by james
“Bridgett,” he whispered, and her eyes fluttered in response. Gently, he shook her shoulder, but she only moaned and rolled onto her back. “Good God, woman, you could sleep through a war.”
She frowned in her sleep, grunting some unintelligible response. Vincent grinned, his lust temporarily replaced with amusement.
Crossing to the table, he chose a cup from the tray of food, then used it to scoop some warm water from the tub.
“Bridgett,” he whispered, standing over her once again. “It’s time to wake up.”
He lifted the cup and tilted it slightly. A few drops of water dribbled over the rim, splattering her neck and breasts.
* * * * *
“What? Who?” Bridgett sputtered and brushed at her face, her eyes flying open. She sat up and fixed him with an angry glare. “You . . .you imbecile! What on earth were you thinking?”
“I was thinking you sleep like the dead,” Vincent told her, amusement threading his voice. “The castle could fall around your ears and you’d merely yawn and roll over.”
Her chin notched up. “I was tired.”
“Hmm… Too much…stimulation last evening, my dear?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze dropping toward his midsection, then flying back to meet his eyes. “Apparently,” she muttered, “I’m not the only one who’s been…stimulated.”
Vincent raised a brow. “Touché. Would you like to bathe?”
Glad for the distraction, Bridgett slipped from the bed. Belatedly, she remembered her injured knee, and her leg crumpled beneath her weight. She fell forward, but the Count caught her easily, scooping her into his arms.
“Put me down, you big oaf.” She struggled half-heartedly in his embrace, her mind registering the smoothness of his skin, the heat emanating from his body as he held her close.
He crossed to the tub. “Hold still, you silly woman, before I drop you in.”
He set her carefully on her feet. “Take my hand to steady yourself while you undress,” he ordered.
She limped back, eyeing him warily. “I think I can manage, thank you.”
He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Have it your way. But you have ten seconds to get in that tub before I put you in, clothed or no.”
Bridgett stifled the angry retort that rose to her lips and turned her back, facing away from his unnerving presence. Balancing with one hand on the back of a nearby chair, she managed to pull her tattered gown over her head. She tossed it aside unceremoniously then, without looking in the Count’s direction, carefully slipped into the tub.
She sank into the warm depths, closing her eyes at the pure pleasure of it.
“Move forward.”
Bridgett ignored him, hoping he’d take the hint and leave her in peace to enjoy her bath. Silence reigned for several moments, and she sighed, the tension draining from her tired limbs.
Warm lips brushed her own, a feather-like touch, whisper soft. The kiss soothed more than it aroused, leaving a contented peacefulness in its wake. She lay back in the bath, resting her head against the rim. For a moment, she imagined herself in another room, in another time and place. The lady of the castle, basking beneath the appreciative attention of an adoring husband.
“You look positively ravishing”. His voice came close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. Little hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, and a prickle of heat raced along her arms.
He nibbled on her earlobe and she shivered, shifting in the bath as little shocks of pleasure assaulted her senses.
She kept her eyes closed, concentrating her entire being on the way her body reacted to his touch. She gave herself over, allowing her fear and anger to slip away beneath the seductive lure of fantasy. Of the carnal desires that blossomed into an ache in the pit of her stomach.
His lips continued their torturous journey, nipping at a sensitive spot on her shoulder, then drifting lower, until he captured one of her nipples between his teeth. Bridgett sucked in her breath, her pulse hammering in her ears. Reaching out, she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding his head to her breast. She arched her back, and he slipped his arm beneath her. In one swift movement he managed to lift her, holding her against his chest as he climbed into the tub.
Bridgett blinked, suddenly finding herself sprawled on his lap, staring into his smoldering eyes.
I love you. The thought came in an instant, so loud and clear she wondered if she’d spoken the words aloud. And quick on its heels came a pain so great, so overwhelming, she placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Eyes filling with tears, she averted her gaze, gasping for breath as her chest tightened with despair. How could she love a man who did not, could not, love her in return?
“What is it, bella mia?” The Count took her chin in his hand and turned her face, his gaze filled with concern. “Why do you cry? Is your knee causing you pain?”
Bridgett took a deep breath, gathering her fractured emotions, and swiped at her eyes. “’Tis a bit uncomfortable, my lord, sitting atop you like this.”
In answer, he shifted her weight, spreading his long legs inasmuch as the tub would allow.
“Turn around,” he instructed.
She took his hand and twisted around, until she sat chest-deep in the water between his thighs.
Holding herself stiff, she tried not to think about the way he pressed, long and hard, against her backside.
Strong hands fell on her shoulders, gently kneading her knotted muscles. He used his thumbs, applying swirling pressure at the base of her neck. Bit by bit, she relaxed beneath his skillful touch, until she drifted back to snuggle against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, her head nestled beneath his chin.
“I wish . . ..” he said, and his tone held a rare note of wistfulness.
Bridgett held her breath and waited, but the silence stretched like an ocean between them. She tipped her head back, taking in his far away expression. “Yes, milord? What do you wish?”
He blinked and glanced down, his lips curving in a tiny smile. Lifting his hand, he brushed his finger down her cheek. “Never mind, mi amore, it matters not.”
Bridgett lowered her gaze, disappointment squeezing her heart. For a moment, she had thought – had hoped . . .. She gave herself a mental shake, berating herself for a fool. No more fantasies, no more illusions.
“The water grows cool,” he said, rising to his feet.
Bridgett shivered as cold air met her exposed back. She looked up, staring at the hand he held out to assist her.
“Come, cara mia,” he urged her, his voice husky and deep.
She took his hand and he lifted her swiftly to her feet, pulling her tight against his chest.
“I wish . . ..” His voice caught and he cleared his throat. “I wish to take you to bed.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Ah, bella mia, you’re trembling.” He ran his fingertips down her side, delighting in the softness of her skin. He raised his gaze to her face, taking in her wide-eyed stare and slightly parted lips. “Is it fear that makes you quiver, mi amore, or desire?”
Her tongue darted out, sliding across her full upper lip, but she remained mute, staring into his eyes.
“How does it feel to be completely at another’s mercy, unable to resist?”
As if in response to his question, she moved her outstretched arms, the chains rattling as they swayed back and forth.
He smiled. “Testing their strength? I assure you, they’ll hold fast.”
He watched the expression on her face, the sparkle of anger warring with desire in the depths of her eyes.
“I could do anything to you,” he continued, “anything at all. I could lick my way down the entire length of your body. Would you like that, bella mia? Would you like to feel my tongue on your neck, your breasts, your thighs?”
A deep flush rose in her cheeks and she turned her head, biting her lower lip. Vincent laughed, delighting
in her response. Despite her pleas to the contrary, her passion ran deep. He touched his cheek where she’d left her mark, clawing at him when she’d realized he meant to shackle her to the bed. Anger. Passion. Pleasure. Fear. They all came into play here in this room. They always had.
He rose to his knees, leaning over to rain kisses down her neck, across her breasts. He captured her nipple in his mouth, sucking it deeply, and she groaned. The chains above their heads clattered and swayed.
Carefully, he teased her, using his mouth and hands, working his way down across the smooth expanse of her stomach to the warm, lightly scented space between her legs. Vincent breathed deep, drawing in the smell of her excitement, lapping languidly at the soft flesh of her inner thighs. More intoxicating than the rarest of perfumes. He nibbled his way upward, seeking the source of her essence, his head spinning as vicious memories clouded his brain, as past and present converged. He ran his tongue up and down her slit, swirling it across her clitoris. As if from across a great expanse, he heard her moan, her whispered pleas of excitement, felt her strain upward to meet his seeking mouth. Plunging his tongue into her liquid depths, he feasted upon her body like a man half-starved. She bucked her hips and he slipped his hands beneath her ass to hold her close, working her into a frenzy.
“Please!” She strained against him. “I can’t . . . Oh, God . . . I want.”
Her cries rose into a crescendo, shocking him into awareness and he drew back. His entire body trembling, he knelt between her parted thighs, struggling to regain his control. He glanced away, marshalling his emotions.
“Milord?”
Her husky voice sent a chill up his spine. Running a shaky hand through his hair, he drew a shuddering breath and met her gaze.
“I can’t,” he told her, watching the warmth fade from her eyes at his words. For a brief moment, a part of him wished things were different, wished he were different. That he could give her what she wanted, anything to bring the soft, passionate glow back to her eyes. He shook his head, chasing those thoughts away. He could not allow her, allow any woman, such power.
“You can’t? Disbelief and anger warred in her tone. “You can’t, or you won’t?”
Vincent bent forward, bracing himself with his hands on either side of her luscious body. God, she was beautiful. Her hair spread out across the pillows like a halo of gold, framing her near perfect face. He wanted her. Needed her. Mindlessly.
“Ah, bella mia,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
He slid forward, bringing his lower body up until he straddled her. The sight of her, shackled beneath him, even the anger blazing in her eyes, drove him mad.
Vincent rubbed his aching erection across the silky expanse of her stomach. “God, you’re so hot.”
Inching forward, he took her breasts in his hands and brought them together, sliding his cock between them. Catching her gaze, he stared into her eyes as he moved slowly, back and forth.
He gently pinched her nipples and she bit her lip, a low moan rumbling in her chest. Her pupils were dilated, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps.
Moving upward, he placed his knees on either side of her neck. Taking his hard shaft in his hands, he brushed it against her lips. “Open for me,” he whispered, exerting the slightest pressure.
She moaned, deep in her throat, but complied. Placing his hands on the headboard, he eased forward, sliding into the moist heat. He closed his eyes, his mind a blank to everything but the exquisite pleasure that spiraled through his groin. Slowly, carefully, he pressed deeper, until the tip of his cock touched the back of her throat and she squirmed beneath him. Sweat peppered his brow as he fought for control, unwilling to hurt her, but driven by a need so fierce it could not be denied.
“Tip your head back,” he managed to instruct her through the haze of lust clouding his brain. He reached between them, raising her chin, then pushed forward. Another inch, and he’d buried himself fully.
Slowly, he withdrew, then slid back, setting up a gentle rhythm, sinking deeper with each inward thrust. Beneath him, Bridgett arched her back, pressing her breasts against his ass.
“Ah, God,” he ground out, gripping the headboard until his fingers ached. “That’s it, bella mia, take me deep.”
She moaned, and his cock vibrated with the sound. His control slipped and he increased the pace of his thrusts, gasping when she met his movements by tightening her lips against his shaft. Each time he withdrew, she ran her tongue up its length. Vincent tipped his head back, eyes screwed shut, and gave himself up to his need. His muscles twitched and grew taught, the tension building, frightening in its intensity.
“Oh, God. Oh, yes.” He pistoned his hips, once, twice, his body jerking, blood rushing to his head. For a moment, his vision grew black, then bright lights exploded like stars behind his eyelids. The force of his orgasm shook him to the core and he cried out, spilling his seed in one final thrust.
* * * * *
Bridgett lay motionless, body tingling, completely attuned to the Count’s ragged breathing. Tentatively, she ran her tongue across the tip of his softening member. He jerked, then pressed deeper, and she closed her eyes, sighing against him. He held perfectly still, his breath coming in harsh gasps. An ache built in the back of her neck and she shifted, seeking a more comfortable position.
“Don’t move,” he whispered. “God, please don’t move.”
She stilled, waiting for him to recover. When he pulled away, she turned her head into the pillow. Hot tears scalded her cheeks and she bit back a sob.
“Why do you cry?” He turned her face, but she jerked away from his grasp.
“Leave me alone,” she whispered, her voice catching, “just go away and leave me alone.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he told her, stroking the underside of her arm. “I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
Against her will, her body responded and she shifted restlessly beneath his touch.
“Even now, in your anger, you still want to know what awaits you on the other side,” he said, propping himself up on one arm, his steady gaze never leaving her face.
He cupped her breast, brushing her taut nipple with the pad of his thumb. Bridgett caught her breath as fiery heat spread through her limbs.
He abruptly moved away. Slipping from the bed, he padded across the room. Through half-closed eyes, she watched him, captivated by the rippling muscles in his buttocks and legs.
He opened the armoire and, reaching in, withdrew one of the smooth wooden phalluses.
As he approached the bed, she tugged at her chains. “You’re not,” she began, and her voice cracked, “you can’t mean to . . .”
He flashed a grin, holding the artificial penis up for her inspection. “Should I choose a larger one?”
Bridgett eyed him warily, shifting her lower body as far away as possible as he joined her on the bed.
“If you think I’ll lie here and allow you to use that thing on me, you’ve got another thing coming,” she told him.
He smiled, dropping to lie beside her. Propping his head on his hand, he lightly stroked her thigh with the tip of the phallus.
Bridgett shivered as the cold, impersonal object slid along her skin. Judging his earnest intent, her anger bubbled back to the surface. How dare he! He couldn’t bring himself to pleasure her with his body; did he honestly believe she’d accept such a poor substitution?
Jerking her leg away, she tugged at the chains binding her wrist.
“Get away from me,” she said, “and take your disgusting toy with you.”
He sat up, staring at her in silence for a moment, then reached above them to unhook her wrists. Free of her shackles, she rolled off the bed and limped across the room. Grabbing a gown, she slipped it over her head, her anger growing as she realized the gossamer dress did little to cover her nakedness. She whirled to face him.
He lay on the bed, his arrogant confidence evident in his smile. The sight of his magnificent body sent a w
ave of heat rushing through her limbs, but she pushed it back, concentrating on her anger.
“You’ve humiliated me, used me, for the last time,” she told him, hands on hips.
He sighed and sat up, propping himself against the headboard, arms folded across his chest. “We’ve been over this before.”
“Only because you don’t listen,” she told him,
fighting for control. Somehow, she had to make him see
reason. They couldn’t go on this way. “You’re so used to controlling everything and everyone around you, but you can’t control me.”
“I own you.”
Bridgett opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. What was the use? She whirled around, refusing to let him see her frustration. Talking to him was like talking to a door. He remained hard, unyielding. And each time they came together, her anger and resentment notched higher. She needed to end the endless torture of their relationship, before he drove her mad.
“Milord, I would have you release me,” she said, holding herself stiff with resolve, “but I can not force you to comply with my wishes.”
She turned, facing him, and rushed on before he had a chance to respond. “However, know this. You will not touch me again.”
He rolled off the bed and stalked toward her, like a huge cat approaching its prey. She watched him warily, ready to bolt should he get too close, but he stopped a few steps away. His eyes flashed, but she did not break his gaze.
“And how will you stop me, cara mia?”
“You said you would not force me,” she answered, hiding her shaking hands in the folds of her gown. “I assume you are a man of your word.”
He looked ready to speak, but then a smile slowly split his features and he nodded. He turned away, reaching to gather his clothes from where he’d dropped them near the tub. Bridgett watched him dress, breathing a sigh of relief that he had chosen not to argue, but suspicious of his motives. Surely she hadn’t won so easily.