“You said you’d go as far as I’d let you. Well, I want to let you …”
“I’m not sure you’re ready, Sophie. And I don’t want this to end.”
“I am ready. I’m more than ready.”
Robert slowly withdraws to the desk, takes out a card, and hands it to me. “There’s no hiding this one.”
I open it.
Stay the night with me.
If I say yes, I’ll have to tell Ethel and Irene, who are driving me to madness with their curiosity about my mysterious beau. And if there were any question about whether or not I was to be Robert’s mistress, staying the night with him would erase all doubt. If Ethel or Irene let any gossip slip, it’ll ruin my reputation, but as a champion of several causes that garner social censure, I’ve no business caring about ruined reputations.
When I was a teenaged girl bringing lunch to miners on the picket line, company men shouted lewd things at me, but it never stopped me. After attending one of Mrs. Sanger’s talks on birth control, a policeman on the street corner outside the lecture hall called me a prostitute. That didn’t deter me, either. If anything, it made me believe even more firmly in equality for the sexes and the right of women to live as freely as men. I’ve been called a Communist, an agitator, and a radical. I don’t care a bit for societal convention, so why should I care what anyone thinks about my choice to take a lover? “Yes, I’ll stay the night with you.”
Robert lets out a breath. Only then do I realize how anxious he was for my answer. He was prepared to end it, here and now, should I refuse him. I’m not sure why this comforts me, but it does. He’s a man who means what he says and in spite of my fears that I’m slipping into an abyss, he seems like a firm thing to hold on to. Now, knowing that we’re both on solid ground, his shoulders relax and he beams with boyish glee. “You’ll spend the whole night with me?”
My lips draw together playfully. “Will you need all night, Mr. Aster?”
“You’ll wish I didn’t,” he says, his eyes burning into mine.
We have dinner in his suite. He calls for it and the wait staff delivers our meal served on silver trays. Striped bass with a cucumber salad, cheese soufflé, and lemon custard pie. I’m dazzled by the sparkle of the chandelier overhead with its blue crystal teardrops, the gilt-edged furniture, and the two giant windows, each framed with blue damask curtains that cascade regally to the floor.
But even the opulence of my surroundings doesn’t let me forget that I want him. I want him now. I’m hot for him. The glass in my hand feels so deliciously cool that I want to press it to my cheek in the hopes it will offer some relief.
I glance at the open door to the bedroom, and Robert grins. “Finish your dinner, Sophie. You’re going to need your strength.”
Defiantly, I shove the last bit of pie into my mouth, and it makes him laugh. He grabs me up into his arms and I yelp with surprise at my sudden weightlessness. He carries me into the bedroom, then sets me down on a slate blue velvet coverlet atop a carved oak bed so large it dominates the room.
My whole body tingles from the traces of his touch. I want him to crawl on top of me so that I can pillow his bulk as I did the first time, but I realize now how out of character it was for him to descend upon me in a frenzy like he did then. He was playing a character from my own imagination; I wonder what new stranger he’ll turn into tonight.
The answer comes to me in the form of a black silk tie that he pulls from the nightstand and tugs between his fists. I know this fantasy and our eyes meet in recognition.
“Will you trust me?” he asks, his voice soft and intimate even in such a large and ornate room.
Ethel would tell me there’s no reason whatsoever to trust any man, especially not this one. But I’m far beyond reason. “Yes. Do it. Yes, yes, yes.”
He fastens the blindfold over my eyes and I’m plunged into darkness. But every other sense comes vividly to life. My breath seems louder. The dark scent of tobacco wafts up from the coverlet. I feel the dampness in the air—or perhaps that is only my own perspiration, because the more excited I become, the more I sweat.
He undresses me, peeling away my clothes, kissing my dewy skin wherever it is exposed. My dress comes off. My shoes. My stockings. My chemise. My drawers. Everything is stripped from me until I’m naked and quivering. I feel his lips in the palm of my hand and I tremble, because I know exactly what comes next and it excites me as much as it frightens me.
Perhaps my fear rouses him, because I feel the brush of his erection against my body as he uses his silken ties to secure me to the bed. First a wrist, then an ankle, then another wrist …
I can’t say why I must test the bonds, but I must. I pull to the point of pain, to the point of reassurance. It’s what I wanted. To feel that I can’t get away. And the rush of knowing that I’m open to him, helpless to stop him, is worth the bite of the silk into my wrists.
“You can’t slip those knots, Sophie. If you want to be freed, you’ll have to rely upon me to untie you.”
I wish I could see his expression. Wetting my lips, I ask, “Will you? Untie me, if I ask you to?”
“I’ll untie you if you beg me to, but that isn’t what I want to make you beg for.”
In the darkness beneath the blindfold, I’m surprised when his weight shifts and his warm mouth envelopes my nipple. He sucks at one, then the other, making me arch up to meet him, both breasts aching for his attention. The tug of his suckling pulls deep in my womb. His kisses drift lower, tickling my belly, his hands caressing my sides. “Do you feel helpless?”
My answer is a moan, because I can see nothing and feel nothing but what he allows. My whole world has become the sensation of his skin to mine. The intimacy of his fingertips skimming down my body. Of the wetness between my legs, a fathomless hunger for him that I can’t hide. “Yes, I do feel helpless.”
“And yet, you have me utterly enraptured. I wish you could see yourself now, tied to my bed, at my mercy. I don’t think I could stop now even if the Kaiser was at the door.”
There is a swish of fabric, a clatter of a belt buckle, and a sound of unfastening. He must be undressing. And I’m distressed by the blindfold that prevents me from feasting my eyes on him. “I don’t think I like this fantasy anymore!”
This doesn’t stop him. He uses a finger to splay my nether lips, then murmurs, “I bet you taste just as good here as you do everywhere else.”
A wet tongue draws shapes on my hip, then laps at the downy curls between my thighs. Liquid heat melts inside me, forcing me to gasp with desire. Then it gets hotter. He licks me, his tongue swirling in maddening little circles that drive me to arch my head back, overwhelmed by sensation. “Oh god, stop or I think, I think …”
There is no chance to warn him, because my words become incoherent cries.
I come hard. I come straining every muscle against the silk ties, my hips lifting up off the bed only to press harder against his mouth, my arousal flowing onto his tongue. And when it’s over, I’m so embarrassed and there’s nowhere to hide. I can’t cover my face with my hands; I can only turn my head to the side.
I go silent inside myself.
“Sophie?”
I say nothing.
“You know that’s exactly what I wanted to happen, don’t you?” Moving between my legs, he presses the crown of his erection against my slickness. “Can’t you feel how hard I am for you?”
The desire to reach for him, to touch him is so strong that I writhe against my bonds, and the frustration only grows when he whispers, “Do you remember this fantasy, Sophie? How the man kneels over her, stroking himself until he sprays all over her body. Is that what you want me to do?”
“Yes,” I whisper, then change my mind. “No! I just—I want you inside me.”
“But I promised to reenact your fantasies in every detail.”
“Change it. Please!”
“Do you want me to fuck you instead?”
“Oh, please, please, yes, please!” Shamele
ssly I spread my knees and I’m near delirious with anticipation when I hear a tearing sound and know he must be rolling a sheath onto himself. If he didn’t want to wear one, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. And that thought terrifies me as much as it thrills me.
My heartbeat thumps when he slides himself between my legs, teasing at the opening. “Is this what you want, Sophie?”
“No!” I cry with frustration. “I want … more.”
His swollen erection dips shallowly inside me, then withdraws. It doesn’t hurt. Not with the sharp pain of the first time. Instead, it makes me ache. And I don’t think I can stand it. “Tell me what you want, Sophie.”
“Robert, please, please.”
He stretches me a little more, then leaves me empty.
“I want you to fuck me!” I cry, then sob with desire. I am desperate for him. Desperate to have him inside me. “Please, please, fuck me.”
I hear the hiss of his desire through his teeth, but he holds back. “Only if you promise me one thing … that when you come—and you will—that you’ll call out my name.”
I promise, though my words are an incomprehensible jumble. When he fills me, I give out a strangled cry of relief. Yes. This is what I need.
“Christ, you’re still so tight,” he murmurs, seating himself until we’re pressed close, his front to mine, and the weight of him on me is delicious. I feel every puff of air against my cheek when he breathes, and my own shallow breaths quicken as he strokes in and out.
He kisses me. And in my fevered state, I bite him. Not hard, but just enough that he notices and growls, making that sound I love so much. I want to throw my arms around him. I want to run my hands up and down his back. I want to wrap my legs around his waist, but I can’t do any of those things. Tied still, I can only kiss and bite and breathe him in.
I can only accept all this pleasure … and I think I’m going to die of it.
I’m coming. I say his name, moaning it at first, then louder, until the sound drives me to completion. He moves faster inside me, making wet slapping noises that are drowned out completely when I scream his name. My body tightens, grabs at him, and binds us together through my climax.
His jagged breath tells me he’s close and I want that, too. But when the last of my tremors pulses through my sex, he withdraws, kneels up, and suddenly I feel the whole mattress shaking beneath us.
“Do you want me to come all over you?” he asks in a hoarse whisper.
The indecent question breaks open a dam in me, and I’m flooded with memories of the fantasy I wrote in the journal. “Oh god, I do.”
When the first spurts of his seed splash against my skin, we cry out together. In the darkness of my blindfold, the sensation surprises me. The wetness on my belly. The strand that catches on my lips and clings. It tastes wonderfully salty as I draw it into my mouth, consumed with the depravity of it.
Robert collapses atop me, angling most of his weight into the mattress, but resting heavy limbs over my trussed-up body. Then he kisses me, and the salt of his sweat mingles with the salt of his seed and the salt of my own taste on his lips.
It’s an ocean of newness and discovery, and I swim in it.
The fantasy I wrote ends here, the man departing without a word. Thankfully, Robert doesn’t go. Instead, he dips a fingertip into his sticky leavings and paints my body with it. “I’m writing my name on you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re mine.”
He’s claiming me. Claiming me more now than when he took my virginity, and though I shouldn’t want to be claimed by any man, it touches me somewhere I didn’t expect. He’s rubbing the sharp, virile scent of himself into my skin, staining me with his essence, and I feel a pull between us, a connection both fragile and irresistible. Can it be possible that there’s something sacred in these indecent acts I’ve imagined?
Or is the magic in the man?
He shifts again and my breath hitches. “Now what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to untie you. I don’t like the marks the ties are leaving on your arms, and your hands are bright red.”
He reaches to release me and I hiss with pain as my arms fall, one at a time, to the velvet coverlet. Only now do I feel the ache in them, the suffering that couldn’t make itself heard over the roar of pleasure. He knew I was in pain, worried about me, sensed this about my body before I did. And his care for me elicits a pang of tenderness that threatens to be my undoing.
How can I feel the way I do about this man, who is nothing like he seems?
He removes my blindfold and I blink at the intrusion of unwelcome light. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in a state of complete undress and it takes my breath away. He’s big boned and barrel-chested, with powerful muscles hidden beneath the flesh. I marvel at the constellation of freckles on his skin. We’re both fair-skinned but his body dwarfs mine and makes me feel like a doll in his arms. And it soothes me.
It also brings out my inner imp. “Is that all there is to it, then?”
His hand goes to the nape of my neck. “Oh, Sophie, we’re just getting started.”
CHAPTER
Six
Late into the night when I’m aching and sore, I ask, “Why do you always get to be the one in command of the situation? Why don’t I ever get to yank your clothes off or force you down or make you obey me?”
Robert props himself up on one elbow, idly tracing my collarbone. “Because, my dear lady, none of that was in your book.”
Nose to nose with him, I say, “Well, it should have been. What was I thinking, writing all these stories about girls who get seduced and spanked and surrender to a man like he’s the lord of the manor? Stories like that probably make people think women shouldn’t have gotten the vote.”
“I assure you, suffrage was the last thing on my mind when reading your diary.”
“I’m being serious,” I say, unwilling to let him divert me.
He laughs. “I can see that. Sophie, your stories left me with an impression of a woman who understood her own desires and was unapologetic about them.”
A little doubt creeps in. “Maybe there’s something wrong with a woman who desires this.”
He cups my cheek, adoringly. “There is nothing whatsoever wrong with you, Sophie.”
“I’m just thinking … wondering … I believe people are all equal and that power should be shared. I believe that women are as smart as men and employers ought to respect their employees, but when I’m with you, all I want is to do things that insult those ideas.”
Robert scowls. “Oh, for the love of God, if it will put an end to this dreary introspection, have your way with me.”
It takes me a moment to recover from the shock. “You’ll do anything I say?”
He doesn’t look at all thrilled by the prospect, but throws his arms open. “I’m yours to command …”
In spite of his words, there is absolutely nothing humble or submissive in his posture. I’m even a little nervous to touch him for fear it’s a trick and he’ll spank me if I try.
“Well? No idea what to do with me, Sophie?”
“I think I’d better tie you to the bed.”
One eyebrow goes up. He doesn’t think I’ll do it, I realize. He doesn’t think I’d dare. But he’s changed his mind by the time I’ve used one of his silk ties to knot his right hand to the headboard.
“Sophie, is this really necessary?”
“Your other arm, please,” I say, reaching for his hand.
“This is an experiment,” he says with a sigh, allowing me to secure him. “An exercise in trust.”
“Mmmhmmm.” I lean back and survey my handiwork. I’m overcome by the sight of him, naked, those spectacularly big arms of his spread out and straining like a dangerous beast that I’ve captured. I’m not sure I do know what to do with him.
I start by straddling his legs, kissing him, letting my hair fall into his face. At least I know he likes the kiss, because he murmurs my name. I shiv
er when my sex touches his and it stiffens with arousal. I grind against him. And I feel an urgent need to have him inside.
“Careful, Sophie.” He shifts beneath me, his eyelids lowering in warning. “You’re dangerously close to destroying my self-control.”
That’s when I see that he’s loosened the tie holding his right arm. I don’t bother to fix it because he could break it if he wanted to. This is, as he said, an exercise in trust. Shamelessly, I slide my body down, taking his cock between my thighs, but not inside me. The sudden motion makes him groan. The head of his shaft nestles against my clitoris and stimulates me in a most delicious and unexpected way.
Resting my palms on his pale, freckled chest, I rub against him slowly. I mean to use his body for my pleasure—to be as wicked and controlling with him as he’s always been with me.
And maybe that’s how it starts, for the first few moments.
But then we kiss again, the sweat of his upper lip in my mouth, and it’s as if I’m the one bound. The undulation of my hips is a dance I do to please him even more than to please myself. And the way he’s looking at me makes me feel as if I’d better not stop. The idea that I’m his private dancer sends spirals of arousal up into my belly, but before I can let myself get lost in it, I lift up, leaving him hard, wet, pulsing, and unfinished.
He snarls with frustration. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Remember, you’re mine to command.”
I arrange my knees on his pillow on either side of his head.
Then he goes quiet and so do I.
I can scent my own arousal, so it must be in his nostrils, too. I was all boldness when I started this, but now my confidence fails. What I meant to do is so brazen that I tremble at my own temerity. I’m frozen above him, paralyzed.
“If you’re going to do it,” he says, with a growl, “by god, do it, Sophie. There’s no room for shyness if you mean to fuck my mouth.”
That’s all I need. Arching my back, I thrust against his mouth. I ride his tongue. I moan as his teeth graze my most sensitive spot, and then it becomes a battle. His is no passive kiss between my legs. He strains, the cords of his neck tight as he sucks my pussy lips into his mouth and takes possession of them.
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