by Lavinia Kent
And then his gaze dropped back to her ass, the fingers pressing more deeply.
A purr rose in her throat. How could anything feel so delicious! Her whole body wanted to melt into his palms. This was supposed to be punishment? Her eyes drifted closed.
Behind their lids she saw his face again, saw that look of wanton need. In that moment he’d been as exposed as she. She pondered the thought, considered how open they were to each other. His fingers dug deeper, and she felt as if the tension of years were melting away.
“Mmmm, that’s wonderful,” she sighed.
“I am glad, but we have hardly begun.”
“I could stay like this forever.”
“You won’t be saying that for long.” Duldon’s fingers moved lower, brushing along the lower edge of her cheeks and inching ever inward.
Her imagination could not picture anything more perfect than the sensations that were traveling through her. Her whole body felt as if it could melt into the coverlet.
Duldon’s fingers slipped forward and suddenly she wasn’t feeling so rested. Every wanting nerve seemed to come alive at the same moment his fingers brushed along the tender skin of her upper thighs. The day of anticipation had brought her to such a state that even these few slight touches had her burning hot, needing, needing more, needing him there.
She rose on her toes slightly, pushing her ass toward him, begging with her body.
“You are greedy.” His voice curled about her, heightening her stimulation.
And she was. Even if she had wanted to deny it she could not have, not when her legs were slowly widening of their own accord and she could feel the moisture seeping between them.
“And so very beautiful, although perhaps a little pale.”
And then, with no warning, his palm lifted and slapped down upon her, hard. Her body tensed, a protest rose to her lips, but before she could voice it another slap and then another. She started to push upward. This was not what she wanted, not what she expected.
“Be still.”
She froze, her body obeying him before her mind.
As if in reward, one of his hands slipped between her legs, stroking along the folds, opening her, moving closer to that forward spot that so desperately needed to be touched. After the pain of the moment before this was ecstasy, or at least it was on the road to ecstasy. His fingers moved slowly, so slowly. She wanted to ask him to hurry, to get to that spot, to rub her harder, to…It was hard not knowing exactly what it was she wanted, but God, she wanted it.
His other hand began to massage her buttocks again, the deep caress soothing the burn of the slap, the skin more sensitive than ever before. Every single hair he brushed over seemed to light another fire within her, to be connected to that spot he still had not touched.
She twitched her hips to the side, trying to direct his fingers where she needed.
Another blow landed, hard and swift. Her body jerked, her back bending upward.
And one more.
Her buttocks burned with steady fire now, hurting, but not unbearable. This she could endure.
“Why?” The word slipped from her lips.
“I asked you to be still. You must learn to obey.”
Learn to obey? Did he actually know her?
But then the hand between her legs moved, the tip of one finger slipping within her.
It was the strangest sensation she could remember—and one of the best. The finger did not intrude. It wandered her opening, exploring. It was not enough. Each stroke sent ripples through her, but it left her empty. Her womb ached with unsatisfied longing. She tried to push herself back against it, but Duldon’s other hand pressed upon her stinging ass, causing her to stay still.
“Good, you are very tight and I would guess you want to stay that way. A finger can ruin virginity as well as a cock. I believe you care about that.”
She thought about it as much as her scattered thoughts would allow. Yes, it made sense—and yes, she did care. She stopped moving. No matter how much she might long for more, long to feel filled, it was not what she wanted. “You are right,” she whispered.
“I know,” an edge of pain sounded in his voice.
Why would he hurt? Before she could think more about the question, his fingers began to move again. It was hard not to press back, but she held herself in control, instead focusing on each tiny sensation, paying attention to the stroke of moist skin against rough hands, feeling the difference between skin and nail. His other hand began to move, the slowest, gentlest circles, easing over her sensitive skin. Even the lightest touch made her skin burn, but with her growing desire the heat only brought further passion, the slight pain adding to the myriad of sensations that raced through her.
His fingers left her opening and moved up to her other cheek. A protest rose to her lips, but instead she sought control. Duldon would take care of her if she trusted him. He squeezed her buttocks tight and she had to bite her lip not to moan at the heady sensation. Pain? Pleasure? It was all one now.
When she felt his fingers spreading her, opening her to his gaze, she did not protest, although her face did turn back into the thick padding of the mattress. Even now, embarrassment swam through her as she felt the weight of his eyes on that most intimate of places. Despite the delicious sensations that still danced through her at every touch she had to fight the desire to close her legs and hide herself from him. Her thighs twitched with the effort not to move.
One of his hands stroked down her leg as if he understood her dilemma. “You are very beautiful, everywhere.” His voice soothed, but still the embarrassment lingered.
A soft kiss landed on her left cheek, his lips soft and warm. Another upon her right. And another and another. She could not be sure, but she fancied he laid a kiss in the exact spot of each stroke of his hand. She swallowed as the kisses moved more central—and lower. When he placed one on the entrance to her core, it was almost too much.
Great embarrassment flared as his tongue crept out and swept along the path his finger had previously blazed. When the tip entered her, playing along the walls, she knew she moaned, quiet and muffled, but still a moan.
His tongue paused, and then delved deeper. Her head turned to the side and she pulled in a great gasp of air.
And then the tip of one finger replaced his tongue and his mouth moved lower, centering over that place that had been longing for his touch since yesterday, if not longer. Some moments she fantasized that her whole life had been spent waiting for him—and only him—to touch that spot.
His mouth moved with surety, sucking, cupping, and pressing. His tongue flicked across her, sending bursts of delight throughout her. Nothing had prepared her for this. Even the orgasms of the other nights had not compared to this…There were no words. Then even thought was gone, as he pulled her deep into his mouth and his tongue moved in a steady, firm pattern against her. It was too much. It was not enough. She would die in this moment. Lights. Colors. And him, Duldon. No, Stephan.
Stephan. Stephan. Stephan.
She didn’t know if she said the name or if it remained locked in her thoughts, playing upon her lips, her soul.
Her whole being was one of sensation, so many feelings, all colliding in one knot of need and desire, coiling ever tighter, needing to explode.
“Please. Stephan. Please.” That time she heard the creak and moan of her voice. “I need you so much. Please.”
For a moment he did nothing but continue, teasing her further and further along the path of need, his tongue moving steady and strong. Then she was moving, up, back, and over, until she lay flat on her back, her legs about his shoulders, his face between her legs. Her head lifted and she stared down at him, taken in by the suddenness of the move and by the increased intimacy of the position, her buttocks burning as they met the mattress, the mixture of sensations only growing. His face tilted and his eyes met hers. If fire burned in her body it burned in his glance also. She would gladly have been incinerated in that fire, danced to her
own destruction, but it was destruction and rebirth. She saw his need, his desire for her, for all of her. This was not just about bodies. It was about souls.
And then his tongue flicked again, even as he stared and met her eyes. Her whole body clenched at the intensity of that feeling. And again. And again. She longed to lay back and give in to the sensations, but his eyes held her, the bond between them strong and true. Each movement of his mouth brought her higher, closer, and she could see that he knew that, knew exactly what he did, what he aimed for—knew when he held back, when he gave in to both their desires. His eyes held her and commanded her. When another “please” rose to her lips, those eyes silenced them before it was even voiced.
She was panting now, her muscles straining, longing for release. His eyes suddenly gestured upward in a single small motion. Her gaze followed and stopped. The mirror. How had she forgotten the mirror?
It covered the space above them, covered the world above them. She lay splayed upon the bed, still decently covered from the waist up, although the smudge of his marking was clear upon her breast above the lowered neckline of her dress. But below—below her legs lay splayed, open wide. Her thighs gleamed pale and she could see them glisten with strain and perspiration. Between her legs the dark blond curls of Stephan’s head blocked her view, but it was a view in and of itself, the white of his shirt over wide shoulders, the strength of his fingers as he held her open for his touch and gaze, and the move and sway of his head as he—as he devoured her. The breaking of their gaze had freed something within him and now he fed, his mouth moving over her frantic and forceful. The gentleness of his tongue gave way to steel. His teeth nipped and stroked. His hands held her tight and then one slipped down, gently pressing at her entrance, easing in and out in the most tantalizing of motions.
Her thighs clenched, her hips rose, and she watched it all.
She looked up at herself, at him, and wondered at the beauty.
And then thought was once again gone and there was only experience. His teeth scraped. She spasmed. His fingers pinched. Waves of passion filled her.
And then he nipped, hard and fast. It was too much. The wall broke, the dam flooded.
It came upon her, ripped through her. Her whole body rose from the bed, feet pressing tight into thick mattress. Her thighs clenched about him, even as he held her open. God. Gods. The world opened about her. Color. Light. Sensation. All was one. All was one giant explosion of feeling and being—just being.
And through it all she saw herself, saw him, saw them. Together. Always together.
“Stephan. Stephan.” The word echoed about the room.
Another spasm. Another whirl of endless color.
Another call of his name.
A deep breath.
A soft sigh.
Her body relaxed and fell back into the bed, fell back against the pillows.
Peace.
His tongue stroked one more time. She clenched again, more softly this time.
Peace and quiet. Her mind was still. All was contentment.
The world was good.
With half-closed eyes, she watched him pull back, watched him stretch to standing, watched the flow of muscles even through his shirt.
He was hers and she could only rejoice.
He took a few steps and reached for a water pitcher she had not noticed before, splashing his face and then his chest as he pulled off his shirt. And those muscles were real, and far more than she had ever imagined. The candlelight played across a rippled abdomen and as he turned outlined his hard shoulders. A light coating of golden hair coated his chest. He was beautiful. She’d never thought such a thing before, but that made it no less true.
And then he turned back to her, his hands at the fastenings of his trousers.
Even in her relaxed state she swallowed, hard, as his fingers flicked the buttons and the trousers fell to his feet—and she saw everything she had ever wanted.
Chapter Seventeen
She was more than he had ever wanted. Her beauty. Her passion. Her joy.
When he’d felt her come apart beneath him, felt her wonder, he’d almost lost it himself. Now he could contain himself no more. It was all he could do not to come as an untried lad simply from looking at the beauty that was Bliss. He dropped his trousers with undo haste, glad that he was not wearing boots this night. It was far easier to slip from his shoes and push his stockings down, stepping from the pile of clothing and toward his princess.
He stood for a moment and simply stared. Her breathing was slowing and the flush was slowly fading from her cheeks. He could see the edge of sleep moving into her eyes, even as she gazed at him in wonder. Her eyes centered on his cock and for a moment widened. He felt himself grow and swell, against all possibility, at that gaze.
He watched her throat gather and swallow as she stared.
His hand dropped to his sex and his fingers wrapped around it. He allowed himself one small stroke as he let his eyes drift lower on her body. Her thighs still lay spread, her pink folds glistening with spent desire, her every secret open to him. He longed to bury himself there, to lift her knees about his shoulders and thrust in, to feel her slick heat close about him.
Another stroke.
She’d burn about his prick as she had about his face, her heat flaming even as it soothed.
He pressed tight at the base, just above his sack.
He’d held off this long; he could hold off a few seconds longer. Taking a step forward, he kept his gaze on her. Her eyes were looking less sleepy by the moment. He stroked himself again, long and slow. Her gaze followed his every movement.
She rolled onto her side and continued to stare. Not a word was said, but he could feel her interest and consideration, her desire.
Another stroke. And then another.
This was killing him, but there was no way…he would rather die.
A small tongue darted out, licking swollen lips.
His Bliss might have found satisfaction, but she was still eager for more—and he would not disappoint her.
Coming to the bed, he stood for a moment a few feet from her face and let her watch his slow measured movements. His body strummed with the need to speed things along, to increase the pace, the friction, but he held back, the look in her eyes his reward.
“May I feel?” Her question was soft and breathy. The only soft thing in the whole room.
Reaching out he took her hand and placed it upon his shaft, continuing to hold it. Carefully he helped her set the rhythm, let her feel the pace that he desired. Gritting his teeth, he fought the need to come. Her touch was beyond anything he had ever imagined, warm and soft, but filled with that same life-giving joy that encompassed all that she did.
Her eyes were focused and intense, her lower lip once again being chewed. God, the thoughts he had about that lower lip. Her gaze darted from his hand up to his face and back. He could feel her desire to do this just right.
“There is no way you could make a mistake,” he said, low and husky. “All I need is your hand upon me and I am happy.”
“But surely there is better and even better? I know when you touch me it feels like heaven, and then you shift and it is beyond heaven. I want to put you into that place.”
“I would say I am already there, but the truth is I am fighting with all my might not to reach that point too quickly. I want this to last.”
“And how can you be so soft and yet so hard? I feel like you are so stiff you could break through anything set before you, and yet I have never felt anything so silken and yet plush. I know ‘plush’ sounds a strange choice, but it is what my fingers feel.”
“I have no answer for that.” He gripped her fingers tight, slowing her motion.
He pulled in a gasp of air. “Give me a moment to come to my senses.”
Her fingers tightened beneath his and she fought to continue moving. “What if I don’t want you to come to your senses? I rather like you like this.”
“Be still.�
� He forced her hand to quiet.
“You do like those words.” He could hear the pout in her voice.
“I imagine that you will be hearing them often, disobedient thing that you are.”
She giggled low in her throat. “Perhaps you do begin to know me.”
“I’ve always known you, Bliss. Sometimes I think I understand you better than you understand yourself.”
Her face grew still. He had expected that she would just let his words brush over her, but clearly she was taking them to heart. “That should not be hard. I sometimes think that I don’t know myself at all.”
Gods above! She was opening up to him now. He was seconds from coming, doing all he could to contain himself, and she was ready to talk. He started to step back, to try and gather his senses, but Bliss refused to release her grip. For a moment, he pictured a game of tug-of-war with his cock as the rope. It was not a thought to be relished and helped him to cool himself some.
“What do you not know about yourself, my Bliss?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the small hand that had again begun to slide his length.
For a moment he thought she would answer fully; her lips softened and he could see deep thought reflected in her eyes. “I don’t…” And just as quickly the shutters slipped down. “I don’t know what to do next. What I want next?” Her lips moved into a slow easy smile and if he had not seen her look of a moment before he would have believed that she had no thoughts but of pleasure.
He would wait. He would be patient. If he could survive these last few minutes of holding himself back, he could survive anything she placed before him. “You can just keep doing what you are doing and I will help you set the pace. Should I fetch a cloth? I am not sure you are ready to be covered when I come.”
