“Good,” he said, very pleased she’d opted for the truth. Truth had to match trust. “Now, I plan to enjoy mine.”
She watched him as he walked to the foot of the bed, then felt beneath the edge of the comforter before drawing out a long, soft piece of black silk cord. He tugged it lightly, so she could plainly see it was tied to the post of the bed.
“You said tying me up was cheating,” she choked out, her voice stuttering a bit.
He also noticed she pressed her thighs together, and he didn’t think it was a protective response. Her nipples were so hard…he could only imagine what awaited him between her thighs.
“And yet, you cheated on your first opportunity,” he told her.
Her cheeks grew pink, but she said nothing.
“So, consider this a little assistance.” He looped the cord around one of her ankles, then gently pulled it just snug enough so that her ankle slid halfway across the bed. He moved to the other post. “To keep you on the straight and narrow.”
“I wasn’t planning to resist,” she said, the words sounding all but torn from her as he reached for her other ankle.
“Good intentions. Now you won’t have to worry whether you can or not.” He glanced at her, grinning. “For now, anyway.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”
He paused. “Not if you’re willing to allow me this freedom. It’s still up to you. Are you worried about giving me this kind of complete control?”
She held his gaze for a very long time.
He slipped another soft cord free and tapped it against his palm. “What do you think I’m going to do to you, Samantha?” he asked softly.
She said nothing, but her body shifted, her hips moved slightly, belying what this was really doing to her.
He looped it around her other ankle, pleased when she didn’t yank it away. “If you know you can’t resist, then you can just give yourself over to it. To me.”
He strode to the head of the bed, reached for her wrist, his expression all but daring her to pull it away. She didn’t. But neither did she offer it to him. Once again, he’d exposed a weakness. And a need.
“So,” she said, jaw clenched, but against what he wasn’t entirely sure. She wasn’t upset so much as…wound tight. He couldn’t wait for the whiplash that would occur when she let go. “You’re doing me a favor, are you? Making this easier?”
He took her wrist gently, pulled it over her head, secured her to the headboard. “You can think of it that way.” He kneeled on the bed, reached across her to untangle the other rope. He paused, his face inches above hers. “It’s all up to you either way. Willing. I want you willing to give yourself to me. Even like this.” He brushed his lips across hers, making her moan, making him swallow one of his own. Careful, careful. “But only this first time. Next time you won’t think twice. You’ll grip that headboard and hold on until I tell you to let go because you’ll want to. You won’t even think about wanting anything else.”
She quivered. Muscles twitching. And didn’t even try to move her hand as he pushed it closer to the bedpost.
“Or I can stop this right now,” he said, levering himself up again. “I could untie you. Would you rather hold on to the cords instead…test yourself?”
Her eyes were like twin flames, lasering him.
He bent down again, lasering his gaze right back at her. “Or would you rather me show you first? Show you what it can be like to let go. Having already given up control to me.” He moved closer still, until his mouth was almost brushing hers. “Just how much do you trust me?”
CHAPTER TEN
SHE HADN’T BEEN prepared for this sudden turn in events. Hell, who was she kidding? She hadn’t been prepared for any of this. Which was precisely why he was doing it.
Part of her wanted to make him untie her. Prove to herself and him that she could do as he asked.
But there was an undeniable thrill coursing through her at the very idea of giving up all control to him now. Giving herself to him, all of her trust, all at once.
“What is it going to be, Samantha?” he asked, then skated his lips across hers, before dropping down and shocking her by lightly nipping her chin.
She moaned, her hips bucked. But she couldn’t make herself say the words, giving him the ultimate control over her.
Then he abruptly got off the bed. And the words were wrenched from her before she could chicken out and take them back.
“Tie me.”
Marsh’s dark eyes gleamed in satisfaction as he looped the last cord over her wrist, and pulled it gently away from the side of her head. There was no missing how his body was responding to this, which only served to jack her up even higher. There was enough slack in the satin ropes to allow her to move and she squirmed in need as he walked to the foot of the bed. He’d robbed her of every pretense. And there was no denying she was aching for whatever was to happen to her next.
Still, she watched him warily as he moved the footstool in front of him, then stepped up on it. Now he was in full view from midthigh up over the high footboard of the bed. His breeches hung open, his shirt hung loose. He looked like some kind of decadent pirate. Which left her playing the role of some dockside wench he’d dragged on board ship to keep at his very personal beck and call.
Instead of making her laugh, the very image made her moan a little, and squirm in her soft restraints. She didn’t miss the jerk and twitch at the front of his breeches as he watched her struggle. Rather than put her off, the overt dominance of it only served to inflame her more. The old Samantha would have worked his reaction to her advantage. She would have done whatever it took to get him to shove her over the merciless edge he’d kept her on now for what felt like hours.
The new Samantha held her tongue. And waited. Partly because she had no real advantage this time. Anything she did, or tried to do, would only delay the conclusion she so badly wanted to reach. But mostly she fought to keep still because she’d finally come to understand—in a way only Marsh could have known she’d understand—that it would be better, and that they’d both enjoy it more, if she did.
She hid a private smile. Would wonders never cease?
She expected him to strip, and waited with almost greedy anticipation for the show. Instead he surprised her yet again. She watched him reach down and lift up a small glass bottle. Her curiosity was immediately piqued. As was her anxiety over once again confronting the unknown. Acknowledging that she trusted him didn’t stop her from trembling as he drew closer. Only Marsh knew what the plan was. The not knowing was killing her and he knew it. But she bit the inside of her lip to keep from asking him what he was going to do to her. Because asking would only delay her finding out.
And God help her, she wanted to find out. Badly.
The quivering began in her legs, spreading to her midsection, then to her arms and her hands, which clenched in their soft bindings as he slid a long glass applicator from the bottle. Something thick and clear dripped off the end.
He moved onto the bed, the mattress so thick and heavy it barely dipped beneath his weight. He moved between her widespread legs, still not looking at what he’d so neatly caused her to display. She was grateful for that, not sure she could withstand the sensations that his hot, lethal gaze would give her, just with a glance.
Holding her gaze, he took the glass wand and dipped the bulbous tip into her navel. She gasped. It was warm, almost hot. Heat radiated from that point outward. He swirled it a little, making her twitch. Then he dipped it back in the small, potlike vial, pulled it out again.
“What is that?” she choked out, as he lifted the dripping wand back out, letting the clear oil drizzle up her midsection.
“Almond oil, ginger. A few other things.” He bent over her and she watched, trembling harder now as he waved the wand closer to her breasts. “Does it tingle?” he asked, his voice almost as heated as the oil.
She managed a nod, then arched almost violently as he rolled the glass tip around one nip
ple. Her gasp was harsh, deep, then repeated when he dipped the wand directly on the tip of her other nipple. “Ahh,” she breathed. The ache between her legs grew to untenable proportions, so much so she was quite willing to beg him to put an end to this and take her. Now. Repeatedly.
But her gaze was riveted on that damn glass wand as he dipped it once again, then trailed it beneath both breasts, then along her midsection. He traveled slowly around her navel, and she let her head drop back, drawing in a deep breath as he moved lower. She was panting by the time he tickled the edges of the curls so tightly thatched between her legs.
He withdrew the tip. She held her breath. Waiting. Waiting for him to dip it back in the vial, then dip it—finally, blessedly—into her. The moment spun out so long, her body grew so taut with anticipation, she thought she’d scream.
“Watch me,” he said on a heated whisper.
She thrashed her head, bucked her hips.
He shifted his weight off her, and she stilled instantly, not wanting to do anything that would make him stop.
“Watch,” he instructed her again.
She lifted her head, snared immediately in his gaze. He held the wand just over her, each drip falling into her curls, soaking through until she could feel the warmth on her skin, running downward. She twitched, moved a little, wanting, needing to do anything to get that trickle of heat to run right where she so badly—
“Still,” he commanded. “Hold yourself perfectly still. And watch me.”
She was riveted now. She couldn’t control him—a reality that was becoming increasingly intoxicating to her—but she could control herself.
Still, it took every last ounce of it she had not to twitch with need as he very methodically slid the wand into the bottle. He dipped once, then twice, until a moan was torn from her. Just the very motion, the same motion she so badly needed herself, was enough to wrench her up another notch.
He tore his gaze from hers, apparently satisfied now that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—look away. He moved the rounded glass tip closer…then closer still. Her gasp caught in her throat as one hot bead of oil dropped, rolled between lips so sensitized now that the mere way his breath stirred the air across her skin down there was almost unbearably pleasurable. Another drop…and then another. He glanced up at her, the tension spiked as her skin grew more heated as more oil dripped and glided across her oh-so-sensitive skin. Then finally he lowered the wand. A growl of pleasure was ripped from her as he finally pressed glass tip to skin. Soft, hot, oiled skin. Lower. Lower. He slid the wand until it parted her lips. So close, so damn close.
“Don’t move,” he reminded her, at the very split second she was about to jerk her hips up so he could slide that damn thing—
“Oh!” she gasped, then a long groan was torn from her as he slid a finger deeply inside of her at the very same moment he let that glass tip roll over her throbbing flesh. She started to wrench upward as he slid deeper, right on the edge of a climax more powerful than she’d ever experienced. But at the last possible second, she held herself still.
“Yes,” he whispered, his own voice hoarse, almost tortured. He rolled the glass tip over her again.
She began to keen. A low moan, both of pleasure and of frustration at not being allowed to move, to take what she so badly needed. It was so alien to her, being forced to take like this, without controlling the situation, without being the one in position to give permission, dictate the course. It was with stunning awareness that she realized he could, and likely would, prolong this almost excruciating pleasure for however long it suited him.
All she had to do was accept and enjoy the increasingly intense sensations rocketing through her. It shouldn’t be so damn hard, she thought, struggling mightily not to buck up and take what was so, so close to being hers.
But she knew, deep down knew, in a way only he could have proven to her, that where before today she’d have taken her pleasure and been done with it…he was taking her higher, further, far past whatever boundaries she’d thought it possible to reach.
And then the glass wand was gone. The sweet pressure of his finger inside of her…gone. Her eyes flew open, making her realize she’d stopped watching at some point. Her gaze flew to his. He watched her intently, the bottle gone. His shirt gone. His breeches—
She moaned without constraint as he slowly rolled back to the stool, then skimmed his pants down, and off. He was perfect.
And he was hers. All hers.
She hoped he understood now how completely she was his.
She opened her mouth, to tell him she realized, then closed it again.
“What?” he asked, the single word belying the constraint his own control was under.
Instead of making her feel victorious, it simply made her feel…joined. Now they both understood the power of true sharing, of complete trust. She shook her head.
“Tell me what you want, Samantha.”
“You,” she choked out.
“How?”
“Any way you wish.”
His eyes sparkled. “Are you sure?”
She nodded with absolute certainty, her chest rising and falling rapidly in anticipation as he lowered his weight to the bed, began to climb over her.
He moved so that no part of him touched her, and yet every part of him was so close, so perfectly, frustratingly close. She knew he was steely hard, fuller than she’d ever seen him before…and yet, despite how badly she wanted to touch him, taste him, have him, every inch of him, she couldn’t look away from his eyes.
“Very sure,” she said, then groaned as his thigh brushed hers.
“You realize this is only the beginning. That there is so much more for us to learn. About each other.”
She nodded, knowing just how right he was. She felt as if she’d exploded into a whole new world in the past couple of hours, a world she hadn’t known existed. A world she entered via intense sexual pleasure, but actually had to do with so much more.
“It will take years to learn all there is to know of what we can do with one another, to one another,” he said, moving his mouth closer to her neck, but touching her only with his breath. “A lifetime, in fact.”
He blew across her oiled nipples, making her twitch, but otherwise she fought to keep still. So perfectly still. He would make it worth her while. She knew that he always would.
“I want those years,” he murmured, moving his lips to the outer shell of her ear, blowing a soft breath along the rim. “If you give them to me, I will promise to do my best to make every single day worthwhile.” He dropped his mouth to where it barely brushed hers.
She moaned somewhere deep inside her chest. “Yes,” she managed.
“To find every way in which you can share yourself with me,” he said, brushing his lips over hers again. “Discover all the ways in which I can share myself with you.”
She twitched hard, fighting more than ever to hold still. Thinking about what it would be like to switch places, to do this to him, with him, almost undoing her entirely.
He grinned then and it took what was left of her breath away. “You like that idea, don’t you. Making me helpless for want of you. Taking me. Like this. Like I’m about to take you.” He speared her mouth with his tongue, so suddenly, so completely, she gasped and bucked. He used his body to press hers back into the mattress. She cried deeply in her throat at the sweet pressure of his body on hers, the insistent, rock-hard erection so teasingly close, yet pressed against her belly.
The instant she was still, he lifted up on his hands and knees.
“No,” she cried.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. We still have all night. And you’re the one tied to the bed.” His grin returned. “For now anyway.”
She shuddered at the very images that swamped her brain. Oh, they were going to enjoy each other a great deal. It helped her to keep from begging him now. Barely.
As if he saw the war she was waging with herself, his smile turned a shade cocky. “Shall I get t
he brush back? The feather? Or perhaps you’d like to see what else I have on that tray downstairs?”
Just his words, and the images they painted, were almost too unbearably stimulating. And yet what she said was, “Yes. Yes, I want all of that. I want—”
“What?” He teased her again, brushed the inside of her thighs, her oh-so-vulnerably parted thighs.
She growled, swore beneath her breath and fought to keep perfectly still. “Damn you,” she muttered, jerking her head to the side, mostly so he wouldn’t see she was fighting a smile. A smile of anticipation of what he would do next, of realizing that the unknown didn’t have to be a scary, terrifying thing. That sometimes, giving up control was remarkably freeing, especially when you were with someone you trusted. Someone you loved.
She turned to him, held his gaze. And saw beneath the desire, past the raw heat, to the absolute knowledge. That he was made for her. And she for him. All she had to do was tell him.
“I want this,” she said, the words coming surprisingly easily. Her final capitulation wasn’t one of weakness, but a move toward a newfound strength and power. The power of two.
“This,” he repeated.
“Yes. This,” she breathed. “I want you to make me want. I want you to want me to do the exact same thing to you.”
His eyes gleamed with an almost unholy light. “Tell me more,” he demanded, his voice nothing more than a rasp.
“I want you,” she said. “And I want us. Always.”
He plunged into her then, arms still braced above her. The shock of it, the sweet, amazingly wonderful invasion of him into her, locking them together in ways far more profound than she’d known was possible. He made her scream. With pleasure, with joy, with exultation.
He withdrew as suddenly as he’d come into her.
“Marsh,” she cried. He couldn’t stop now, not when it would have been perfect.
“No,” he said, shaking himself as he rolled back to his heels. “Not like this. Not this time. I need more.” He all but ripped the cord off of one ankle, then the other. He moved between her legs, gripped her hips and dragged her up over his thighs, until he could watch her as he slowly, torturously slowly, pushed back inside of her.
Velvet, Leather & Lace: A Man's Gotta DoCalling the ShotsBaring It All Page 17