by Lavinia Kent
Now everything was different.
She should not be nervous. She was meeting Swanston, meeting her husband of over a year.
There was certainly no need for nerves. He would take care of her; he always did.
And yet her belly would not settle.
She pulled tight the heavy cloak she wore. She had taken the time to change after talking with Ruby, and beneath the cloak she wore only a thin white chemise, reminiscent of that magical first night.
She pressed a hand tight against her stomach.
Perhaps it was the approach of the holidays. She’d always loved preparing for Christmas and the New Year, but this year it hadn’t been the same, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Admittedly, this was her first year as the Marchioness of Swanston in some ways. Last year everything had been so new and it had all passed in a rush. And both years they’d spent the holidays in London, while Swanston’s father managed Risusgate and the other estates. Perhaps that was the problem.
This year Christmas was her responsibility. It would be her first time hosting all of Swanston’s family, and she did find the thought daunting—one never knew whether his siblings would decide to have a sword fight on the front stairs or hold a circus in the ballroom.
But this was not the time for such thoughts. She was merely distracting herself from what was to come.
She placed her fingers upon the door handle, breathed in and out. Her hand shook slightly.
It was ridiculous that she was feeling this way.
He was her husband.
She pushed the door open and stepped in.
The great bed was covered in heavy embroidered white silk, just as it had been on the night they met. The fire was high, warming the room despite the growing winds that could be heard outside. A decanter of wine stood on the small table beneath the window, its red glow reflecting downward in a myriad of rings. If she knew Swanston, the decanter was filled with her favorite claret. The room smelled faintly of pine. That was different but properly reflected the season. It was Christmas Eve.
There was a movement in the shadows by the other window. She turned and saw the tall, strong outline of a man, his back toward her. He stood staring out at the cold night.
She moved toward him, hearing her light steps patter on the floor.
He did not turn or give any indication that he heard her.
She was almost to him.
He turned then, letting her see the mask that covered his face, white plaster blocking out his features. It was the same mask he’d worn on their first meeting. She sucked in a deep breath, memory causing desire to kindle in her belly. “I don’t remember what I said when I first saw you,” she whispered.
“I must confess that I don’t either.” Swanston’s deep voice echoed in the still chamber. “The first thing I remember is you asking me to take off my shoes. You thought I’d be less frightening if I was barefoot.”
Her cheeks colored. That would be what he remembered. “I do recall that. And it was true. You were much less scary when I could see the hair on your toes.” Her gaze dropped to his feet.
“Tonight I took the liberty of removing my slippers already.” He extended one foot while balancing on the other. The drawstring trousers pulled up, revealing his naked foot. “Am I less frightening?”
“I am not sure,” she answered truthfully. “Now that I know what is to come, perhaps I am more frightened.”
He tilted his head. “How can you possibly be frightened of a barefoot man in a mask that renders him sightless?”
“I do remember liking that you couldn’t see me. It left me so free to look as much as I wanted.” As she was now—she would never get tired of staring at her husband’s body, so strong and sleek.
“And are you looking now?”
She took another tiny step, her slippers padding softly, her eyes roaming up his legs, still clad in thin trousers beneath the dark silk robe. “At what? Your toes?”
“Then what would you like to see?”
She swallowed. She did like it when he gave her a chance to play. “Last time I had you drop the robe first. This time I think I’ll have you slip out of your trousers—and then you can slide the robe off when I tell you and reveal everything all at once.”
“And here I took you for a girl who liked to open her presents one by one.”
“Normally you would be right, but I fear I’ve always been impatient when it comes to special treats.”
He undid the drawstring and let the trousers slide down. She imagined how slick and cool the silk must be against his legs.
“You have very nice calves,” she said, letting herself look her fill. “I think I could become quite fond of them.”
“Only ‘could’?” He flexed the muscles of his legs.
“Well, I thought I was familiar with all aspects of your body, but I seem to have been most remiss in my admiration of your lower legs.”
She took another step, letting her breath brush over his shoulders and neck. Normally, Swanston did not like any lack of control, but she relished her moment of power, the feeling of knowing she could see him when he could not see her. She inclined her head until her lips almost brushed the silk of the robe as she moved about him. “You may drop the robe now,” she whispered against his back.
He obeyed, but slowly, making it clear to her that every inch he revealed was his choice. He exposed first his shoulders, then the middle of his back. He paused, hesitating when the robe clung just above his waist.
She wanted to protest.
Instead, she moved forward that fraction of an inch and left a kiss just above his left shoulder blade, soft, with parted lips, the tip of her tongue tasting him. Another kiss on the right shoulder blade.
She stepped away for a second and tossed her cloak to the side; then she leaned closer and pressed her breast against his back, feeling the abrasion of her thin chemise against her nipple. She rubbed slightly back and forth, feeling a quiver run through his body and an answering quiver in her own.
She laid her lips against his satin skin, sucking and savoring. The heavy beads of both her nipples pressed tighter against him, fire shooting down between her legs. Her mouth watered. He smelled so good. She had to resist the urge to step around and pull the mask off his face, to take his mouth with hers.
“You smell of lavender,” she said, feeling her voice vibrating against him. “A new cologne?”
“Perhaps I used your soap by mistake.”
“Mmmm. I like it.” Her moist lips opened a little more on his skin.
“I am glad you like it. I would hate to displease my lady.”
She could feel the rumble of his voice against her mouth, each word making her want him more. She placed her palms on his warm skin just below her lips and slid her fingers down until they edged under the robe that still held at his waist. “I think it is time for this to go.”
Once again obedient, he let it drop.
Her gaze stayed focused on the smooth skin of his back, but her hands slipped lower, cupping his firm buttocks and squeezing, first softly and then harder.
He repressed a groan, but she felt the muscles of his back tense beneath her lips.
She bent slightly, kissed him lower, mid-back.
And lower still, just above the cleft of his ass. “I adore your behind. I am not sure what I would do if it ever grew large and soft.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps you’d leave me for another man?”
Not likely. She could imagine no man but him. “And admit failure? Never. I’d probably grab one of your crops and chase you about the house until you were lean and muscular again.”
“But then you might grow muscular also, and I have to admit a preference for your soft ass. I wouldn’t like it if you weren’t such a perfect cushion.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to work on keeping your buttocks tight. Perhaps a few more early-morning rides on your stallion.”
“It’s not my stallion I like to ride in the early hours.”<
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She kept her face tight against his lower back, feeling color rise upon her cheeks. “Well, if it will keep your buttocks firm, I suppose I must indulge you.”
“You must indulge me always.” For the first time that evening, she heard a hint of command seep into his tone.
Her face pressed tighter, her breath hot. There was something about that tone that always filled her with anticipation.
Her hands slipped lower, running down to those strong calves she’d so admired, and then up again, skimming along the very sensitive insides of his thighs. They twitched beneath her touch.
Her fingers paused, tracing small patterns, just before they reached the apex of his legs. She could have played at this for hours. It had been far too long since she’d taken the time to simply enjoy the feel of him.
“Are you trying to torture me?” he groaned, turning slightly. She caught sight of his cock, fully erect and straining. His hands remained at his sides, but his fingers clenched, and she knew he was fighting not to stroke himself.
“I could touch you forever,” she murmured, moving her hands forward and back, enjoying the effect she had on him.
Another groan. “You’ll kill me if you do.”
“Somehow I doubt that. But I have to admit my curiosity is growing. The first time we did this, you would not let me taste you. I wonder if you have such restraint tonight.” Her tongue traced the top of his left buttock, moving toward the right. Her hands continued their slow dance. She could not wait to see him fully, could not wait to taste him. She licked her lips.
“Do you want me to turn?” he asked.
“And if I say no?” she could not resist teasing.
She heard him pull in a deep breath. How much could he take? How much could she push him? Her hands crept farther forward; her fingertips brushed the backs of his balls, stroking the springy hairs. His whole body drew still.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” she asked.
“This is your playtime, Louisa. Enjoy it. But, remember, mine comes next.” There was a slight threat to his words.
She pressed her thighs tight. “And are you going to blindfold me as you did on our first night together?”
“What do you think?”
She exhaled, her mind already filling in the possible details of their coming encounter. She was very aware he would not leave her in control for much longer. “I think I’d better take a look at your front and be sure that you’re up for all this activity you seem to be promising without saying the actual words.”
He turned, stepping on the heavy silk of the robe that lay spread on the floor.
That would not do. She had plans for that robe. “No, don’t stand on that.”
He edged off the robe until he stood on the bare floor.
She stepped back, letting herself admire his naked physique. Was any man more perfect? The wide shoulders and narrow hips, the lean muscles that covered him, the sparse sprinkling of dark hair that she loved to run her cheek against.
Her eyes dropped lower.
Yes, he was ready for her. Very, very ready.
She knelt before him, her eyes on his jutting cock, her mouth dry with the thought of what she planned to do. Reaching down, she lifted the robe and trailed the silk up his calf, his thigh. She pulled it back and forth beneath his balls. His whole body jerked and held.
She did it again, knowing she tortured him with pleasure.
He swore softly but did not move.
She moved her hand higher, wrapping the silk about his hardness; his heat filled her palm through the silk as she rubbed it against him. He inhaled a great gasp of air. She increased the pace until his hips began to thrust of their own accord.
She shifted slightly. The silk still covered his cock, but the tip was free.
And then it was not. Her warm lips wrapped about him.
Heavens, she loved the taste of him.
His hands came forward, found her braided hair and tangled in it, pulling it until it stung slightly, trying to set the pace. Her lips drew tight, her tongue played at the underside of the head, as she refused to give over control. She did not take him deep, only allowing herself to suck and lick at the tip as if it were the most delicious of bonbons. She relished the feel, the joy, the power of it.
Forward, back. But not too deep.
Her hand stayed tight and firm about the silk. She could feel the throb of the vein on the underside of his prick. He was close, too close.
She leaned forward, taking him slightly deeper, pushing him further, letting her tongue press against the vein.
She could feel his desire, his want, his need.
And feel her own. That place between her thighs began to swell and throb. Moisture dampened the tops of her legs, making her slick.
She pulled back, pressed forward, sucking with more force.
His whole body clenched, every muscle straining.
She had him. She was going to push him over the brink.
Her body pulsed with the joy of it.
Abruptly, the hands tangled in her hair pushed her away. Her mouth pursed in protest. No. This was her turn, her time.
She pulled forward, wanting more, her lips eager. She would not be defeated.
His plea reached her ears. “Please, woman, you are killing me.”
“And you’re enjoying every moment of it,” she breathed against him, seeing a drop of fluid form at the tip of his cock. Her tongue darted forward to taste it.
His body jerked, but he held her tight, refusing to let her return to her play. “Yes, but enough; I want to save something for later in the evening.”
“The first time—” She wanted her chance to finish.
“I don’t care about the first time. I care about this time,” he said firmly.
Her already heated body burned at his words. “But—”
“No buts. It’s my turn. Go and kneel facing the fire. And unbind your hair from its braids. You know I like it loose and flowing.”
“And I like it braided and out of the way.” Desire fought desire. She wanted to finish, to push him as far as she could, and yet every time he voiced a command, her need grew stronger. There was no pleasure greater than that of pleasing him.
He stepped toward her. “Louisa.”
“Fine.” She pouted, even though it was hard to complain when she could already imagine what was to come.
“Tell me when you are ready,” he said.
She did not reply. Moving nearer to the fire, she began to pull the pins from her hair, releasing a soft sigh at the relief as each braid gave. When her hair was loose, she knelt with care before the fireplace, head bowed toward the flame.
He moved behind her. Was he taking off the mask? She swallowed, knowing that her power was gone. From this moment forward, Swanston was in control.
She swallowed, suddenly vulnerable. “I am ready,” she whispered, feeling as if the simple words echoed about the chamber again and again.
There was the slightest shift in the air behind her. Had he moved again? She would have thought she would hear his shoes—only he wasn’t wearing shoes, wasn’t wearing boots.
He was right behind her. She knew it. She resisted the urge to swallow again.
Why wasn’t he speaking? He was there, wasn’t he? Why didn’t he do something?
Was he going to put the blindfold on her? He hadn’t done that since that first night. He’d talked about it sometimes, but he’d never done it. She wasn’t sure that she wanted him to. Looking at him was one of the great pleasures in her life.
Something passed over her head, barely brushing her hair. It was hard not to look around, not to see what was happening.
“You kept your chemise on. I wasn’t sure that you would.” His voice spoke just above her ear.
“Do you want me to take it off?” He hadn’t told her to, and he was always specific in his requests.
“Yes.”
She started to grab the fine linen, preparing to pull it over her head
.
“Actually, no. Leave it on. I think it might add just the touch I want.”
She wasn’t sure quite what that meant, but obediently she dropped her hands and waited. Still he did nothing. What was he looking at? She looked no different than usual, and he couldn’t see either her breasts or much of her ass as she knelt before him.
Why was he making her wait? And even as she asked the question, she knew. He was making her wait; it was as simple as that. He liked to make her wait. She let her head fall forward until her chin rested against her chest, and she fought for patience. Her thoughts began to change as they always did when he took such complete control, leaving her free and ready for his every command.
“I love the way you look when you kneel, so obedient, so submissive.”
And that was exactly how she felt. In any other aspect of her life she would have objected to the terms, but here they were just what she wanted, what she needed. Heat bloomed between her legs. Her arousal had grown as she’d played with Geoffrey’s cock, as she’d licked it and tasted it, seen the effect that each of her movements had on him, watched his body jerk and tighten. There was something about the power of that moment that always filled her with need.
“Are you ready?”
Swallowing once more, she nodded.
Black silk lowered. Was it the same scarf he’d used the last time? And what did it matter? She really was nervous and filled with anticipation, her mind skipping around like a child playing with a hoop.
The scarf settled over her eyes, blocking everything but the barest haze of firelight. He pulled it tight, and then tighter. He was taking no chances that it would slip.
One of his hands caressed her cheek and then slid back.
And then she was waiting again.
She didn’t feel his presence. Had he left? Surely not. Was he preparing some new surprise? But what would be new?
Well, she could think of a few things, but Geoffrey had assured her that he would never do them to her. She knew that his tastes had been quite extreme before her, but since they’d come together he’d assured her that he was satisfied with being in control—complete control—when they were in the bedroom.
