Tangled in Sin

by Lavinia Kent

  “And what are you thinking of wagering on?” His voice was quite hoarse.

  “Hmm, something immediate. I hate waiting to know if I’ve won.”

  “That makes sense.” He choked his words a little as her finger roamed lower.

  “What about a wager on who can bring the other one to orgasm first, or perhaps I mean in the least amount of time. Do you have a watch?”

  His eyes narrowed at her words. He would never learn not to underestimate her.

  “I do,” he answered.

  “Perhaps I deserve a handicap? I’ve never tried this before.” Her finger swept lower, circling his navel three times before coming to rest flat on his lower belly, just above the tip of his cock. If her hand had been any larger they would have touched. His whole body grew tense and strained. “No, I do think I’ll be a fast learner. Perhaps I should offer you the handicap.”

  She glanced up. His gaze was locked upon her hand. His skin was a little paler there and the contrast between him and her was not as great. And then she looked lower. Now, that was certainly a different color. Almost purple. A single drop of liquid already clung at the end.

  Curious, she reached out and touched it—barely, just the briefest sweep of finger across the opening.

  He inhaled sharply.

  She brought it to her lips. This she knew she enjoyed, craved. Earthy with a touch of salt. She licked again, rubbing her finger across her lips.

  She glanced back at James and froze. He looked like he was ready to devour her, his eyes huge and dark, his focus on her finger and how her lips moved around it.

  Still watching him, she let the finger sink between her lips, savoring with obvious pleasure.

  “Fuck,” he growled, truly the sound of an animal.

  Perhaps she should have felt fear, but the ache that curled in her belly was definitely that of excitement. She was doing that to him, making him so wild. It made her want to join him, to meet him in some wild, savage mating.

  She sucked her finger hard.

  The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed, ready to spring.

  Another moment and he would be on her, dragging her down to the pillows, ripping her dress further, baring her to his desire, pressing her…

  No.

  This was her game. This was her turn. If she did not take control now, she would lose, and more than their silly wager.

  Her hand fell to her side. She stepped back, stared at his face until his eyes met hers and held. “Go stand between the columns,” she ordered.

  Chapter 24

  Cynthia watched as a brief look of resistance crossed James’s face. It grew shadowed. Oh, the man knew what he wanted and it was not to follow her direction. She almost smiled, but kept her expression stern. “Now,” she commanded.

  He gave her one long look, sweeping up from her slippered feet to her partially revealed bosom to her lips, still swollen from their earlier kiss, and then finally to her eyes. He stared for a moment, trying to dominate, trying to tell her that he only did as she asked because he wished to. She understood his message perfectly and did not care.

  All that she cared about was that he did as she said. The why mattered not at all, at least not in this moment. Later she might spend much time worrying about it, but now she craved only obedience. “Are you reneging on our bet?”

  “I don’t think we ever laid out the rules,” he stated between gritted teeth.

  She ran a hand along his jaw, feeling the play of muscles beneath. “I have my turn and then if you have been good I will give you yours. We will see who is the fastest.”

  “A man does not normally aspire to be fastest.”

  “Well, in this instance you will—I will have your cum spattered on your belly far more quickly than you will have me quivering and screaming.”

  “God, Sin, when did you learn to talk like that?”

  “I have no idea, but I must say you seem to like it.” Her gaze dropped to his throbbing cock. Another, larger drop of liquid was clinging to it. “I think I am scoring points already for knowing what you like far more than you.”

  “What do you want me to do?” The words clearly did not pass easily from his lips.

  “I want you to go and stand between the columns. I think I have been very clear.”

  “I’ve been a bit distracted.” His gaze fell to her bosom again. She glanced down. One nipple had escaped entirely and stood, tall and proud. She made no move to tuck it back in. Let him look. It would only help her win more quickly.

  He gave her one more look then moved to the columns.

  “Place your hands on the highest rings,” she directed. No, that would not work. She would never reach so high to tie them. “No, move them down one. Yes, right there. Now slide your feet out so that they almost touch the columns. Oh, yes, just like that.”

  When he was positioned properly, she grabbed a handful of the silk scarves that she noticed earlier, lying among the pillows. She’d thought someone had forgotten them, but now their purpose was immediately apparent. She chose a navy blue one and, standing high on her toes, tied his left wrist. His head turned. He started to speak, but then he clamped his mouth shut, his eyes promising that she would pay for this later. She chose another scarf and tied his other wrist, knotting it as securely.

  James pulled against the restraints, but did not try to yank free.

  She stepped back and admired him, and there was much to admire—and it was all hers to do with as she wished.

  Hurriedly, she bent and fastened his ankles. Then she began to walk about him, let her eyes linger on the secrets of his body. He was better made than any Grecian statuary.

  She ran a finger across the small of his back, down and over his firm buttocks. Remembering his hands on her she let her second hand join the first, squeezing him like ripe fruit. She placed a single kiss in the center of his back.

  “You will never win the bet at this rate,” he said as she lingered behind him.

  “Hmm, I am already feeling like a winner.” She pressed her cheek against his shoulder blade, pressing close, her hands slipped about his waist, pulling him tight. For a moment she simply luxuriated in the feeling, the warmth, the closeness. It was heaven. She breathed in, drawing that wonderful cinnamon scent deep into her lungs.

  Then she let her hands drift lower, playing with top of his lower curls. She pulled lightly, trying to find the courage to move lower. She wanted to. She couldn’t wait to, but nerves held her back.

  “You truly do want to torture me, don’t you?” he groaned.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, although she understood very well. It was all too easy to remember the torture of being touched but not quite touched, of having his hands and mouth go everywhere but where she most needed.

  “Stop teasing.” He pulled hard against one of the restraints. “My patience for games will go only so far.”

  “I think it is simply that you have no patience. You expected me to do as you wished, but you have no patience for my wishes, my desires, and my happiness. And I feel very, very happy at this moment.”

  He stopped pulling and as a reward she finally let her fingers slip lower to wrap about him. Hard flesh and soft skin all at once. She wrapped her fingers tight, enjoying the solidity of him.

  He groaned.

  She moved her hands and felt his whole body respond. Slowly she stroked up and down, enjoying the movement of his skin beneath her fingers. A large vein ran along his underside and she traced it, feeling the power of his pulse beneath her touch.

  With each stroke, she could feel his pleasure, his desire, in the way his body tensed against her. It was a giddy pleasure. He might not have meant to give her full control, but he had. It had begun as a game, but at this moment it felt like so much more. She pulled back her arms, releasing him, but brushed her hands over him, keeping contact as she moved to his front, wanting to see his eyes. It would have been impossible to give up touching him. She was captured as surely as any opiu
m smoker.

  When she’d come half circle, so that she stood facing him, she looked up into those dark eyes and saw what she had prayed to see. There was desire, that could certainly not be denied, but there was more, too.

  Given the emotions that she saw spinning there, words would be hard to find, and she did not even attempt it; instead she went on instinct with how her heart responded to that look.

  Stretching forward, she laid a kiss upon his cheek and then began to work her way down his face and throat, nibbling at the tender skin. The stubble of his beard abraded her lips, but the underlying skin was soft and delicate—and delicious. She could almost taste the cinnamon here, that and soap—and lavender. It was not a combination she would ever have thought to find tempting, but now it was irresistible. Her tongue darted out, tasting, feeling, enjoying.

  As she reached the curve where neck met shoulder, she lingered, experienced every nuance, every pulse, every muscle that tensed and relaxed beneath her touch. She would never look at his neck the same again, always be aware of the combination of strength and delicacy that combined into one.

  Feeling the strong pulse of his heart beneath her lips, she nipped, not hard, not nearly enough to cut skin, just enough to make him jump and quiver. Her toes curled with pleasure.

  Why had it never even occurred to her to do this before? She’d enjoyed her submission to him on their previous encounters, but this was different, so exciting, so…Again, she didn’t know the words, but how could anyone not enjoy the chance to simply savor their partner, particularly if their partner was…was James. It was impossible to describe all the things he did to her just by being near, all the thousands of individual tingles that ran through her just breathing in his scent, just tasting him, experiencing him.

  She ran her tongue up the length of his neck, enjoying the difference in sensation, relishing the way his body hummed at her touch, the way she could feel him fight himself, fight his desire to pull at the restraints, to fight his way free.

  And she had no doubt that he could; the silk was strong, but James was stronger. It would be impossible not to understand the coiled steel of those arms and shoulders. It was only his own restraint that held him, restraint and his desire to please her.

  Placing her hands on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the strain of his muscles, she looked again into his eyes, those endless dark pools. Oh, he wanted her. He wanted to ravage her, to throw her to the floor and do with her what he willed. Her insides quivered at the thought, at what all that power might do if unleashed. The man positively turned her to jelly with only a look.

  But she pulled herself together. That was not what she wanted, what she needed. Dropping his gaze, she pressed her lips to the slight hollow at the base of his throat, a single spot of vulnerability between the muscles of his chest. His scent was strong here, and his taste. She savored, moving her fingers across the planes of his chest, teasing at his nipples. She could have stayed like this for hours, relishing the wonder of his body, but there was so much more of it to explore, so much more she was curious about.

  Keeping her lips on him, her hands on him, she pressed her body forward, feeling the flat hardness of his belly and the even harder length of his sex. She moved her hips a bit, side to side, trying to get a better feel. The fabric of the gown was definitely a hindrance.

  She stepped back, saw his eyes narrow at the lack of her hands, her body, against him. She smiled quietly, then lifted her hands to the bodice of her dress, fingers moving to the hidden fasteners. “You didn’t need to rip it,” she said, her eyes holding his only briefly, as his dropped to her moving fingers, to the slowly revealed swells of her dress. “I’ve discovered that they have some wondrous secrets here.” She let the front of the bodice drop, almost as the flap of his pants had. “I don’t know why more dresses aren’t made this way. It allows for such freedom. Are you listening to me at all?”

  He probably wasn’t, judging by the focus of his eyes, the sharp concentration in them as they stared at her breasts, partially covered by the thinnest of linens.

  —

  The gown seemed to fall from her, to gently drift to lie puddled at her feet. He’d never seen the like. Granted, he’d never spent much time considering how women got out of their clothes, except when he was the one doing the unfastening. And he did have to admit that working girls did seem to get unclothed far faster than the ladies of his acquaintance, but he’d always just thought that ladies needed help with almost everything, were far too dependent on their maids.

  He brought his eyes up from the puddle of fabric and stopped.

  He’d come to expect her beauty and yet he continually found it breathtaking. A young goddess could not have shone with more glory and light than Sin did when he stared at her. The candles did not silhouette her here as at the cabin, instead the glow caressed her, highlighting the thick cream of her skin, the shadows emphasizing every flowing curve. The chemise covered her—most of her at least, the torn bodice still revealed that one tantalizing nipple that his mouth longed to taste, but it hinted at all the glory underneath, gliding over the indent at her waist, stretching slightly over her fuller hips. Was that the darkness of her nest of curls he saw at the apex of her thighs, or merely the shadow of her belly? God, he wanted to pillow his head there, to breathe in her essence. No, he wanted to lie her down, to pull up the chemise, to bury himself hard and deep between her thighs. No, he wanted to slide between those full breasts again, to imagine the glory of those lips, even as he pressed her slick flesh about him. No, if he was going to think of those lips he wanted—

  Her fingers pinched his nipple, not gently. “And you complain that I think too much. I’ve been speaking for a good minute and I don’t think you’ve heard a word.”

  He bowed his head in concession. “I think I heard at least one. I believe you said the word bosom. I almost always hear when that is said. And if you’d been discussing how perfect yours are or what you want me to do to your breasts, I am sure I would have listened more. Would you like me to pinch those plump raspberries as you just did mine, or perhaps to suckle them, to taste them, to sample them? I would love to make your nipples long and red, to see them blush like your cheeks, to—”

  “I begin to think I may need to gag you as well as tie you.” She leaned over and picked up a scarf, holding it out to him.

  His eyes dropped to it, but only for a moment. “I only want to help.”

  “But I don’t need your help. That is rather the purpose of this exercise.” She took a half step closer until their bodies almost touched again.

  She wouldn’t actually gag him, would she? That was a step further than he was willing for this game to proceed. The restraints were more than enough and he doubted he would have tolerated them if it hadn’t been for the surety that he could break them if necessary. In fact, he rather enjoyed the thought of that, of pulling free from his bonds like Samson and then bringing down the walls she’d set between them. He doubted it would take much work to have her screaming for his mercy.

  “You’re thinking again.” She flicked the scarf against him. “I believe I am going to have to do something about that. I’m pretty sure there’s at least one way to keep thoughts from that brain of yours.” She let the scarf dangle down his belly, the end brushing his swollen cock and tickling his balls. Fuck, that felt good.

  “Ah, see I can think of things you like all on my own.” She reached down with her other hand and caught the other end of the scarf, pulling it up so that his cock was caught in its hammock. His eyes wanted to roll back in his head.

  She pulled one end of the silk and then the other. And now his eyes did roll.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He was going to come any second. He started to count backward. Not difficult enough. Imagined balancing a long ledger. Added four digit number after four digit number.

  “You’re thinking again.” The silk stopped moving.

  “I am trying to stay sane.” His voice sounded b
roken.

  “But what if I don’t want you sane?” She let the silk move again, slowly, oh so very slowly.

  “Do you want this to be over now? Do you want me to let you win?”

  She blinked, her thoughts evidently taking a moment to catch up. Then her gaze dropped to his cock, the dark head peaking from the silk. “Oh. I would like to win, but I admit I am not ready for this to be over.”

  She moved and now one of her small hands gripped him over the silk, squeezing slightly. He clenched his teeth. She was killing him.

  Her hand began to slide up and down, stroking him in just the way he liked. How did she know how to do that? Had she learned that at the cabin? Or had she asked Jasmine? No. No. He was not going to think about his sister now, even if it was one of the most cooling thoughts he’d had. He would have to find another way to control his growing need.

  A slow smile grew across her face as she watched him. Her thumb stroked up the pulsing vein that curved along the bottom edge of his cock. He groaned as it neared the tip, unable to constrain himself.

  Sin paused. Her smile grew. She pressed on the spot.

  He could feel the veins in his neck stand out. He truly did not know how much more he could take. If he’d been free, she’d be on her back now and he’d be pumping her hard, feeling her slick inner muscles tighten about him—God, he really was going to come if he let his mind continue in that direction.

  He was so unused to everything being focused on him. He should be the one pushing her on, testing her limits.

  Fuck. Fuck. He had to get her to move her hand, had to…His brain was ceasing to function, every drop of blood in him must be racing to his sex, eager for its chance to feel her touch.

  He focused on her face, on the pleasure he saw there. Yes, think about that, think about what this was doing to her. And it was doing a lot to her. Her pupils almost filled the irises. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, her breast pressing against the thin linen, her nipples hard and…Do not think about her breasts, her nipples. Her eyes, her eyes were good. They were completely focused and unfocused at the same time. Her own passion was beginning to rise—no, not beginning. It was well risen. Her breathing grew even shallower. She squirmed. He imagined she was pressing her legs tight, trying hard to still the ache between them. Did she want to touch herself? To…Don’t think about that either. Think only of her face, of how much she enjoyed what he was letting her do. Yes, what he was letting her do. He did have power here; it was just a different power than he’d ever experienced. He’d always spoken to his partners of the power of giving up control, but never had he truly felt it, truly known it. It was a powerful experience. He let his head fall back, gave himself up to the feeling of her fingers through the silk, the feeling of her squeeze, her stroke.