding the inner bar out of the outer and then screwing the release at the end to tighten it at the length he wanted. When he'd attached the bar to both of her ankles, it became impossible for her to close her legs.
He stood and lifted one of his heavy boxes of books, sliding it until the bottom corner fit snugly along the outside of her foot. He did the same to her other foot. When he finished he noticed she was staring at him like she thought he'd gone nuts.
"It'll keep you secure," he explained as he reached out to caress her round bottom. "The bar will prevent you from closing your legs but the boxes will stop you from slipping on your hose and pulling a muscle."
"Oh," she whispered. His cock batted up at her wide-eyed expression of mixed arousal and trepidation. Her mouth looked puffy and red. The thought of plunging his cock between those luscious lips caused his cock to lurch up again in_ mounting excitement.
She wasn't used to giving head and he'd tried to go gently on her, but his excitement had been unprecedented—as her swollen lips testified.
"Are you ready for me to eat your pussy now?"
She bit her lower bee-stung lip and nodded.
He needed to do this—to control her, to somehow manage the almost unbearable emotion that frothed inside him ever since he'd realized it was her that Jim Donahue used to shield his body.
He needed to control himself.
Something primal pulled at him ... a feeling that made him feel prickly and restless and combustible, like he was going to burst out of his own skin. He'd soothed the beast for all of about ten seconds after he exploded in Hope's sweet, suckling mouth.
But now it reared its head again, more demanding and fierce than ever.
He grasped her shoulders and explained that he wanted her to slide the hooks on her wrist restraints down the posts of the bed until she could rest her hands on the mattress comfortably. He guided her down until her hands were braced on the mattress. Her spanked ass and swollen pussy stuck up further than any part of her body now.
The stab of lust that shot through his cock caused him to squeeze just below the head briefly, trying to alleviate the pressure. He went to his knees behind her and sat back on his haunches. She whimpered when he placed his hands on her soft, firm bottom and separated the cheeks even further.
He could understand why.
He didn't think he'd ever had a woman spread this wide for his unrestrained consumption.
She was his, he thought as he leaned forward and inhaled the scent of her arousal. He detailed the delicate, pretty, slick folds of her pussy and the tiny rosette of her rectum.
Hope was all his.
He swiped his tongue once over her labia, pressing just enough to part the folds slightly and flick across her clit. She hopped and made a muffled choking sound. He knew she'd squirm, restraints or no. It was in her nature. So he tightened his hold on her ass, tilted his head and opened his mouth. When he closed over her and agitated with his tongue, her juices flooded his mouth. He grunted in pleasure.
Yeah. Hope tied up, spread wide and at his mercy, her firm flesh squirming in his hands and her honey flowing down his throat.
This would go a long way to soothe the beast.
Hope blinked the sweat out of her eyes and stared blindly at the head of the brass bed.
Ryan continued to eat her pussy with a strength and determination that was unabated, despite the fact that he'd made her come three times now. The convulsions that had shuddered through her body during her most recent climax had quieted, to tiny spasms that zinged through her flesh whether he playfully slicked his tongue over her clit or rubbed it good and hard. The electrical pulsations had been going on now for several minutes. It felt like she was having a continuous, low-grade orgasm. Her muscles bunched and trembled. Her nerves quaked at every caress.
But that didn't stop Ryan. No, he just continued to torture her super-sensitized flesh. Lord help her. She tightly fisted the bedspread once again. Didn't he know how hard this was for her? How untenably forbidden it felt to be spread so decadently wide for him while he built her desire only to consume it so hungrily again and again? He stretched her so tightly on a rack of sensual pleasure she thought she'd snap from the tension.
She moaned loudly when he sent his tongue deep into her slit and vibrated her. It felt so good, but she burned like she was at the center of a fiery star. She burned when what she needed was to explode into a million pieces again.
Oh God, did she need that.
She pressed back against his tongue, desperate.
"Please, Ryan . . . Please, please.'"
She hadn't realized she'd been begging him out loud until he raised his head, depriving her. She wailed in protest at this new form of torture.<
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"What do you want, honey?" he asked, his voice deep and raspy.
"I want to come .. . like before."
He stroked her bottom and hip soothingly. "Does it feel like you can't come big because you're so sensitive that you keep coming small?"
Hope looked over her shoulder incredulously, although she really couldn't make him out because of the angle and her wildly mussed hair. "How did you know that? Wait—don't tell me," she muttered, suddenly thinking of Gail talking about Jenny Martin being addicted to having Ryan make love to her.
She'd scratch Jenny Martin's eyes out if she as much as batted her eyelids at Ryan, but Hope had to admit, the woman told the bald truth.
She suddenly realized that Ryan was unbuckling the ankle restraints.
"What. .. what are you doing?" she asked breathlessly, none too keen on the idea of his God-gifted tongue moving farther and farther away from her throbbing pussy.
"I've released your feet. You can move them in now some, if you want."
She did what he suggested, grimacing slightly at how sore her muscles had become fixed in place for so long with her thighs stretched wide. She peered around, trying to see Ryan.
"I'm going to fuck you," he explained. "Besides the fact that I'll spontaneously combust if I keep eating your sweet little cunt, you need a cock in your pussy to send you over the edge."
Hope blinked at his coarse language, although in truth it didn't offend her. She was becoming increasingly used to Ryan's blunt-ness during sex ... increasingly aroused by it.
It never struck her as crude, actually, but honest and always perfectly matched to their level of excitement.
She gasped in surprise when he stood and leaned down over her, spreading his hands just above her breasts.
"I'm going to lift you. I want you to put your hands back up on the top rail. That's right,"
he said when she grasped the top of the brass bedstead. He moved behind her again. Her breath froze in I her lungs when she felt him dip his knees, his hair-sprinkled thighs brushing against her own. He reached between them and she knew he grasped his heavy erection.
They both grunted in excitement when he pressed the steely, smooth head to her slit.
"Aren't you going to—?"
"I won't come in you. I promise. I want to feel you completely right now"
Hope nodded her head and gasped when she felt him push the knob of his penis into her.
His knees pressed into her spread legs and she realized how much he had to bend down to match their disproportionate height. He made it work, though. His cock slid into her hypersensitive slit, setting off little detonations of pleasure deep inside her body. She closed her eyes and moaned in pleasure when he pushed into her to the hilt. He paused and pressed tight, as though he strained to kiss the edge of her womb.
Hope's rough groan might have suggested to some that she'd never been raised as a lady.
"Brace your arms," Ryan ordered tensely. He wrapped his forearm beneath her belly and slowly lifted her feet off the floor for the second time that night. Her mouth gaped open at the sensation of him pulling her up his body. He stopped and she gasped raggedly.
It'd felt fantastic to have him in her before, but it was as if he'd just locked her in place for the perfect fit.
He leaned down over her. One hand came down and braced next to her own on the bedstead. The other held her tightly against him.
He flexed his hips.
She keened at the shock of the pleasure when he rocketed into her body. Her feet dangled in the air. Her hands were bound. She held on to the brass railing for dear life as Ryan pumped in and out of her with increasing force. His forearm held her in the air below her belly, but he didn't use it to push her body into him. Instead she just draped there, held immobile and helpless while he nailed their flesh together again and again.
Hope's hands slipped on the bedstead but she was so close to combusting, so mindless with need as he barreled into her that she barely noticed.
But Ryan did. He paused, making her groan in agony.
"Hold on tight, honey, and I'll bring us home," he muttered, his voice barely above a strained whisper.
She strengthened her grip on the rail and stiffened her arms. Ryan seemed all too ready to resume once she'd secured herself. Once again he crashed their bodies together. The entire brass bed began to rattle as a result of Ryan's forcefulness. Her lips stretched into a snarl. She cried out every time Ryan thrust deep and his pelvis whapped loudly against her ass.
"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted mindlessly each time he smacked into her.
The tension she'd been harboring finally reached the breaking point. She clenched her eyes shut and exploded as the spark from the friction ignited into a roaring flame.
Distantly, through pulsing waves of pounding pleasure, she became aware of Ryan's roar as he jumped into the conflagration with her. The knowledge only added to her firestorm of raging desire.
They still panted heavily by the time Ryan unbound her wrists. He retrieved several tissues from the bedside table and carefully wiped his semen from her back and bottom.
Afterward he pulled her over to the bed and they collapsed like two survivors from a great storm in each other's arms. He kissed and nuzzled her breasts as their bodies slowed.
Hope knew Ryan slept when she felt the warm mist of his even breath falling on her breast. She thought of being bent over, spread wide and restrained while she stared up at the headboard of the bed—a bed that she'd slept in since her eighteenth year.
Never in a million years would she have thought she'd experience such grandeur, such depths of the human experience as she had while staring at such a mundane object as the brass bed in her bedroom at 1807 Prairie Avenue.
Ryan turned his chin in his sleep, brushing his lips across her nipple. Her fingers tightened in his thick hair as a powerful wave of emotion crashed into her. Tears burned her eyelids.
She loved him. She loved him so much. Illogically, perhaps, for there really hadn't been enough time to truly understand one another's true selves.
But what was a self compared to a soul?
A sob shuddered through her.
She carefully lifted Ryan's head from her breast and slid a pillow beneath his cheek. He scowled slightly in his sleep, as though he hadn't cared for the replacement. Still, he didn't waken.
Hope stood and went over to the mantel, pausing at the side of the hearth. She placed her hand upon the ledge and bent over, thinking. It was actually a familiar pose of pensiveness. The fire that was usually in the hearth was warm, and she was naturally drawn to it, but her father always worried about her long skirts catching fire if she drew to close.
So she reserved her thoughts—and her tears—for the periphery of the mantel.
For the first time she allowed the image of what Ryan had looked like when she'd asked him earlier today if he'd been able to travel through the great barrier of time to reach her because of his love for her.
For a split second, he'd looked cornered—trapped at the idea of having to answer.
Profound love, even if it did exist mutually, didn't mean they could necessarily bridge the cultural differences of a century. What it meant to Ryan to care for her . . . even love her, didn't have the same consequences in the year 1906 as it did in the year 2008. As much as Hope had yet to learn about Ryan's world, that much had been made abundantly clear to her.
Hope lifted her head and stared at Ryan as he lay sleeping and peaceful upon the brass bed. Such a big, supple . .. beautiful male animal. Again, tears smarted behind her eyelids.
Is this what true love entailed? That she be willing to sacrifice everything in order to gain an even fuller, richer existence?
And what if she made the wrong choice?
She swung around abruptly and stifled a frustrated sob, pounding her fist against her thigh. The tension inside of her spirit felt nearly as untenable as the sexual friction Ryan had built in her flesh. How to soothe herself without bre
aking into wretched tears and disturbing Ryan while he slept so peacefully?
She decisively reached toward the carved mantel, pressing on the well-worn center of a twining branch of leaves. The secret drawer popped forward.
Who knew? Perhaps her copy of Mr. Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass was still secreted inside after all these years? Hope had always read to soothe her stormy moods, and she doubted anything—even her beloved Shakespeare—would offer a better match to her volatility than Mr. Whitman's carnal prose that spoke so honestly of the joys and sufferings of the human spirit.
Hope's brow crinkled in confusion when she drew out a number of large photographs instead of Leaves of Grass.
For several stretched moments as she looked at each one, nothing moved. Nothing in the universe. Certainly her heart didn't stir, did it?
A memory that she hadn't considered significant at the time /suddenly sprang into her consciousness. She recalled the expression on Ryan's face when she'd exited Eve Daire's storeroom just this afternoon and interrupted him as he talked.
There's something I haven't told Hope yet— something about some photographs I found of her at the mansion—
Now that Hope reflected on it, his lame explanation about the police archival photos of her didn't really adequately explain that statement.
He'd been referring to these photos—the ones she held in her hands at this very moment, Hope suddenly knew with certainty.
Ten seconds or thirty minutes later—she couldn't be sure because so much went through her mind in those electrical moments—she glanced over at Ryan and inhaled raggedly.
She looked at him, the photographs that shook in her hands and back to Ryan's still form.
Her path had been made clear to her.
She now knew what she had to do.
TWENTY-NINE
Ryan awoke with a start. For a few seconds he remained very still, wondering what had awakened him so abruptly. Rain spattered on the windows, but the sound was pleasant and muted. It hadn't been that which jerked him out of a deep slumber.
He was cold.
He sat up from where he'd been sprawled on the brass bed and stared around the large bedroom. The lamp was still on, allowing him to see that he was alone. Hope must have gotten up to use the bathroom.
