A Measure of Deceit

by Jess Michaels

  She listened to the second part and moved toward him. “Then what do you want, Connor?”

  He spun on her and dragged her in, pressing her against his hard body. His face was close to hers, but he didn’t kiss her. He just looked at her, as if he were memorizing the lines of her face. As if he could read her.

  She wasn’t certain she liked that feeling. She lifted her mouth toward him, but he moved his face so she couldn’t kiss him.

  “I want you,” he growled. “Your body, your surrender. On my terms.”

  She swallowed, knowing what he meant was her submission to his demands. Her vulnerability of body, which was given only slightly less hesitantly than the vulnerability of her spirit.

  And yet she couldn’t resist him.

  “Anything you desire,” she whispered.

  His gaze narrowed. “Everything I desire.”

  Her breath caught, and she nodded slowly. “Everything.”

  He didn’t speak again, but crushed his mouth to hers with a growl that was so animal that her body clenched in expectation. Maura was right—he was out of control. And he was about to unleash all his heat on her. She should have been nervous or even afraid…but she wasn’t. She wanted this. Wanted him. Any way she could get him.

  He pushed her toward the bed roughly and she reached back to catch herself on the edge. He drew away, panting, staring at her, then tugged at her dress. Buttons snapped from their holes, scattering across the floor. He pulled the fabric open, shoving it off her arms, down around her feet. He lifted her arms up over her head and tugged her chemise up and away.

  The rest followed with swift efficiency and she found herself, yet again, naked before him while he was fully clothed. She tensed, wanting to ask him to strip, while knowing he wouldn’t obey any order she gave. If she wanted him, wanted pleasure, she would have to be good.

  So she bit her lip and stood there as he stared at her, his gaze burning into her, devouring her, making her weak and shaky.

  Finally she could take it no longer. “What would you have me do? I’m yours to command, as you well know.”

  Her voice seemed to spur him to action, and he reached into his pocket as he said, “Lie down on the bed.”

  She swallowed and climbed onto the high mattress. She settled back on her pillows and watched as he set something on the table behind him, then stripped out of his jacket. He tossed it aside as if it meant nothing and loosened his cravat to part his shirt at the throat. She stared at the triangle of tanned flesh, the hint of muscle he had revealed. Her mouth was beginning to water.

  Suddenly she wanted to turn the tables on him, to strip him bare and lick him all over. To make him writhe like he had made her writhe.

  His eyes widened as if he could read her thoughts, and he reached behind him to grab whatever item he had brought with him.

  “You look as though you are reconsidering control,” he murmured as he moved to lean over her. “Let me make it easier for you.”

  Without another word, he snatched her right wrist, wrapped it in a silky cord and then knotted that cord to the post of her bed. She let out a tiny screech at the unexpected binding and tugged at her wrist, but he didn’t say a word, not even as he snatched the opposite hand and repeated the action.

  “Connor,” she said, her gaze darting from one bound wrist to the other.

  “Shhh.” He soothed her as he sat down on the bed beside her and glided his hands into her hair. He tugged the pins loose and set them on her bedside table. “Do you believe I would ever harm you?”

  She pondered that thought for a moment, then shook her head. He smiled.

  “And do you believe I’ll give you pleasure?”

  She could hardly speak past her dry throat. “I know you will. Pleasure without limit.”

  His smile fell at that sentence and fire lit in his already wild gaze. “Oh yes, without limit. This is how I intend to do that, Grace. Don’t fight, don’t argue, don’t question. You are mine and you will be mine until I am ready to set you free. Is that clear?”

  She began to shake at the images he created. “But…what will—”

  He lifted his fingers to press them to her lips. “Anticipation is half the pleasure, Grace. Calm yourself.”

  He stood then and she found herself arching toward him, but her bound wrists kept her from being able to catch him or stop him or whatever confusing desire filled her head at this unexpected turn of events.

  She tracked him like a hawk as he went back to the table and held up two more silken ropes. What in the world would he do with those when she was already bound at the wrists? He had nothing left to tie but—

  The thought cut off as she looked down at her naked legs. Now it was clear. And she shivered uncontrollably at the thought of being bound so helplessly. Her public self bucked at the idea, but the part that was Connor’s and Connor’s alone spread her legs open, giving him access even before he chuckled possessively and tied her ankle to the bedpost. The other followed and she was trussed up, completely vulnerable in the bright lights of her chamber. No one would come to “save” her. No one would stop him.

  She was his now, for whatever wickedness he had planned.

  Connor stared down at Grace. She was glorious, gorgeous in this state of nakedness, her lush body open to him, helpless to stop him even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t, judging by the hard tips of her breasts and the wetness of her sex.

  Oh yes, she wanted him. And this. Always this. Only this.

  For her submission, he decided to give her a gift.

  “You’ve said before you liked me naked,” he said.

  She nodded wordlessly, her blue gaze tracking even his tiniest movement.

  He smiled. “Then allow me to take care of your needs.”

  He swiftly opened his shirt and tossed it away to reveal his chest. As a boy, he had kept in shape working outside with his grandfather on their small farm. Once he had been taken from that life, he’d been told a gentleman didn’t work. So he had done so in secret, using his body out of spite. The result was the same and he took pride in the way her pupils dilated and she licked her lips in needy anticipation.

  His cock responded in kind, growing harder and harder until it rubbed his trouser front quite uncomfortably. There was one way to solve that problem. He loosened the first fastening, holding eye contact with her as he did so. She strained against her bonds, as if she could get closer, break free, feel him without permission.

  He loved it, even though he supposed she should be punished for even this small infraction. Later. For now…

  He loosed his cock from the confines of his breeches, kicking the fabric away to join the rest of his clothing. She jolted as she stared at him, her eyes focused lewdly on his proud, jutting cock.

  “Do you want me inside of you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I want—”

  She stopped and blushed from hair root to chin. The image was so unexpected, so against her character that he stared for a moment before he could formulate a response.

  He moved closer. “What do you want?”

  “I want to taste you,” she admitted, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I want to feel you against my tongue.”

  The words were unexpected, shocking even, considering their positions, but oh-so-very thrilling.

  “I can do that,” he purred, moving so he was even with her mouth. He didn’t untie her, but pressed the head of his cock to her lips. She made a low moan and then parted them, drawing him into the hot cavern of her mouth.

  She immediately sucked him deep inside and he gasped as he clutched at the bedpost for purchase. Uncontrollable pleasure rocked him as she swirled her tongue around his girth, sucking all the time. He began to move his hips, thrusting himself inside of her while she used her sweet tongue to her greatest advantage. Within moments, he felt his seed begin to move, rushing him toward completion.

  He began to draw back, but she sucked harder, her tongue working over him and forcing him to cling t
o the bed in order not to collapse under the weight of suddenly uncontrollable pleasure. He shouted her name as he came and saw her smile with possessive, feline pleasure as she swallowed every drop of him. Finally she removed her mouth and lay back against her pillows again.

  He straightened up, his breathing still harsh and heavy, and shook his head. “You are very pleased with yourself.”

  She laughed. “I am indeed. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You stole a little power back, even tied up,” he admitted. “It breaks all the rules and yet I applaud your efforts. However, you haven’t won.”

  “Haven’t I?” she asked. “Your cock seemed to think otherwise.”

  He leaned over her, bracketing his arms on either side of her head. He could smell the sweet citrus scent of her hair, the soft floral of her skin, and his stomach clenched with desire, even though his body wasn’t ready to mete out ultimate pleasure yet.

  He smiled. “Oh sweet, sweet Grace. Don’t you understand? The moment I saw you, my body was bursting with desire, my cock was ready to fill you. I had a tiny fear that I might not last through all the pleasures I intended to visit upon you because my body’s needs might have taken over.”

  She swallowed, her eyes dilated and her breath short. Good, she was starting to understand. He continued.

  “You have won your little battle—you drew my pleasure from me. I applaud you. However, the war is lost, Grace. Because I now have time to play with you. Time to pleasure you. My body is peaceful and will be for as long as I require. As long as it takes to make you writhe and pant and beg for me.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes widened as the true ramifications of what she had done sunk in. He smiled, knowing how arrogant that expression likely was. He felt arrogant. After all, he had her exactly where he wanted her. Why not crow?

  He pushed away from her and she made a little moan of displeasure that he was no longer covering her body with his. He laughed as he walked back across the room to the table beside her fire. He had one more item to share with her. He balled it up into his fist and strolled back to where she was trussed up on the bed, beautifully helpless, utterly at his mercy.

  God, he was going to enjoy this.

  He let the fabric in his hand roll free and dangled it over her. She tracked the slight swing carefully and then looked at him in questioning.

  “There is nothing left to tie up, Connor,” she said softly, teasing, even though there was anticipation to her expression.

  “This is a blindfold,” he said, straddling her, though he held his weight off of her body. He leaned down and swiftly tied the black silk over her eyes. “You have had your fun and your way for far too long in the course of this encounter, my dear. Now it’s my turn.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The five senses are some of the most erotic toys a woman possesses. Use them all and as often as you can.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures

  Grace all but stopped breathing as the cloth covered her eyes and her world went dark. Here she had been crowing over stealing some of Connor’s control, but her actions had not ended up at all as she had planned.

  And yet, as helpless and vulnerable as she was in this trussed-up position with her sight gone, she did not feel afraid. Excited, yes. Hot and needy, absolutely. But afraid?

  Never.

  He had been straddling her, and she felt him shift away to lie beside her instead. She felt him watching her even though she couldn’t see him, she could even hear him breathing…but he made no move on her. He didn’t touch her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. “What are you going to do?”

  “Make you wait,” he explained, and she felt his fingertip touch her lips, tracing the lines of them before he dragged the digit down over her chin and across her collarbone. She arched as far as the bindings would allow, and he chuckled. “Still trying to control everything.”

  She huffed out her breath in frustration. That statement seemed to be one that everyone in her life was bound to make lately.

  “Let me do this, Grace. I promise you, I willna let you down,” he said, and his voice was suddenly closer to her ear, his breath hot against the sensitive flesh, his accent heavier.

  She moaned, embarrassed that such a small thing could sweep her away, and yet it did. He did.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  She heard his low laugh, a masculine, possessive sound that seemed to shoot down her spine and settle heavily between her legs. Already her clitoris swelled and her sex was slippery with desire. She felt ready to explode and he had hardly touched her.

  Which was why he was so unique, so special. He could move her without effort, either in the bedroom or outside of it. She loved him, and that made everything he did a wonder to her.

  Suddenly she was glad for the blindfold that would keep him from seeing the tears that stung her eyes. This was nothing more than sin to him, and she would have to accept that and never let him see that it was everything to her.

  There was a light touch on her bare stomach that mercifully erased all other thoughts from her mind. She hissed out a breath at the sensation. But it wasn’t his fingers that brushed her back and forth. No, it was…it was…

  “A feather,” he explained.

  She turned her head toward his voice, but couldn’t manage to respond when he was hypnotically brushing her with the feather. The touch was so light it almost wasn’t there at all, but it woke all her nerve endings and made her even more aware of everything around her.

  He dragged the feather higher and swirled it around one tight nipple. With a cry that echoed in the room, she arched helplessly, but found her bound arms wouldn’t allow for much movement. She couldn’t get close enough, fast enough.

  “Don’t fight,” he reminded her, and she relaxed back.

  He rewarded her by moving the feather to her opposite breast, this time sweeping the softness against her with more pressure and eliciting more pleasure in return.

  “When you canna see,” he said, his voice soft and seductive. “You become more aware of everything else your body has to offer. Sensation, sound, taste—they all become sharper, more exciting. Give yourself over to that, Grace.”

  As he spoke, he stroked the feather down the apex of her body, trailing over her stomach a second time, but going lower to tickle the curve of her hip, the expanse of her thigh. She held her breath as he stroked, stroked, stroked toward her sex. He was almost there, almost home.

  “What do you feel?” he asked.

  She started at the question and tried to focus her addled mind on the act of forming coherent sentences.

  “I-I feel,” she stammered, faltering when he brushed the outer lips of her sex, then darted the feather away again. “I feel the individual tips of the feather,” she began.

  “Yes.”

  “I feel the way my skin tingled when you touch me with it,” she continued, forcing herself to truly pay attention so she could be accurate in her description.

  “What else?”

  She swallowed. “I hear your breath and I feel it lightly on my skin,” she said, her tone more certain now. “And I can smell your skin. A mixture of sex and outside and a little smoke. Something that is you and you alone; no other man is marked by it.”

  The feather stilled against her thigh and she heard Connor’s breath increase. He was quiet for what seemed like forever and then said, “Very good.”

  She sucked in her breath as he moved the feather again, but this time he dragged it along her thigh and stroked it between her legs. She parted them as wide as she could, offering herself shamelessly. In truth, she had no other choice. Her body was in his control now, given over to whatever Connor desired.

  The soft tips of the feather danced over her wet sex and finally stroked the supremely sensitive nub of her clitoris. She bucked at the long-anticipated touch and the unique pleasure left in its wake.

  It wasn’t a wave of pleasure, but rather a tiny starburst, a sensation that
seemed to dance over her, glide through her entire body. She lifted into it against her will, letting out cries as he stroked and stroked lazily.

  But just as she reached the edge, just as she felt she had a chance to find relief, he withdrew the feather and her sex was left clenching, her clitoris tingling.

  “Please!” she gasped on what felt like her last breath.

  “Not yet,” he replied, and she felt him get up and move away from the bed. At least she heard the strain in his voice. He might be torturing her, but he was teasing himself in the process, so she didn’t suffer alone.

  He was gone for what seemed like an eternity and she was left to simply listen to him as he moved about her chamber. She bit her tongue to prevent herself from asking him what he was doing. He’d already demanded she cede control, and questioning him to force him to reveal himself certainly wasn’t that.

  Finally the weight of his body shifted her on the bed. He knelt between her legs and she couldn’t help but lift her hips toward him, offering her sex, ready for what he would do to her.

  He chuckled softly, and then one hand came down on her hip to push her back onto the bed.

  “Tempting, but no. I want you to relax and I shall have my way.”

  He slid his hand across her hip and she gasped, for his fingers were coated in some kind of slick substance—an oil, perhaps. The fragrance of vanilla wafted up to her and she breathed it in deeply.

  He began to work the oil into her skin, pressing against her muscles and working them with his fingers. She inhaled as unpleasant tension left her body, only to be replaced by desire and surrender. His hands were rough, but the oil made them move effortlessly over her hips, her thighs, up her stomach, and finally he cupped her breasts and stroked slick thumbs over the hard peaks of her nipples.

  She moaned at the mobbing sensations his touch created, but she was silenced when he leaned over her and his mouth covered hers unexpectedly.