by Lavinia Kent
Her mind caught on the first part of his statement. “Other things?”
Chapter 22
Angela watched as Colton averted his face but then turned back. She could see the effort this cost him. “I am a man of particular tastes.”
She could feel his honesty, feel the effort it took for him to put it into words. “So Ruby told me—and you have demonstrated.”
“And how much did she explain?”
“Some. She mentioned that you like to be in control. That my willingness and obedience were more important than anything else I could offer you.”
“That is all she said?”
“She asked a few questions to determine how much I know about what happens between men and women. She seemed satisfied with my answers. Then she asked if there was anything I found unsettling. I told her I found it all unsettling, but that did not mean I was not willing to try. I am willing to try almost anything. One cannot determine what one likes if one does not try.”
“And you think you no longer like to take risks?” His hand ran down her cheek and neck, sliding along her collarbone before moving lower to outline the edge of her bodice.
“I’ve never thought of that as a risk, although I suppose it is. And I have decided, once again, that I might like a good risk.” She moved a hand from above her head to stroke his face, trying to convey all the changing emotions within her.
“And what is the most unsettling thing you can think of?”
She smiled, feeling the edges of her cheeks lift, fighting to be honest. “I am not sure. I mean, the very marital act itself is quite strange. I held your cock in my mouth yesterday. How does that fit within my body? It does seem most uncomfortable, and I would admit that the women who talk of such things are much divided on the subject. But those who like it do become most flushed when they speak of it. I have hoped to be one of those women.”
His fingers dipped low into her bodice, caressing the upper swells of her bosom and reaching for the puckered tips. She swallowed hard.
“What of your breasts, your nipples? You have shown them to me with only mild distress and much, much pleasure.” His fingers came to settle about her nipples. He pressed tight, rubbing slightly. “And even when I asked you to squeeze them, to twist, even when I could see the pain in your eyes, I also saw pleasure. I could see the sensations move through your body.”
“Yes,” she breathed, feeling her breasts swell into his palms, arching her back to give him greater access.
He pressed her nipples, squeezing hard. “How would you feel if I bound your breasts tight until they were red and swollen and so, so sensitive—even a breath upon them would feel too much.” His nails dug into the tips. Her body arched more.
It was hard to breathe, hard to understand what he said when all she wanted was to feel. “I don’t know.”
“But you would try.”
“Yes.” Another shallow breath.
He paused, lifted his hands from her breasts, then straightened, so that he stood between her legs as she lay back upon the bed. He reached out and gently pulled her forward until she was sitting. She could sense how serious he was. “And what if I brought out toys to play with them, things that pinched and stung, that brought tears to your eyes, but also left you crying for more?”
How could such a thing be possible? She didn’t like pain. Nobody liked pain. Yet she could see how much her answer meant to him. His eyes stayed on hers, seeking her answer.
She spoke with care. “I cannot imagine such a thing—such things. But I would try.”
Still watching her, he reached out and slowly, achingly slowly, pushed her bodice down, revealing the tops of her breasts and the beginnings of those swollen tips. He rubbed the lace edging back and forth for a moment, pressing it tight. The knit of the lace caught against her delicate skin, incredible sensation filling her nipples. Her head fell back and a soft moan escaped her lips.
His hands reached lower, cupping her breasts and lifting them above her bodice. They pressed forward like the prow of a great ship. He leaned down and blew on them—and all she could think about was his words, about how sensitive he could make them, about what he could do—about how he would make them ache while she cried for more.
He stepped away and went to the high chest of drawers and pulled one open.
Staring into the drawer, his brow furrowed. He reached in, paused, then pulled out a long stiff quill. He turned to her, then paused again. Turned back and placed the quill in the drawer. This time when he came toward her, his hand was fisted about something she couldn’t see.
She edged over and he sat beside her on the bed, his hand still hiding its contents.
“I promised myself I would be honest with you,” he said.
“Then do be. I have already told you that I saw you with another woman and that I fear I care too much for you to risk being hurt. What is there that you cannot say to me?”
“I fear to explain exactly how different my tastes are from that which you might expect….”
“Why do you not just say it and get it over with? I have not turned away yet.”
He opened his palm. “This is part of why I turned you away all those months ago, why I thought we did not suit. I was not ready to marry a woman I did not think could be what I need. I kept searching for some glimpse that you might be willing to explore at least the mildest forms of what I like, and when you started to follow every convention of what a young lady should be, I feared that I had been mistaken in you. I want you to take risks, to jump without knowing where you will land, but I confess that I lacked the courage to do so myself. When you began to act so differently, I lost faith that you could ever be what I needed, and so I told you that you had been mistaken, that I had no interest. And so I lied.”
Her eyes were on his face, not on his hand. “I am sorry that I too had lost faith and hid my feelings; perhaps if I had told you what I had seen then, we could have talked.”
“I cannot picture such a discussion taking place between us at that time.”
“Nor I, to be honest.”
Finally she let her gaze drop to his hand. What was that? Two metal pieces fastened together with some sort of mechanism. A clip? Was it some sort of…She didn’t even know where to begin to guess what it was. She looked up blankly.
“These are for your breasts.”
Oh. She regarded them again. Tried to imagine. Ouch. No, they did not look like fun. “You want to put those on me?” It was hard to imagine.
He took her hand and placed it on the flap of his trousers. Yes, he did want to put them on her. He really wanted to put them on her.
She swallowed. “Is there more?”
He glanced at the large chest of drawers. “Yes.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.
She reached over and took one of the clips from him. His fingers started to close, but he let her take it.
Holding it in her hand, she considered. “I don’t know.”
He started to take the clip back. “I would never force you.”
“I know.” She said the words softly but firmly, both for him and herself—because she did know. She wrapped her fingers tight about it, feeling the warmth of his hand that the metal still held. “What else do you like to do?” She tried to hide the quaver in her voice.
“Many things.”
“I can’t believe you are coy now.”
“Mostly bondage. There is something about rendering my partner helpless that…that brings me much pleasure.”
“I do not mind being tied up. I think I may like not having decisions to make, knowing that you will do with me as you like—only that’s not exactly right, is it? You stop if you sense I am unhappy. You always make sure of my pleasure first.”
He turned more completely toward her. “I only enjoy what you enjoy. It is the thought of your pleasure that has me excited.”
She lifted the hand that held the clip. “You think I would enjoy this?”
; “Under the right circumstances, yes.”
And didn’t that make her shiver. “What are the right circumstances?”
“You must be filled with desire first; your body must be filled with sensation. Ready for more. If I put it on you now, all you would feel is pain, but if I placed it on you when you were dazed with passion, when you wanted only more and more—I believe then you would feel pleasure.”
“And no pain?”
“I cannot say that, but I believe the pleasure is the overriding feeling.”
She pulled in a deep breath, her naked breasts rising high. His eyes dropped and followed the movement.
Closing her eyes briefly, she tried to think. “And this is why you didn’t want to marry me? You did not think I would let you do these things?”
“It was at least part of it.”
“What if we try these things now and I do not like them? I am not at all sure that I will.”
“Then you are willing to try?”
“I think so.” She knew she sounded nervous, but, then, she was.
He reached over and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. “You can stop this anytime you wish.”
She looked out the window at the full daylight. “I am afraid it is already too late for me to think that. Even if I returned to the house now, it would be noticed. Even without Thorton’s talk I might be ruined.”
“We will think of some story.”
“We can try.”
“Of course, if we strolled up to the house together and announced our engagement, all would be forgiven.”
“Do not press me. Can we not just take this moment and enjoy—not think of the future for a few brief seconds?”
“If that is what you wish.”
“It is.”
“Stand up, then,” he said, his tone filling with command.
That shiver of fire shot through her as she moved to comply. The air itself seemed to shudder between them, as emotions and mood changed in a single second.
She slipped from the bed and turned toward him, conscious suddenly of her naked breasts, the tips still sensitive from their previous encounter. Was he going to use the clips on her—now? Her breath caught as she stared at the clips, which had somehow come to rest beside him on the bed. What would they feel like? How much would they hurt? And was he right that they would increase all sensation? When she’d twisted her nipples, the feelings had shot straight to her core. Would this be the same? And did she want to find out? He’d promised that they could stop whenever she wished. Her gaze moved back to him.
Did she trust him? And if she trusted him in this, could she trust him in other ways?
He was staring at her, his face calm but fire banked within his eyes.
—
Colton watched the speeding pulse at the base of her neck, observed the darkening of her eyes. This morning had not gone at all as he had expected, and yet it seemed he was moving toward all he had ever wanted.
All he had ever wanted? Could that be true?
He paused, letting the thought fill him. Angela was what he wanted—and it was not just the desire and the passion, the willingness. It was her honesty. He had seen how difficult it was for her to reveal her secrets, and yet she had done it. It was the shy smile as she looked at him. It was the joy he found simply being with her, the thought that he could think of nothing more delightful than sitting beside her, staring out at the lake, or walking in the early-morning light before the city had awakened.
She inhaled, her breasts rising toward him, drawing his attention. Well, perhaps some things were more delightful. And then he pushed all thought aside. There would be time for understanding later. This moment was all about feeling—feeling and need.
He could see the need—and the curiosity—in her gaze. Her eyes darted back to the clips and then returned to his face. Her lips parted. The barest hint of a tongue slipped out to wet them. She was nervous, very nervous, filled with anticipation. He could almost see the emotions sliding off her in waves.
His cock, which had been full nearly from the moment she entered the cabin, was almost bursting from that look in her eyes, that combination of nervousness and acceptance—and her complete willingness. He reached out a finger and tapped once upon her right nipple. She jumped slightly, rising on her toes, and sucked in a sharp breath.
He tapped again, then began to draw slow, lazy circles about her breast. He brought his finger to his lips and wet it, then began again. Her eyes were wide, her breaths shallow, and he had hardly begun. Cupping his hand beneath her breast, he lifted it, then leaned forward. His lips closed about it, drawing it softly into his mouth. His other hand slipped about her back, bracing her. He sucked deep, caressing the underside of her nipple with his tongue.
Her back arched, her hips moving into contact with his thighs. He longed to spread his legs wide, to flip up her skirts, and pull her close. His mouth watered at the thought of burying himself deep, of giving in to his every instinct.
Instead, he held firm, keeping his every movement gentle, caressing, as he moved from breast to breast.
She was still tense with anticipation, waiting for him to increase the pace, to up the progression, so he continued slow and easy, waiting, waiting for her to yield against him, for her body to become used to his touch. He licked and laved, every touch tender. Soft sighs escaped her lips, each one causing his prick to throb. God, waiting was hard—in so many ways.
When at last he could feel her giving in to the sensation, he sucked harder, scraping his teeth against her. Her sighs turned to moans. He drew her deeper into his mouth, tugging hard as he felt her nipples elongate and swell.
He pulled back, admiring his work. She was so beautiful, full white flesh curving up to those tight red peaks, ripe berries on a mound of whipped cream, only sweeter, more delicious.
Half opened, her eyes stared down at him. His tongue darted out to lick one taut tip, and her body responded, tightening.
He longed to run a hand up her leg, beneath her skirts, to feel the dampness of her upper thighs, the sweet wetness of her cunny. He pulled her forward, over one thigh, until her legs splayed about him. He could feel her quiver of response as she rubbed against his hard muscles. Her thighs trembled.
He closed his mouth about her again, bringing his other hand forward to work at her other breast, to pinch and play, as his lips and tongue and teeth devoured. Her breasts rose and fell in response to his every move. With great care, he finally slid one of his hands beneath her skirt, skating his fingers up her thigh but stopping as he felt the first glimmer of moisture.
“Please,” she mouthed, although she made no sound.
“Soon,” he whispered, watching her every response with care.
He let his fingers play just beneath the touch of her curls as he continued to worry her breasts, feeling their increased sensitivity, the way they responded to his every stroke and nip.
His free hand reached out and grabbed a clip then, moving it toward her slowly. Her eyes were focused on his face and she did not perceive his motion. He sucked once more upon her nipple, enjoying how it filled his mouth, enjoying the taste of her skin, the quiver of her flesh. Then he lifted his head and stared at her again, admiring the slight red marks left by fingers and teeth and the darker red of her nipples, hot and bothered but wanting more, so much more.
Her eyes met his and he slid his lower hand higher, until it just brushed her flesh. And then higher still. A swift intake of breath from both of them as he found the wonder of her clit. She rose up on her toes for a second, avoiding his touch, and then settled down, pressing herself tight into his fingers. He slid them back and forth, careful not to press too tight. It was not time for that yet. She tried to bring herself against his hand, but he moved, forcing her to patience.
He focused again on her breasts, even as he stroked. He saw her eyes finally catch the movement, watched as they grew large. He opened the clip, watched the fright and anticipation fill her.
Chapter
23
He was really going to do it. Angela swallowed, hard, as she watched the golden clip move toward her. Colton watched her with care, giving her every chance to demur. She did not, although an edge of fear grew in her belly.
She lifted her eyes to his and held them, trying to find her sense of adventure.
His fingers moved between her legs again, warm and delicious. Little fires flickered and grew. She felt the coil tighten; her body wanted more. She moved against him, trying to think of nothing but the feelings running through her body.
Yet her eyes were drawn back to that clip and the sense of dread it represented.
She was not ready. She wanted to be. She wanted to be what he needed.
She pulled in a deep breath. She could do this.
She would do this.
And then the clip dropped, landing beside him on the bed, then falling to the floor with a clatter.
Startled, her eyes jerked up to his.
“We don’t need that,” he said.
“But—”
“You are not ready.”
“No, I want to.” Or at least she wanted to want to.
“No, you don’t. I see the same look in your eyes that I did with Granderson.”
She started to open her mouth to deny it but could not find the words. He was right. “But, you need—”
“No, I don’t. I have asked you trust me. I will do you the same favor. I will trust that someday we will get there—and if we do not, then we will find a different path to travel.”
“I think that…”
And then his fingers moved between her legs again, pressing, pinching, stroking.
She tried again. “I am willing to—”
A finger pressed up into her. It was becoming impossible to be still. Her mind filled with nothing but pleasure, but she needed to try, needed to be sure he knew. “Are you certain? How will you ever know if we don’t…?”
“Angela, I trust you—and I trust this.” His fingers moved, pressing farther into her in a way she had never imagined.
“But…”
“No more talking.” He leaned forward and placed the gentlest of kisses upon her lips, even as a finger pressed in again and then pulled out.
