by Nina Mason
He should close his eyes. Watching was too stimulating. What her mouth was doing was arousing enough. She was sucking, licking, and slurping like his cock was a meat flavored ice lolly.
Groaning with pleasure, he pushed himself deeper, relishing the wet heat and suction of her oral cavity. As he drew back, she scraped her teeth across his shaft. The feeling, coupled with the sight of his cock glistening with her spit, was almost too exquisite to bear. Sweet Jesus. He was so close. If he didn’t pull out now, he was going to come off in her mouth, which was not how he wanted this to end.
It took all the strength he could summon to disengage. As he sat back, breathless and shaky, he inadvertently grazed the clothespins on her nipples, which he’d all but forgotten in his raptures.
She squealed like a wee lassie, which unnerved him. A dark cloud of guilt settled over his heart. He needed to remove those clamps, but he also needed a moment to recover his equanimity. His pulse was racing, his cock was painfully engorged, and he felt addlebrained.
Taking a deep breath to restore his wits, he crawled down her body until his face was level with hers. “I’m going to take off the clamps now, Miss Darling. When the blood rushes back into the area, it’s going to hurt some. I advise you to breathe through the pain. Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
His mouth twitched with displeasure as he removed the first clamp. She took a sharp breath and released a little cry that pierced him like a knife. He didn’t like hurting her, but it was the only way he knew to release her from her bonds. Blowing gently on the sensitized nipple, he unclamped the second pin.
She squirmed under him, buffeting his aching erection. He was still painfully aroused and having her rub against him in such an excruciatingly erotic manner was sheer torture. He needed to get off her before he lost his resolve along with his reason.
He wiggled the tip of his tongue against the first nipple before drawing the tender flesh into his mouth. As he introduced gentle suction, she gasped and flexed her hips. The heat of her flesh against his cock tormented him. The desire to bury himself in her depths grew fierce, but he fought it tooth and nail. There was still so much he needed to do and say and clarify before he planted his standard.
She had said she wanted to be with him, but that didn’t mean she was willing to risk her life in the bargain. He switched to her other nipple, offering the same tender succor he’d given its mate, before moving his mouth over hers. He hovered there, burning with the urge to kiss her.
Did he dare act on the desire?
So far, their session had been fairly impersonal. Well, insofar as foreplay could be and still arouse his passions, which had been the goal before Miss Darling fell down from the heavens. Mouth-to-mouth contact would take things to the next level, making this more meaningful and less clinical. As boorish as it sounded, he found kissing far more intimate than receiving oral sex.
Giving oral sex was a separate matter, but one equally fraught with peril. He had no qualms about performing cunnilingus on women. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was, orally pleasuring his partners was too subservient. To keep his heart out of the equation, he must preserve the hierarchy at all costs. Yes, he sometimes switched roles, but only to atone for his sins and assuage his guilt. Thus, he permitted punishments in various forms, but nothing along the line of sexual enslavement.
Miss Darling raised her head, brushing his lips with hers.
Disconcerted, he jerked himself away. “You must respect my rules, which are in place for good reasons.”
“Why did you kiss me before?”
“Because I couldn’t help myself.”
“But you can now?”
“I’m doing my best to resist.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re stronger than I am.”
“I doubt that,” he said, climbing off her and the bed. “I just have more practice.”
He put himself away and buttoned his breeches, closing the gate against further temptation. “Perhaps we should call it quits for today and start anew tomorrow.”
“Can I ask you something first?”
“Of course.”
“How’d you get into the lifestyle?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I don’t mind long stories and have nothing better to do.”
He had nothing better to do, either, and talking to her was a whole lot safer than fucking her. As he set about unfastening her restraints, he started the tale at what seemed the best place. “After I returned from Avalon, I met a woman.”
“Was her name Faith?”
The question jarred him. He hadn’t told her about Faith and the servants knew nothing about the relationship. That left only Tom to have let the cat out of the bag, but he couldn’t believe his friend would be so free with his secrets.
“How do you know her name?”
“Does it matter?”
“Aye, it matters a great deal.” He pulled off her blindfold and sought her gaze. “I’d like to know if I’ve misplaced my trust in someone.”
“You haven’t” She blinked against the sudden light. “I overheard you and your friend talking last night in the library.”
“I see,” he said, chewing his lip. “What else did you overhear?”
“Before I tell you, I want to hear about Faith and how she got you into BDSM.”
“She didn’t get me into it,” he said, freeing her wrist. “She was just the catalyst.”
“I don’t understand.”
He circled around the bed to her other wrist and began to unbuckle the cuff. “Faith is the reason I know the curse is real.”
“Because you loved her?”
“I did, but didn’t know it until too late.” He ran a hand down his face to hide the pain he knew showed in his expression. “Faith worked for the architect I hired to help me rebuild Glenarvon. I was bereaved about Clara and all I had suffered, and she was a great comfort to me. The attachment grew slowly…and as soon as I realized the depth of my feelings, I severed all contact with her.”
“Were you lovers?”
“No,” he said. “We were attracted to one another, but to act on those feelings without offering her marriage would have been dishonorable.”
“And you couldn’t offer her marriage because of the curse.”
“Exactly, even though a small part of me wanted to believe the curse was a trick. When Faith died, I knew it wasn’t. I received a telegram from her employer, informing me of her demise.” Taking a breath, he recited the contents, which he’d committed to memory. “Faith died this morning of a fading illness. Stop. Thought you’d want to know. Stop. Her last thought were of you.”
“How awful.”
“Aye, it was,” he said glumly as he freed her right arm, “and to prevent it from ever happening again, I restricted my female contact to prostitutes. Unfortunately, that plan didn’t prove as failsafe as I’d hoped.”
He moved to the foot of the bed to free her legs. As he worked, she said, “Did you fall in love with a fallen woman?”
“No, but I came close a few times,” he said. “My poor heart, you see, was so hungry for love, it tried to make a meal of every morsel, however scant. To protect those poor women, I switched to a special type of prostitute who chastised and punished her clients for money.”
Miss Darling was free now. He went into the other room, retrieved her dressing gown from the hook, and hurried back to her. After handing her the robe, he began to massage her legs to restore the circulation.
“You mean like a dominatrix?”
“Aye, lass,” he replied, continuing to rub her calves. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
She went quiet for a few minutes before she said, “I don’t understand what possessed you to go to someone like that.”
“I went to Mistress Chalmers because I knew I could never feel anything but disdain for a woman who abused me the way Queen Morgan had. As time progressed, I graduated to private clubs, and f
inally, to private roleplaying here in my own playroom.”
“All this so you wouldn’t fall in love?”
“Aye, as well as to punish myself.”
Her chestnut eyebrows drew together. “For what?”
“My failings, which have cost those I loved more than they’ve cost me. I should pay for that, should I not?”
She looked incredulous. “By being beaten?”
“I’m a knight.” He forced the words through his constricting throat. “Sworn to be loyal, honest, faithful, and noble; to protect the weak and honor God, my king, and my lady. I have broken every one of those vows. Does that not earn me a beating?”
“But…you only followed your heart.”
“Aye, that I did.” He shook his head. “And look where it led me.”
“It led you to me, Sir Leith. Just as mine led me to you.”
Chapter 10
A week had passed and Sir Leith still hadn’t brought up the subject of Brocaliande. Gwyn couldn’t help wondering why he was being so secretive. Was he still testing her courage? If so, their daily sessions in the dungeon playroom, should have earned her major points. Over dinner one night, he’d explained his methodology which, given everything she’d read, seemed correct. It also seemed to be working. With each passing day, she grew more comfortable with his touch--and more eager for greater intimacy. He, however, kept putting off kissing and intercourse, blaming his curse.
Was that the only reason? She couldn’t help wondering if there were deeper issues at play. He, too, was a survivor of sexual abuse, after all.
So far, he’d turned up the volume on the pain, but kept the pleasure low. He’d graduated from clothespins to clamps, had dripped hot wax on her stomach and nipples, and had used a variety of vibrators and anal toys on her. He had not, however, brought her to climax or allowed himself to come. She didn’t know the reason and was afraid to ask him.
At the moment, she was on the chaise, buck naked, with her arms bound over her head and her legs in a spreader suspended from the ceiling by a length of chain. He was standing over her in breeches, boots, and a shiny black horse-head mask.
In those skintight pants, his state of arousal was glaringly obvious. She was just as turned on. Not only because he looked so effing hot as a horseman, but also because he’d been teasing her with a riding crop for the past fifteen minutes. He’d also put clamps on her nipples and a hot-pink horse’s tail in her butt (while singing the theme song from My Little Pony, of all things).
In exchange for his promise to finally let her climax, she’d lifted her bans on whips and pony play, bridles notwithstanding.
“When are you going to let me come, Lord and Master?”
He tapped the crop against his palm as he came around to her side. Pressing the tongue of the crop against her lips, he said, “Patience is a virtue you seem to be without, Miss Darling. Now, open your mouth.”
Knowing better than to argue, she parted her lips. He pushed the crop into her mouth. It tasted pungently of leather and her juices.
“Suck it,” he commanded, his voice muffled by the mask.
She closed her lips around the flap and sucked until he yanked the crop out of her mouth. He then flicked the moistened tip against her nipple clamps, one after the other in quick succession. Snap, snap. She wailed as the two-edged sword of pleasure and pain pierced her body.
Moving into the “v” between her upthrusted legs, he snapped the tongue of the whip against her pubic mound before dragging it down her vestibule. He then pushed it into her vagina briefly before pressing the warm, moist tongue against her clitoris. The feeling was heavenly.
“Is this the spot, Miss Darling?”
“Yes, Lord and Master.”
He began tapping the crop against her sensitive bud in a rapid, even rhythm. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. With each sweet, stinging beat the pleasure built inside her like a musical crescendo. Every nerve ending came alive. Her muscles quivered and tensed involuntarily. She was a sizzling firecracker, ready to explode. Since he’d forbidden her to masturbate alone, she hadn’t gotten off in more than a week—a week of repeated teasing and arousal.
“Does that feel good, Miss Darling?”
“Yes, Lord and Master. It feels amazing.”
“Shall I let you come, Miss Darling?”
“Please do.”
The crop stung her belly. Ouch!
“Please, what?”
“Please do make me come.”
He snapped the crop against her inner thigh.
“That’s not what I meant.”
It took her a moment to realize what he did mean. “Please do, Lord and Master.”
“Close your eyes, Miss Darling.”
When her eyes were shut, he started again with the small, sweet taps against her clitoris. Tap, tap, tap. Again and again. She shut out everything but the pleasure, which steadily intensified. Tap, tap, tap. She was a wind-up toy, he the kid turning her key, winding her tighter and tighter until at last, her spring broke in a glorious explosion of ecstasy. Her body shook as pleasure blasted through every inch of her.
Yowza. The orgasms she gave herself had never been half that intense.
Just as she began to recover her senses, Sir Leith walked around to her side, took off the clamps, and set them aside. Removing the horse-head mask, he bent over her and blew bursts of hot breath on each of her highly sensitized nipples. Pain-laced pleasure ripped through her body--an incredible feeling.
He turned to look at her with a gleam in his eyes and a grin on his lips. “Did you enjoy yourself, Miss Darling?”
“Yes, Lord and Master.”
“Good. I think you might be ready for the main event.”
She blinked at him, her brain still lost in the fog of euphoria. “What do you mean, Lord and Master?”
“I mean sex.” His grin grew bigger and more devilish. “That’s right, Miss Darling. I’m finally going to fuck you.” He moved closer and, to her great surprise and delight, kissed her right on the mouth. “But not like this. I don’t want you bound like a sub your first time.”
Her heart fluttered violently. Oh, God. Was he actually going to make love to her? Her hopes climbed as he moved to the top of the chaise and unfastened her restraints. As she stretched and rubbed her arms, he circled around to her suspended feet and gently removed the tail from her anus before freeing her left ankle. After easing down her bloodless leg, he did the same to her right.
Pins and needles pricked her lower extremities as the circulation returned. She felt heavy-limbed and spent, but also excited. His methods had worked. Now, when she imagined having sex, she thought only of how desperately she wanted her dark knight.
He was a strange, tortured, contradictory man, but she loved and wanted him all the more for his imperfections. A perfect man wasn’t what she was in the market for. She was too screwed up to handle someone like that. What she needed was a man who was as flawed as she was, understood what she’d suffered, and was willing to work with her to overcome her issues. She never thought she’d find that sort of lover, but she had in Sir Leith.
“Do you want me, Gwyndolen?”
Her heart fluttered. He’d never called her by her first name before. “Yes.”
“Good. Because I want you, too.”
Bending over her, he kissed her tenderly, before scooping her into his arms. He carried her into the bedroom and set her down in the middle of the four-poster. Desire pooled in her pelvis as she watched him undress. When he pulled off his shirt, she stared at his naked torso, mouth agape. God, he was magnificent, and the nipple rings and Celtic tattoos only made him that much hotter. She bit her lower lip, which was trembling. She was nervous, but not afraid. Finally, she’d found the courage to give herself to someone. But not just anyone. Sir Leith MacQuill, the man of her destiny.
He watched her watching him, his eyes and smile bedazzling. “Do you like what you see?”
She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.
&nbs
p; There was a chair in the corner. He sat in it and pulled off his boots. The image of him in the kilt flashed through her mind. She remembered thinking his feet were as beautiful as the rest of him.
He stood, now clad in only his painted-on breeches. Her gaze dropped to his boomerang-shaped bulge. Her pulse quickened and her breathing grew shallow as she regarded his formidable tool.
Striding right up to the edge of the bed, he stood there looking down at her with eyes that were hooded and hungry. “You are so tempting, Gwyndolen. I want to savor every inch of you.”
The pool of desire in her pelvis turned to magma. She wasn’t just hot for him, she was volcanic.
“Come here,” he said.
Completely in his thrall, she got up and walked to him on her knees until their bodies were almost touching. He slid his hands into her hair, wrapped his fingers around her head, and pulled her mouth against his. The kiss was closed-mouthed, yet passionate. His lips were soft, supple, and deliciously sensuous. They also were persuasive. He coaxed her mouth open, deepening the kiss as he moved one hand down her body. The other remained in her hair, holding her in place as their tongues wrestled. The moving hand stopped when it reached her buttocks. Cupping one cheek, he pressed her pelvis against his, trapping his hard bulge between them.
She moaned and moved against him. She wanted him so badly, she could hardly stand it. Pushing a hand between them, she ran her fingers through his chest hair on her quest for his piercing. Finding her objective, she hooked a finger through the small ring and tugged.
With a groan that echoed all the way to her sex, he pressed his erection against her body. She moved her other hand around to his back. Her fingers glided down bare flesh on their way to the seat of his breeches. Arriving at their destination, they dug in to taut muscle.
He bent her over, pushing her toward the bed. Both his hands swept down to her thighs and pulled her legs out from under her. She fell back, landing softly. He remained standing, keeping his smoky amethyst gaze locked with hers. Movement called her focus to his hands. She watched, trembling with breathless anticipation, as he unbuttoned the panel on the front of his breeches. The flap fell and out popped his member like one of those gag snakes in a can.
