Bound by Bliss

by Lavinia Kent

  “I am saving those parts for last.” Not that she needed to explain herself. “I am just wondering what your wrist tastes like, imagining bringing it to my lips, running my tongue along the veins, feeling the beat of your pulse, watching your fingers curl and uncurl, knowing that you want to touch me, but that you are restraining yourself. My lips are dry with the thought, desperate to run along you, to sample you. I am driving myself half-crazy with thought. It’s your wrist and I am making myself so hot and bothered that I can barely stand it. And we won’t talk about my thoughts when I was looking at your hand, at your fingers, when I was remembering all the things they had done, dreaming of all the things they could do, picturing them pinching my nipples tight until I ached so badly I wanted to explode and never recover. Even your leg hairs. Your leg hairs. Do you know that I was wondering what it would be like to swing over your leg so that it lay between mine and then to rub myself against it, to feel the abrasion of each hair as it moved over—and I don’t even know what it’s called—all I know is I want you pressing there again, that I want to feel the way flames lick through my entire body as I rub and press, as my mind fills with images no decent lady would admit to. I am burning for you now, there, deep between my legs. I can hardly bear it. This is my one night, my one chance, and I can barely think, barely stay sane because I want you so badly.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I just did. Now be quiet again and let me move on to your neck. I’ve decided to skip your arms—those blasted hairs—and your face. If I have to stare at your lips who knows what I’ll think about. Why did you have to choose a room with a mirror? I’ve never been fond of blond men, but now every time I look at your hair all I can think of is the thought of you buried between my thighs, of the sight of your head moving in rhythm to the cries of my body.”

  Stephan sat up with a jerk. “My turn.”

  Before she could answer she was flat on her back, her arms held at her sides. “Not fair. I didn’t get to finish and I did so want to do my examination of those parts I was saving for the end.”

  “My cock.”

  “Yes, and your balls. I want to understand more about how they work—and feel. I haven’t had a chance to feel them yet.”

  “Some other night.”

  “But there is only tonight.”

  He didn’t answer. And she wanted her chance. Trying to turn to her side and reach for him, she found herself held still, perfectly still, engulfed by the mountain of muscle surrounding her. His chest filled her entire field of vision. His hips splayed across hers, holding her immobile. She’d always known he was bigger than her, much bigger, but now he seemed colossal. “No, it is still my turn—unless I was doing something wrong. Was I doing something wrong?” Why did it sound like she was about to cry as she whispered the last? She was far too strong a woman to turn from anger to tears so quickly.

  Stephan’s arms relaxed about her. “No, sweet, if anything you were doing things too right. I had simply had as much as I could take. I do not wish to come like some schoolboy before we have even begun. I should definitely have more control after coming already this night. Your actions were bad enough, but your words, your words heated my blood to boiling—and not just my blood. I am not a man who’s ever needed words, but I think with you I could just lie back and…But that is not how I intend to spend this night. It is my turn and you will do as I say.”

  “Why should I?” The words were out before she had a chance to consider. She did not wish to sound childish.

  His muscles tensed up about her. “I think you know why.”

  She heard the gentle threat in his voice. “But it was still my turn.”

  “One thing you had best learn, Bliss. In this bed, in any bed, you will do as I say. I may allow you to play, but have no doubt that I am allowing you—unless you wish your ass a couple of shades darker.”

  She had something to say about that. Allow her, indeed. She was opening her mouth to speak when one of his fingers came down across her lips.

  “Not now,” he said. “I know you want to argue and most of the time I will listen, but not now. In the rest of our lives I will grant you your say, but here I am in control. I know you do not like to give over, to admit that another is in command, but I want you to stop and consider. You may not like it, but perhaps you need it. Perhaps you need one place where you do not have to struggle, where you can relax and let things happen. Let this be that place. Trust me and I will not disappoint.

  He’d said something similar earlier and she’d felt the truth of it then. It was wonderful not to spend every moment thinking about her actions, to just lie back and…

  Stephan’s lips came down on hers in the softest of kisses, a kiss that did not seek to silence as much as to tempt. His mouth moved over hers, barely touching and yet letting her feel him, feel his need, his wants, his…

  It was wonderful. Soft. Sweet. Delicious.

  Her own lips opened under his, inviting him in, beckoning him on.

  For the briefest of moments his tongue swept hers and then, just as she began to rise to meet him, was gone.

  “Trust me, Bliss. I only want to make you happy, to make you surrender to all that you are meant to be.”

  Her mind was blurred. She wanted to fight. Why should she be the one to give in to him? This matter of allowing was something that needed a great deal more discussion. He had to understand that when she did as he said, even when she bent over the bed to accept her punishment, it was because she’d decided to. She was the one allowing him.

  “Stop thinking and enjoy. Let yourself be, Bliss.”

  “But…”

  “Do you really want to argue or do you want something else, something more?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Duldon waited for her response. Would she listen? Would she understand? He fought the urge to kiss her again, to grind into her until they were both mindless. This moment was important, crucial even. It was time that she accepted him for who he was, understood how things would be between them, even if her education was just beginning.

  “I don’t want to argue,” she said at last, her voice barely audible.

  “Then you accept how things will be?”

  She was silent for a second, thinking. Why did she have to spend so much time thinking?

  “For tonight.” The breathy whisper echoed.

  “For always.” He needed to be clear on that point from the start.

  “But tonight is our always.”

  Why could she not get past that point, admit that they were meant to be together, admit that she was his as he was hers? “I thought you did not want to argue.”

  Silence again. He did hope she was not thinking of the fabric of the coverlet or whether there was such a thing as always. Her tendency to let her thoughts ramble at crucial moments might be endearing, but it could also drive a man to drink.

  “I want to think of something clever to say,” she said at last, her breasts rising to brush against his chest. “I know there are words that will let us both think what we will and the argument will not be necessary, but my mind is empty at the moment. Tomorrow will bring what tomorrow will bring.” She sounded strangely melancholy.

  “That it will. So can you promise that you understand that when we are together you will understand my need for control, be that for tonight or every night for the rest of our lives?”

  “You mean when we fuck?” She said the word coldly, as if trying to distance herself from him.

  “I was avoiding that word. I have not quite decided what it is we do, but I am not sure that it is fucking—and that is ignoring the fact that I have promised we will not actually fuck until we are wed. And no, you do not need to say that you have no intention of wedding me.”

  He felt the air of her long exhale whisper past his cheek.

  “I will agree, but given that you have demanded control, and I have granted it may I ask a boon?”

  “You may ask.”

  “Will
you allow me to finish my examination of you later?”

  His groin surged at the thought. If she kept talking he would end up embarrassing them both. Although perhaps she would not be embarrassed. He rather thought she might just regard the whole thing as interesting research. “Within some limits. Perhaps you could skip to the end of your examination, to those parts you were saving.”

  She licked her lips and he felt a drop seep from the tip of his cock. He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to bury himself in her. He had made her a promise and it was one he meant to keep, no matter the fact that he lay between her naked thighs, his cock brushing against warm, tender skin, only inches from where it longed to be. He’d fought off thinking about their positions since he’d flattened her on the bed, but now he could no longer fight back the thought. “Stay still,” he commanded and swung his legs off the bed and away from her.

  “But…”

  “And it is my turn to say be quiet. And unlike you I will promise to make you be silent if you should fail. I can think of several things I would enjoy placing between those swollen lips.” Well, at the moment there was truly only one thing, but he’d gag her with his neck cloth if necessary. Her words would be his undoing if he was not careful.

  Her lips shut, but her eyes moved down his body, settling on his prick. Her tongue darted out and began a too-slow sweep of her lower lip, and then a sharp press of small white teeth on tender flesh. Another lick. Her thoughts had clearly followed his own.

  He moved over to one of the high wardrobes and swung open the door. Neat drawers met his eye, drawers filled with everything his imagination desired and then some. A thin leather crop lay in the center of the first drawer he opened, but it did not cast its normal allure. He might have enjoyed reddening Bliss’s flesh, enjoyed leaving his mark upon her knowing how increased the sensitivity of her skin would be, but he found he had no desire for more.

  What he wanted from Bliss was her openness, her vulnerability. He wanted her emotional surrender as well as her physical.

  Ignoring the crop, he pulled out a small glass vile and unstopped it. Roses. Deep red roses. He glanced at her. No, not right. Lilies? No. Sandalwood and musk? Far too masculine. Amber? Close. Lilac? Lavender? Vanilla? Lemon? All were close but none quite right for his Bliss. Orange blossom? Yes, tart but with such a level of sweetness as to…

  Was he really having these thoughts? When had he ever considered what scent he wished oil to have as long as it did not stink or smell rancid? He might have understood his prolonged thoughts if he’d been considering oil that heated the skin, pepper or cinnamon, but just for scent? That was for women—or other men. He did not have time for dainty smells.

  Yes, the orange blossom was just perfect.

  He lifted the vial and placed it upon the top of the wardrobe, pulling open the next drawer. A neatly arranged pile of varied-colored silk scarves lay spread across the entire width. He smiled to himself. Trust Ruby to understand the importance of the right visual. It was part of what separated Madame Rouge’s from any other house he’d been in.

  Without thought he chose a length of midnight blue silk, soft and flowing. As with the orange blossom, he only had to look to know that it was the right choice. Debating briefly, he slid the drawer shut and turned back to the bed. He might dream of seeing her tied to his bed, but tonight was not the time. Exploration needed to proceed one step at a time.

  Cool blue eyes met his as he turned. She might be quiet. She might be still. None of that meant she was in perfect agreement with him. Bliss was not one to give in easily—if at all.

  “Roll onto your stomach,” he ordered.

  Her eyes flashed once. Her lips parted and then closed again. With incredible slowness, she lifted herself and resettled on the great bed, cheek turned to the side, cushioned by the lush pile of pillows, her glorious ass tilting up like a very ripe peach. It was not an original metaphor, but so very fitting. Her mouth puckered in a very definite pout as she caught his gaze.

  He held up the length of dark silk, watched as her eyes ran its length, saw her questions.

  “I am going to blindfold you. I want you to concentrate completely on what you feel and sight is only a distraction. There will be nothing to prevent you from removing the blindfold except the knowledge that it will make me most unhappy. I need you to trust me.”

  Her head moved a bare inch, but he recognized the nod.

  Her gaze moved to the bottle of oil in his other hand.

  “Nothing but oil, sweet and slick. I am sure you pour something similar into your bath.”

  Another almost nod.

  Her eyes darted to the chest behind him.

  “There is nothing else in there that need concern you…” And then he reconsidered. Placing the oil and the scarf beside the candle near the bed, he opened the drawer that held the scarves. Several long feathers lay there, neatly placed along the front of the drawer. He pulled out two, one long and dark and sleek, slightly stiff. A raven’s feather? The second was the palest of grays, soft and flexible, a feather fit for a lady’s best bonnet. He held them out to her. “I will take nothing else out tonight. I will leave your imagination to decide what these are for, but I think you can see that you have no true worries.” Little did she know what a man with imagination, skill, and patience could accomplish with so little. “I will not always give you such reassurance in the future. Most often I will enjoy surprising you—or I may not know what I wish until I am already doing it.”

  Her throat moved as she swallowed.

  He was glad she did not feel the need to protest that there would be no other nights. The argument was growing tiring.

  Putting the feathers down beside the oil and the silk, he climbed onto the bed, moving to straddle her hips. She stiffened momentarily, but then relaxed. He rested some of his weight upon her, but kept most of it upon his own thighs. She seemed so small and fragile as he knelt above her. His spread hands could span most of the breadth of her shoulders. Leaning forward, he lifted the silk and drew it near, letting it trail across the bare flesh of her shoulders. Her skin shuddered at its touch.

  He ran it back and forth across her pale body, watching for each whisper of movement. With infinite slowness, he drew it up until it hung before her eyes. Tension filled her body, but she did not demur as with great care he covered her eyes and brought the ends behind her head to tie them in a tight knot in the midst of cascading blond curls. She held herself stiff as she drew accustomed to the sudden darkness.

  Taking a moment, he eased back on his ankles and just took in her beauty. She lay in the middle of the bed, light creamy skin on white linen sheets, arms straight down by her sides, long smooth back rising to rosy behind, the cheeks still glowing from his touch. His palm itched with the desire to caress that flesh again, to feel her move beneath him, to know his touch fired her desire. He moved back, letting his eyes settle on the enticing crevasse at the base of her ass, that magic point where thighs joined and secrets resided. He could see nothing of her at this moment, her touching legs hiding all from his view, but the promise was enough. He lingered there for a moment, his mind filling with the images of all he had seen and all he would see again.

  She was his. No matter how much she might deny it, she was his.

  He let his gaze wander back up, settling on the tousled curls that partly hid her lovely features, on the deep silk, so dark against her paleness. His cock stirred against his leg, reminding him of its wants. He didn’t know what it was about the sight of her lying there, her eyes hidden, her full lips slightly parted, that called to him so deeply, but there was no denying that seeing Bliss lying upon the bed caught at something within him and pulled—and in far more ways than the expected. She might stir his cock, but his mind was called as well—and perhaps his heart.

  He shook his head, trying to free it from thoughts he was not ready for. Once his ring was on her finger then he would think such things. Grabbing the oil from the table he poured a good dollop into his hand
, letting it warm against his fingers. The bottle went back to the table and then he rubbed his hands together, enjoying the glide. Then it was time for Bliss. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and began to move his fingers with controlled vigor. He felt the tendons that rang along the tops of her shoulders, squeezing and releasing. Her shoulders moved into his touch. He felt, rather than heard, the moan that coursed through her. His fun-loving Bliss held more tensions in her than one who did not know her well would ever have imagined.

  He rubbed the tight shoulders until he felt relaxation fill them, her back lifting and falling with a deep sigh. He moved on to her neck, his slick fingers easily gliding over her velvet flesh. More tension hid there and he caressed and rubbed until her head lay lax upon the pillow. He grinned in satisfaction. He would sweep all tightness from her body before causing her to tense for an entirely different reason.

  Neck loose, he moved down her back stroking along her spine, kneading the long lean muscles to either side. He’d always known Bliss was a tireless horsewoman, but now as he came to know her body he understood all the more. Her full breasts pressed about the outside her ribcage, but he held his fingers back, focusing on moving lower down her back.

  The base of a woman’s back, just above the curve of her buttocks, had always been one of his favorite spots, a place of strength and vulnerability. Unable to resist he placed a soft kiss upon the smooth skin, the heavenly scent of the orange blossoms and woman’s musk filling his nostrils. She shifted beneath him, lifting her hips slightly, inviting.

  “I told you not to move,” he whispered against her flesh. Instantly she stilled, the scent of increased arousal filling his nostrils.

  A few more moments at her waist and then he skimmed down, fingertips trailing over ass, thighs, and calves until he reached her high-arched feet. He too knew the proper place to end. He pressed his thumbs hard into her arches, watching her fight not to stretch and wiggle as he hit that first knot of muscular pain and forced it to release.