by Kit Tunstall
“Admiring your heart-shaped derriere, m'lady.”
She grunted as she worked her way out from under the bed before she rested on her legs. She handed him the pouch. “That necklace has been in my family for 100 years. The Earl who married my great-grandmother brought it back with him from one of his travels to the African continent.”
He lifted it from the velvet, whistling through his teeth. Even with the meager light provided by the small window and the lantern, the diamonds sparkled brilliantly. “Indeed, this will fetch a fine price.” He returned the necklace to the pouch and laid it on the trunk as Rebecca gained her feet. “But there is one prize still left to claim, and I think it shall be much more valuable.”
Rebecca bit back an instinctive protest as he pulled her into his arms, but couldn't fight back a groan as his head descended. “You stink.”
He pulled back and laughed. “I suppose I do.” His eyes fell on the tub of water, left from her bath last night. “That can be happily remedied.”
“The water is cold,” she said in a rush, not wanting to see so much of him. “You do not have time.”
“I have all day, m'lady.” He stripped off the gloves, an inch at a time, before he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the floor. His boots, belt, and sword quickly followed. He stopped at the trousers.
She unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief that cut off when he pulled her arms in front of her. “What are you doing?”
“Slowing you down.” He pulled off the dressing gown, leaving her only in the thin silk gown she had slept in. “Sit on the bed, Rebecca.”
She shook her head, not quite daring to vocalize a protest.
He ignored her and pushed her down. He tore a strip of linen from the hem of the dressing gown.
“Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much that cost?”
He laughed. “A true noble, through and through.” His tone didn't sound flattering.
She watched, biting back more recriminations, as he knelt on the floor. When he lifted her feet, she kicked out at him, guessing what he planned. “No.”
He held her steady as he wound the strip around her ankles, binding her feet together. He tore another strip from the gown, using his teeth when it refused to tear completely. “Your hands, Rebecca.”
“Absolutely not.” She flailed her arms as he tried to capture them, succeeding in raking her nails down his chest and leaving red marks, but little else. Soon, her hands were bound in front of her. “You are a monster.”
“High praise.” His mouth twisted. “The gown must go.”
She laughed, a triumphant sound. “You cannot take it off now that you have me tied up.”
He shrugged. “You shall live with it being wet.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Come, m'lady. I find myself in need of an eager attendant.”
She gasped in protest as he lifted her to her feet, half-dragging her across the room to the tub. He pushed her into the wooden chair Nora had used last night before he removed his last stitch of clothes.
Heat swept up her cheeks as she got an eyeful of his cock before averting her eyes. She hadn't expected it to be so large. She prayed the knowledge her sister had given her about pairings between a man and woman had been a jest. There was simply no way it could possibly be true. It was a physical impossibility. She dared to turn back to him when she heard water splash in the tub.
“Certainly a lady's luxury.” He shifted his large frame in the shallow tub. “Bathe me.”
“You are not a child. Do it yourself.”
“It is my wish that you wash me, Rebecca.”
“My hands are bound.”
“You shall manage.”
She leaned forward, lifting the still-damp sponge. She threw it at him, and it bounced against his chin. “I am not your slave.”
An unpleasant grin curved across his face. “You are today, m'lady. Unless you want to forget our bargain?”
She scowled at him as she hobbled from the chair to the tub. Rebecca knelt on her knees, awkwardly holding the sponge in her bound hands. She dipped it into the freezing water, keeping her eyes deliberately averted upwards. She ran it across his chest before she moved to his back. He watched her every movement with intensity.
He handed her the rough cake of soap, and Rebecca ran it across his skin, unable to suppress a tiny smile as he grimaced at the rough texture. For herself, she would have applied it to the sponge first, but not for him. She washed down to his stomach before she moved the bar of soap to his back. He leaned forward slightly to give her better access. When she had finished, Rebecca ran the sponge across his back and his chest. She gasped when he grabbed her wrists.
“You are not finished, Rebecca.”
“You can wash your own hair.”
He gave her a sardonic look. “There is more to wash.”
Heat washed across her cheeks as he forced her hands down between his legs. She gasped as her fingers slid against his cock. “Please, I do not want to.”
“I do not care.” He continued to force her hands to move across his stomach, thighs, and cock.
Just when Rebecca thought she might faint or die from embarrassment, he released his hold on her wrists. She dropped the soap as if it had scalded her and stumbled away from him. Unbalanced by her bound feet, she toppled onto the wood floor, landing hard on her buttocks. Tears of humiliation and discomfort swam in her eyes, but she forced them back.
“Get on the bed and wait for me.” He took no time to ask after her as he rose from the water.
Rebecca glared at him as she inched her way to the bed. She grasped the frame, pulled herself up, and dropped on the bed. When she managed to roll around, the sight of his buttocks pointing in the air as he bent over the tub, washing his short, blond hair, confronted her.
Her mouth dropped open as he knelt closer to the tub, causing the muscles in his buttocks and thighs to bunch. The breath caught in her throat as he flexed. She barely tore her gaze from him in time to avoid his stare as he turned back to her. He used her bath sheet and walked to the bed.
“Now, to remove that bothersome gown.”
She tried to kick him, but her bound feet wouldn't cooperate. Rebecca screamed in outrage as he tried ripping the gown from her body. The modiste's stitches held, much to her delight and his annoyance.
Her struggles immediately ceased when he reached for the dagger she had left on the floor. Her eyes widened as he brought the blade to the bodice of the gown. She held her breath as he made one clean slice without the blade touching her skin.
“At last,” he muttered, and ripped the silk all the way down. He left the gown draped across her arms and bunched under her back, not bothering to remove it since it no longer impeded his access.
Rebecca whimpered as his calloused palm cupped her breast. Never had she been more humiliated or terrified. Never had she been so angry.
“Lovely.” Christoph tweaked the nipple. “Have you been a good girl as society demands, Rebecca? Are mine the first hands to touch such perfection?”
She remained stubbornly silent, refusing to look at him or acknowledge his words. Only the heat in her face betrayed any reaction. She refused to give him the satisfaction.
He sighed and tugged harder.
Rebecca didn't blink, although it hurt.
“You are most pig-headed.” He pinched the nipple harder still.
Rebecca tried to deny the growing pain in her breast as he tightened his grip. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her lips trembled. Still the pressure grew. Finally, a gasp tore itself from her throat as the pain passed bearable. Even after he released his hold, it continued to throb. She glared up at him.
“That is better.”
“Why? Do you enjoy hurting women?”
He shook his head. “I do not like bringing you pain, but I shall not spend the afternoon with a mannequin. I will settle for whatever kind of reaction I can elicit.” He smoothed his hand down her stomach. “This can be a day o
f pleasure or pain. It is your decision, m'lady.”
She flinched away from his touch. “I could never find pleasure at the hands of someone like you.”
His mouth tightened, but he shrugged. “That sounds like a challenge, m'lady.”
Rebecca regarded him with ill-disguised loathing, but held her tongue.
A strange smile worked its way across his face. “I have never been one to resist a challenge.”
A shiver passed through her. Was it dread or something else? She tensed as he settled himself on the bed beside her. “Will you untie me now?”
His brow furrowed. “No, not yet.”
She squirmed away from his fingers as they brushed against her hips. She suddenly noticed how cold the air in the room was against her bare flesh. She shivered again, this time more noticeably.
Christoph's hand paused at her thigh. “Do you like that, m'lady?”
Rebecca shook her head. “I am cold.”
He shrugged. “You will not be for long.”
Her green eyes glowed almost black with anger as he shifted her under him. Christoph straddled her, balancing his weight across her thighs, as he moved her arms over her head and held onto her wrists. Rebecca tried to buck him off. “Get off me, you great oaf.”
He laughed. “Relax, m'lady.” He leaned forward, and the murky light seeping in through the window highlighted the sharp angle of his cheekbones.
As he neared her face, Rebecca's body clenched. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you.”
She turned her head as his lips descended, and she gasped as he turned her head back. His mouth settled firmly over hers, and his lips moved gently. Rebecca clenched her hands together as much as the binding allowed, refusing to betray any reaction to his light touch.
She squeezed her eyes closed when he used his hand to apply pressure to the hollows of her cheeks, forcing open her mouth. As his tongue swept into her mouth, she resisted the urge to bite down, knowing he would perversely be pleased by proof of a reaction.
She forced herself to remain stiff and distant during the onslaught, although her belly quivered. It must be last night's stew. His mouth continued to move on hers for perhaps another minute before he lifted his head. Rebecca bit back a triumphant smile, forcing her expression to remain bland as she stared up at him.
He laughed. “You are most stubborn, but I shall crack that frigid exterior.”
She sniffed, raked her eyes across his face, and yawned. She bit back the urge to giggle as giddiness swept through her. What in the world? The sensation felt uncomfortably like pleasure. Surely not, for nothing about this encounter was pleasant.
His smile didn't waver as he lowered his head again.
Rebecca prepared herself to withstand another kiss, but barely bit back a gasp as his mouth settled on her nipple instead. It was the same one he had so fiercely pinched, and it still throbbed with every beat of her heart.
To her surprise, he barely touched the peak with the tip of his tongue. She anticipated more pain, but instead, the quivering in her stomach turned into a tingle that seemed to flow directly into her breast and focus on the small bud. She heard him chuckle, and she renewed her determination not to give in.
She dug the nails of her left hand into the side of her right hand as he made sweeping motions with his tongue across the nipple. She bit down on her lip as he released her wrists and brushed his hand across her other breast. He squeezed gently, and the tingling in her stomach transferred to that breast too. Her breathing grew ragged, and she struggled to suppress any harsh exhalations.
Even when his laving turned to gentle sucking, she forced her body to remain rigid. His breath blazed a warm trail across the valley of her breasts as he switched his attention to the neglected bud. Unlike the other, there was no pain or throbbing in that breast. Only extreme sensitivity, she discovered, as his mouth fastened hungrily on the globe. When he bit her, her legs twitched, but she quickly schooled her reaction.
He lifted his head. “Perhaps more pain will elicit a response?”
Rebecca's body clenched with dread, but she refused to plead for his mercy. She kept her expression stony as he lowered his mouth once more.
As his teeth fastened on her nipple, she tried to prepare herself. He bit more forcefully than before, but it didn't hurt. In fact, it felt so good that she could barely bite back a moan. Her teeth sank through the soft flesh of her lip, and the taste of copper filled her mouth. To her surprise, he withdrew again.
“Or perhaps different stimuli?” He studied her for a moment, before brushing his thumb across her lower lip. He held it up for her to see the crimson smudge. “M'lady is not as unaffected as she pretends.”
Once again, Rebecca denied him the satisfaction of an answer. She tensed as he moved off her thighs and settled farther down the bed. She resisted by clenching them together when he put his hand between her thighs.
He seemed unbothered by her resistance. Christoph wedged his knee between her calves, straining the bonds on her feet and opening her thighs a couple of inches.
She stiffened as his hand slid up to the juncture of her thighs. Rebecca drew in a deep breath as his fingers caressed her most intimate place. One burrowed through the tangle of curls to trace the outline of her lips. A small gasp broke free, and she knew she had lost.
She waited for him to withdraw, but he continued to stroke her. Incensed, she lifted her head to find him intently watching his hand's activities and paying no mind to her. Had he missed her sound of surrender?
Apparently so. She frowned as he withdrew his hand before he leaned forward. Her eyes widened, as his face got closer to her pussy. “No.”
He grinned. “The lady speaks.”
“You have won. Do what you came to do so I can get you off my ship.”
He paid no attention to her demands. Rather, he remained focused on his goals.
She cried out in shock and protest when she felt his tongue invade her folds. “You are indecent. You must stop this at once.”
He lifted his head. “Do not make me gag you too, Rebecca.”
“But—”
“Shhh.” He returned to his ministrations.
Rebecca tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go. Her feet were bound, and his hand was wedged between her thighs, ensuring she couldn't pull them apart or squeeze them together. She attempted to grab a handful of his hair, but he used his other hand to anchor her to the bed. He held it against her stomach as she wriggled against him.
Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized the wriggling intensified the tingling and burning between her thighs. She froze, but still could not escape his questing appendage. All her lack of movement did was dull the sensation. She resumed struggling, desperate to stop his unholy act.
Liquid heat seemed to invade her entire body, and she felt her pussy growing slippery under his mouth. She panicked, unsure what was happening, but knowing it must be stopped before—well, before something worse happened. “You cannot do this.”
In response, his hand moved from between her thighs to her pussy. He parted the folds and darted his tongue inside.
A moan ripped from Rebecca, and even she couldn't deny that it held more a note of pleasure than protest. “Please…” She trailed off, unsure what she was asking for.
His tongue returned to the tiny bud, stroking it, and stoking a fire deep in her stomach. Rebecca squirmed, thrusting her hips upward. She was no longer trying to escape, but actively participating.
As he continued to lick her clit, his finger slid into her entrance. She wanted to protest, but couldn't find her voice. Even the quick burning and stretching sensation didn't decrease her ardor. She thrust more urgently against him, feeling his finger slide more deeply inside her. The pain intensified, as did the pleasure. He flicked his tongue across her clit in a series of short, quick strokes as he slid his finger in and out of her.
Rebecca's eyes closed, and her entire body began to shake. It felt like an explosion
was gaining momentum in her loins, and she held her breath for a long moment. When it escaped from her with a harsh sob, the explosion ignited, dragging heavily on her stomach, sex, and thighs.
She tensed and, as quickly, went boneless, as wave after wave of exquisite pleasure flooded through her. Tears leaked from her eyes. Tiny convulsions shook her body. When she finally found her voice, it emerged as a husky whisper. “What did you do to me?”
He slid up her body, cupping her face in his hands. “The French call it le petit mort.”
Rebecca frowned at him. “I speak fluent French, but have never heard such a term.”
Christoph grinned. “I should not think so, being raised in polite society. It translates to the little death.”
Her frown deepened. “That is a rather strange expression, is it not?”
He shrugged. “Did you not feel as though you were hanging by a thread between this life and the next for a moment there? Every breath felt like your last, did it not?”
She nodded, eyeing him uncertainly. “Is it a practice for death?”
He laughed. “Nay, it is to make procreation more enjoyable, m'lady.” One side of his mouth twitched. “Or, in our situation, just recreation, since we have no plans to produce offspring.”
Her eyes widened with panic. “This leads to babies?”
He blinked at her, looking astonished. “Did your mother tell you anything about what happens between a man and woman?”
She shook her head. “My sister told me a fanciful tale, but mentioned nothing about babies.” Her stomach churned with nausea. “Will I have a child now?” What would she do with a child and no husband? Society would revile her.
He sighed. “There is more involved in the process, which we will get to, but you shall not have a child.”
“How do you know?”
“A man can do certain things to prevent it.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Such as?”
He shook his head. “Trust me, Rebecca.”
It was her turn to sigh. “Very well. What else is involved?”
“It will be easier to show you than tell you.”
She tried to pretend the thought of another little death didn't send a dart of anticipation throughout her body. “May I be free now?”