by Lavinia Kent
This time her groan was audible and filled with such intense pleasure that it caused his toes to curl. There were some sounds a man could not object to, even when he had commanded silence.
—
She was in heaven. She’d always hated the word “bliss,” had thought it a joke that she’d been given such a name, but if this was bliss then she would embrace all that it represented. It felt good, so good. She’d never known her feet were anything but a mode of movement and now, now they brought more delight than anything she could remember. Well, some things might have brought more, but nothing had ever made her feel like this. His fingers moved over her heels to the back of her ankles, pinching and rubbing at the hard cord that ran there. All parts of her body delighted in the pressure, her very womb seemed to tighten and soften as he pressed and rubbed. How could kneading her feet cause such deep sensation all through her?
She wanted to stretch and sigh, to give in to all the pleasure that filled her, but she held herself as still as possible, relishing the feeling of giving up control, in doing only what Stephan asked.
He pressed tighter and a quick surge of pain was followed by intense pleasure. She’d rubbed her own sore shoulders after a hard ride and felt the strange combination of pain and relaxation, of hitting a spot and knowing that the moment of hurt would bring only relief, but to have somebody else perform the task…
A deep long moan escaped her lips. And then another. She fought to hold them back but could not. She was lost in sensation and wonder, control of her body and voice slipping from herself to him.
The thin silk that bound her eyes prevented all thought but that of his fingers upon her. As those fingers trailed up her calves and then her thighs, her whole being prepared. She knew where this was leading, could not await the ending—and yet enjoyed every fraction of an inch of the journey.
Ahhhhhh, the backs of her knees. She’d already forgotten that lesson, but now as fingers—and lips—moved over that most tender sliver of flesh, her inside danced, flashes of lightning and glory raced up her legs, centering on that place at the fork of her thighs, that place she still had no name for.
Another moan. She wanted to beg—she knew not quite for what. Did she want him to move on or to never let his fingers progress from her current heaven?
And then they were on her thighs, still kneading, still pressing, still working the stiffness from her muscles, but moving ever closer to their final destination. Her legs pressed tight even as she longed to open them to him, to grant him access to her every hidden crevasse. He shifted upon the bed, his weight rising and moving.
His hands settled on her buttocks, the calluses rubbing over her overly sensitive flesh. Again he kneaded and rubbed, but each movement separated her, revealed her. It was maddening to know that he was staring at her there, to know that as she lay blind he was looking at spots that had never known the light. His breath brushed across her and she had to bite down upon her lip to keep from moaning—or protesting. It was so unfair. It was so perfect.
Another breath, warm air slipping over hot flesh. She felt him just above the crease of her behind, felt him pull the cheeks apart, felt—no, he could not be, but he was. The softest slide of oiled fingers over spots that she had never dreamed could bring pleasure. His fingers pressed upon her. Her flesh gave beneath his touch. She tightened in resistance.
A low chuckle from behind, the puff of air. “Don’t worry, kitten, some things are not for today.”
Not for today? Did that mean sometime? No, he could not mean that. Could he?
The fingers moved lower, slick oil blending with her own moisture. Would he lick her again? The memory of how his tongue had felt upon her folds, upon that spot, filled her. She felt more moisture seep from her body as he continued to press deeply into sensitized skin. She could feel every blow that he’d placed upon her ass in a wave of fiery delight. There was definitely still pain, but pain such as she’d never felt, each touch a direct connection to her core. She squirmed, her hips lifting and falling beneath his touch. She fought the movement, but could not. Her body was not her own to control. He was killing her. She wanted to be touched, wanted to be filled, wanted him in her.
No. She could not want that. Did not want that. Only…
No.
“Please…” The word snuck from her lips even as she fought for clarity, for reason. She must remember what could and could not happen this night. Only with his every touch, his every stroke reason left her. Why? What could it hurt? Who would ever know? She would know. Did she care? She needed him, needed him so badly. “Please.” Again the plea formed and escaped.
There was only stillness above her, stillness and silence.
“I need you.” Her words were soft, but there was no mistaking their plea.
His hands moved once in a slow circle, but still there were no words.
More words rose to her lips, but she held them back, her mind a cloud of sensation. Had she displeased him by speaking? If only she could see his face, read his features. The small circles of his hands grew greater, harder, slipping down between her legs, but still not reaching where she needed them to.
Her body squirmed again beneath him, the weight of his thighs holding her down, preventing her from moving too much. Her legs could not open farther, could not grant him greater access.
Pushing back, hard, her body tried to press against him, to show him all that she desired.
He held firm, his fingers biting into her flesh as he refused her now-silent plea.
And then, before her body could do more, she found herself lifted and turned so that she lay settled upon her back. Her mind filled briefly with the strength required to lift her so easily, to turn her with such little effort, but then thought slipped away as she felt his weight shift, his muscular thighs settling about her, still imprisoning her.
“Lift your arms up toward the headboard, stretch yourself as far as you can go.” His voice was firm, if soft, the whisper of it in the air caressing her.
Before thought or consideration could enter into play she found herself stretching her arms, reaching, the tiniest piece of one finger brushing the wood of the headboard.
“Very good, now hold yourself steady. A proper offering.”
An offering? Did she wish to be an offering? She wanted to be anything that he wished, if only he would touch her more. Touch her down between her legs where she so desperately needed his stroke.
His fingers ran down the length of her thighs, and then swept up—almost…But, not.
“Please,” she whispered, unable to help herself.
“I did ask for silence, but it is hard to resist such a plea.” His hands moved higher, playing with her curls, pulling softly and separating her. “What exactly is it you want?”
What did she want? She wanted it all. “I want you, Stephan.”
His finger moved lower, circling the spot that so needed to be touched. Her body wiggled and squirmed, trying to direct him where it needed him. He teased a moment more and then brushed right where she needed. Her body lifted from the bed with that one small movement, and a bolt of electricity surged through her body.
“Is that what you want?” He stroked again. Another bolt.
“Yes, and more. More. I want everything.”
His hand stopped moving. His legs stiffened about her. “You want everything? Do you mean that, Bliss?”
Chapter Twenty-one
As he spoke her name Duldon remembered his promises, the ones he’d made to himself and to her. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, pictured sliding between her thighs, plunging into her, granting them both the release they so desired.
“No,” he said.
“No?” Her voice quavered.
“No. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it. Unless you are ready to consider this your wedding night with the ceremony to come later.”
Her breast lifted as air filled her lungs. Small teeth nibbled on a lower lip. Her hips lifted again, strai
ning toward him.
It would be unfair to take her now, even if she were willing to promise him eternity. This was not the moment for such promises. The promises of a lifetime should be made when the mind ruled, not the body. But if she gave him that promise, even under these circumstances, he would take it and hold her to it. He let his fingers trail over her again, teasing, seeking, drawing her further down the path he wished to travel.
“No,” she gasped, her head rolling against the pillows. “If anything I am more determined at this moment. You are not the man for me. My emotions are too involved with you and I could imagine myself loving you. I could not survive a lifetime with you.”
Because she might love him? He fought for sense, for understanding, tried to think with his head and not his body. How could that be wrong? His gut clenched. Even in the midst of passion, he felt concern. Was there a way to win this battle? Even if she gave in to him and said yes that would mean she thought she could never love him. And he was very much afraid he was coming to need her love. “Then you will have to be content with what I am willing to give you.”
“But…”
“There is no ‘but.’ “With great consideration he ran his finger over her clit, watching as the hood pulled down revealing her swollen need to him. He stroked and teased, pressed and played. Her body began to thrash upon the bed, soft but urgent cries leaving her lips. And still he took her higher, allowing her no respite.
“Stephan, please…” If he thought she’d pleaded before, there was no mistaking the overwhelming need that filled her voice now.
He showed no mercy now, driving her onward, feeling as her body coiled about him, as her thighs pressed against his.
Her hands lowered, reaching for him, trying to move him as she desired. He grabbed them and moved them back to the headboard. “Keep them there. Do as I say or I will leave you to yourself. You are mine. You can deny me in the future, but now, now you are mine.”
Her hands strained, and then became still, although tension still filled her. He grabbed her legs and pushed them up, moved them about his hips, and spread them wide.
He should take her now, teach her what possession really meant, but again he held back, bound by his promise and his dreams of the future. She would admit that she was his first, his forever. They would end this game between them.
Quivering beneath him, Bliss lay still, every muscle twitching, letting him know how much the effort cost her.
Holding her legs spread, he ran his thumbs up her inner thighs, reveling in the smooth soft skin, in the scent of musk and woman that rose up to him. He inhaled deeply, letting the smell fill him, locking it into his memory. Whatever came next, he would have this moment, have every second of it.
His thumbs moved upward, caressing the indent where leg met torso. The skin here was so fine he feared to scratch it with the rough skin of his hands. Her hips rolled before him. She had no such worries.
Leaning forward he blew, enjoying the light movement of her curls. He could have played like this for hours, but the soft mews sneaking from her lips indicated she was not so patient. He slid his thumbs up farther, pressing her open, spreading her before him, pink and slick—and waiting. Her need ate at him, called to him, but he would stay strong, leave his mark upon her soul as well as her body.
Again the need to bury himself within her suffused him, but again he held back. His cock was straining and eager, feeling as if the skin would burst upon it. It knew no reason, understood not patience, not promise. It knew only what it wanted, what he wanted. And what it wanted was there, right there.
God, he really would qualify for sainthood when this was over.
With one index finger he traced her entrance, watching as moisture seeped from her, small shudders ran the length of her legs. He blew again, more targeted. Her whole body spasmed.
Keeping his finger there, slowly circling, he used his other hand to spread her farther. Her clit peeked out, pink and swollen—and irresistible.
He had tasted her only moments before, but now his mouth watered with his own need. Forming his tongue into a hard point, he flicked it over her greedy flesh. Her legs tightened, closing about his head, but he held them wide. He flicked, he blew, he sucked and laved, loving every tiny response of her body. He could feel when she grew tight and held himself back, waiting until her breath returned. And always he took her one step further, one step closer—only to hold her back from that final moment.
Her head thrashed upon the pillows as soft, unknowing cries escaped her lips.
She was close, so close.
And it would be so easy, so easy to rise over her, to fill her, to bring them both to heaven together. He was going to marry her, what did it matter?
No.
He bent his head, sucked her deep into his mouth, his tongue working against sensitive tissue. With his lower hand he circled her entrance once more, and then let the tip slip in, pressing against velvet flesh, filling her just enough.
He waited, felt her tense about him.
And gave it to her, pushed and pressed and nipped, his teeth moving upon her, until her body lifted from the bed, his name echoing about the room.
He pushed her there again, and yet one more time. Her cries grew hoarse and harsh, her body limp before him.
And then he kissed her, softly, sweetly, once at the top of each thigh and once upon the soft curve of her belly.
And then, himself still hard and unsatisfied, he moved up the bed until he could pull her into his arms, lay her head upon his chest and let peace fill them for the briefest of moments.
He felt her lashes flutter against his breast, felt her body curl into his warmth.
This was the time. He knew it and yet he resisted, wanting one more moment of this quiet perfection.
But no, a better moment would not come. “Tell me, Bliss,” he whispered against her damp locks, “Tell me, why do you not want love? Why do you fear it, fear me so greatly?”
She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to think. Bliss heard Stephan’s words and wished them away. Her body had never ached with such satisfaction.
Tell me, why do you not want love? Why do you fear it, fear me so greatly? The words filled her brain and settled.
She had no defense in this moment. He had wiped them all away. She didn’t want to answer, did not want to seek the reasons.
“Love doesn’t last.” There, that was simple and did not require much thought. She turned her face into his chest, felt the beat of his heart against her cheek. “It goes away.”
“Love does last. I know you have seen it. Do you really think Swanston and Louisa’s love will end?” His words rumbled around her.
“I hope it doesn’t, but I fear.”
“Why do you fear? One has only to see how your brother looks at her to know he would rather die than let any harm come to her, and she looks back at him with the same expression. I tend to be cynical, but nobody can deny their love or that it will last.”
She pushed the blindfold from her eyes, needing to see Stephan. If only she could be as sure as he about her brother and his wife, could know the future, maybe then she would have faith. “I wish I could be as sure. It is not that I doubt my brother, and I certainly do not doubt Louisa, but life is not smooth and easy. You say that Swanston would rather die than have anything happen to Louisa, well, what will happen if that does happen? Or if she does not survive childbirth? How will my brother go on without her? Love ends. I want no part of it.”
“But what if he does not die? What if she has many healthy, beautiful children?”
“Then they will be lucky. I have never been lucky.” That sounded so awful. Anybody looking at her, thinking about her, would think she was one of the luckiest women in the country. Rich. Titled. Beautiful. The world was hers. And yet she knew it was all a lie. As the words leaked from her lips they carved themselves into her heart.
“How can you say that?”
“How can you deny it? Everything I have in
this life has cost me. Love has never brought me joy, only pain.” Her whole being ached with the truth of those words. Opening herself to them was like a mortal blow.
“I do not understand.” His voice rumbled around her.
She was quiet for a moment, feeling the words rise within her, but unwilling to give them air, to give them reality. She let the blindfold slip back over her eyes. It was easier when she was locked in her own private world. “I was hardly more than a baby when my mother died. I should probably have been too young to miss her, too young to remember her, but I was not. She had been my world up until that point. I loved her and she loved me. I sometimes think she was made up of love, love and fun. No matter how many of us children there were she always had time, always found a way to let each one of us know that we were the center of her world. There could be months after a pregnancy did not end happily that she would be removed from us, but even then if I snuck into her room she would greet me with a smile and kiss. I did not know the world could be different.
“I knew my father was an oddity even then. If he had not been a duke some might have questioned his sanity, but he was always fun. He had the best schemes and would play with us like he was one of us. I think he often believed that he was still a child. He certainly never had any need to act the adult. My mother loved to laugh with him. They could laugh with such joy that it would fill a room, if not the whole house.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
And it had been. She wanted to weep for how wonderful it had been. “It was. I know that Swanston will talk of how dinner was never at a set time and so often the roast was overcooked or still raw. He will remember dogs running through the halls and the year my father decided that it was too cold in the stable for his favorite racer. The house was as apt to smell of animals as lemon polish. Actually I am not sure that I remember it ever smelling of lemon while my mother still lived. Roses on occasion. She did love flowers, but most often it smelled of whatever creature my father was obsessed with at the moment. But I stray. My point is that for a brief slice of time it wasn’t just wonderful, it was perfect.”
