“He’s gone.” James threw a glance over his shoulder and froze, stared at her. The muscles in his cheek bunched. “My God.” A guttural growl.
“What is it, James.”
“Don’t fucking move.” He cast about like a wild man until he found a coil of twine, which he looped around the latch. Then he closed the door and she was blanketed in darkness once more. She heard James working on the door. She could only hope he was lashing it shut.
Because she needed him. Now.
When he came back to her side, his breath was hard and hot. “God, Eloise. Do you know how amazing you look like this, on your hands and knees, naked? For me?” He kissed her nape, trailed his lips down her spine. When he came to the end of her back, he didn’t stop. He kept lapping along her slit. She bit back a moan. It was all she could do to hold still as he had commanded.
But when he reached her nub, when he sucked that hard, throbbing button into his mouth, she could hold out no longer. Everything within her seized and she tumbled.
He set her back in place. “Don’t move.” His voice was harsh.
Though her arms and legs trembled from the strain, from the bliss, from the hunger, she held her position. She heard the rustling behind her and she knew, even without sight, that he was preparing to enter her. He found her and slowly sank in. The fullness was exquisite.
Bliss exploded as his rod found and massaged a tender, aching spot hidden within her folds.
He growled as she tightened around him, then yanked out and buried himself again. Helena thrust her buttocks higher, willing him to take her harder. He grunted in appreciation and sank his fingers in her hips, moved her this way and that.
“Put your wrists over your head.”
She did. In this position, her bottom levered higher and her breasts smashed against the blanket of her dress. With each thrust, her nipples scraped against the fabric. She warbled a moan.
“Hush. Hush. Hush.” Each word, punctuated by a thrust.
He drew insanity on her, in her, with his ravaging lunges. Higher and higher he drove her, harder and deeper. The smells of the shed blended with the tang of his sweat and the musky scent of a man in heat. Muted and restrained, their muffled cries rose to christen the thrumming air. Sensation scored her as he worked in and out.
And then his groans devolved to fierce grunts, his plunges became shorter, harder, faster. His grip on her cheeks, feral. She sensed the coming storm, the tightness, the desperation, the hum in the air. Knowing he was coming close, she squeezed. And her pleasure blossomed again.
“Yes,” he snarled, tightening his grip. And then he let go of her. A shaft of disappointment flailed her, but it was quickly erased by a snarling slash of delight as his palm fell on her bottom. Heat seared her, infused her. Scalding delight snaked along her nerve endings.
One swat. Two.
A third.
And then it arrived, that tempest. It arrived and washed over her like a river of pleasure. His hand fell again and her pleasure tautened, peaked. It rose from some secret place inside her, some unfathomable well. And it took her.
Even as his seed rushed into her in a hot, scalding stream, it took her.
Made her his.
Chapter Seven
After their astounding tryst in the potting shed, they curled up together and fell asleep. They awoke to growling bellies. James suggested they have that picnic in the meadow and Helena heartily agreed.
It took him a while to unlash the door—he’d been very thorough before. Helena chuckled as his curses rose through the shadows. She took that time to shake out her dress and slip it over her head. It was infused with the scent of loam, which she found arousing.
Once he’d finally managed to open the door, they made their leisurely way to the cottage with his arm draped possessively around her shoulders and her fingers intertwined with his. She, with a rosebud tucked behind her ear.
Back at the cottage, he collected the picnic basket as she arranged her flower in one of his tin cups. And they set out.
The mood between them was light. They teased and joked as they headed for the far-flung lea. James promised that not one of the other gardeners would come upon them there.
She asked him, then, why he wasn’t working and he laughed and said he deserved some relief from his labors and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather enjoy his time with than her.
And then he kissed her—which cleared her mind of all thought altogether.
The picnic was charming and romantic. James flung out a thick blanket under an old oak and then pulled delight after delight from a smartly woven basket. Helena ate her fill.
But now that her hunger for food had been sated, another hunger had arisen. He was so handsome, sitting there limned by the shafting fingers of the afternoon sun. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him again.
He put the last of the food away and glanced at her with an enigmatic glimmer in his eye. He cleared his throat. “Would you like to play a game?”
She pouted. She didn’t want to play a game. “I thought we were going to kiss.”
James chuckled. Something in his tone threaded through her consciousness. A prickling awareness swelled as she realized his intentions. A sizzle of arousal bubbled through her.
“Eloise, darling. Tell me something, and I would like the truth, if you please.”
“Yes, James. Of course.”
“Have you enjoyed our adventures?”
“Yes, James.”
“Have you enjoyed your instruction?” He tapped her nose as he said this and she laughed.
“Yes.”
He went from playful to very serious. Ominous, perhaps. “Are you ready for the next lesson?”
She shivered. “Yes.”
“Then let us play a game.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “All right. What kind of game?”
He leaned back and studied her. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you dare?”
“Yes. Yes. What is the game?”
“It’s called the Bound Maiden.”
Something truly wicked lashed at her. Her mouth fell open. “The…what?”
“Bound Maiden.” He pulled a length of cord from the basket and met her gaze. “Do you trust me?”
“Y-yes.” She did. It was herself she didn’t trust, because now something new had sprouted and was growing in her belly. A hunger unlike anything she’d ever known. She looked askance at the rope. “What are you going to do with that?”
He surveyed her, a harsh expression on his face. “I think you know.”
Of a sudden, fear gripped her. Fear and anticipation. They tangled together in her womb. Fear won out. The sudden urge to flee possessed her. She stood.
As did he.
“James…I—”
“Hush, Eloise.” He snaked an arm around her waist. “You’re my captive now.”
“Oh!” Pounding excitement raced through her veins. Her nipples swelled and certain parts of her body tingled. She thrashed and fought him but they both knew it was for show. He carted her over to a tree and leaned her back against the rough bark. And then, before she could protest, he looped the rope around her torso, pulling it tight. He made several passes, anchoring her firmly.
And then, to her horror, he pulled her wrists back, behind the tree, and tied them there.
The look on his face when he stood back to survey his work was terrifying. It made her knees wobble and her body weep. A thick drizzle dampened her thighs.
“Try to get free.” His voice throbbed. She could see the bulge straining at the placket of his trousers.
Tentatively, she tugged at her bonds.
“No. Really try.”
She increased her efforts, wriggling and writhing against the tree. The bark scratched her back but this only increased her arousal. When she realized she could not get free, panic bubbled.
He watched her intently, noting when the penny dro
pped. Extreme satisfaction flooded his features and he smiled. It was not the smile she knew. It was a darker, wolfish travesty of a grin.
“James.”
“No, Eloise.” He traced her cheek. “In this game, I’m a stranger who has come upon your picnic in the woods and captured you, bound you. You don’t know my name.”
A raw combination of fear and desire, blinding, buzzing, beset her. Her head spun. Her body heated. Her nipples tightened. They were swollen and aching. Throbbing with every beat of her heart. As was the nub between her legs. Ah, how she longed for his touch.
“W-what shall I call you then, Sir?”
“Sir will do quite well.” His voice broke, just a little. She had the impression he was struggling to maintain control. He cleared his throat. “Are you ready to begin the game, Eloise?”
“Y-yes.”
He quirked an imperious brow. “Yes, what?”
“Yes Sir.”
Something about him changed. He ceased to be James, her gentle and teasing lover. He became something else, someone else. A stranger.
A stranger who had come upon her in the woods.
And captured her.
Bound her.
“Look what I have found.” He held her gaze as he traced a tingling line from her chin to her neck, over her clavicle and then—she gasped—over her breast. He scraped a nipple. “A little morsel ripe for the plucking.” He circled that thrusting nub. He plucked and she nearly collapsed.
The sensation was so intense it stole her breath. The sound she made was not quite human.
He grunted. “You like that do you, you naughty girl?” When she didn’t respond, he plucked again, this time harder. Almost a pinch. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
The pressure increased. Helena saw stars. Pleasure raked her. She panted.
“Yes, what?” A growl.
“Yes Sir.”
“Ah. Nice. Always remember to call me Sir, Eloise.”
“Yes Sir.”
In response he hooked a finger in the bodice of her dress and yanked it down. She was wearing no corset so her breasts spilled out. They puckered and pimpled at the kiss of the cool breeze on her bare flesh.
“Mmm.” He cupped her. His palms were warm, harsh against her skin. He squeezed.
She looked down and saw her breasts confined, conforming to his grasp, and she whimpered. He took a generous pinch of flesh surrounding her nipple and pulled, elongating the crest. Helena cried out, struggled against her bonds. He did the same with the other and then traveled back and forth between the two sensitive tips, suckling and nuzzling them both until she thought she would expire.
“Please.”
He chuckled and released her. Frustration barely had time to settle in. He knelt and grasped the hem of her dress and yanked it up. The skirt was not a terribly full cut but there was enough fabric for him to pull it up and around the back of the tree, exposing her core to his sight. He thrust the material into her fist behind her. “Hold this.” He smiled wickedly. “Do not let it go.”
But when he grasped her mound and squeezed, shock rippled through her and she lost her hold. The dress fluttered back down.
He glanced up at her, tsking and shaking his head. “Didn’t I tell you not to let go?”
“Yes Sir. I just lost my grip.”
He lifted her skirts again and thrust them at her once more, leaving her lower body open and exposed. And she was the one holding her dress up.
She never expected what happened next. Perhaps that was why it destroyed her.
His hand fell hard—right over her swollen labia, right over her aching nub—and she came.
By the grace of God, she didn’t release her grip on her dress.
He ignored her quaking, her moans and her sobs. He followed the slap with a stroke, delving into her sodden crease and dandling the throbbing nubbin.
She came again.
“You like that.” Not a question. Rather an observation. A command. “Tell me.”
“Yes, Ja—yes Sir. I like it.”
“I knew it. I knew you would.”
He continued this torment, though her body could barely take any more. He slipped two fingers into her as he suckled her breast and the sensation overcame her once more.
“Ah,” he hissed. “You are so wet. So wet, my dove. You like being tied up and forced to pleasure don’t you?” When she didn’t answer, other than to garble a groan, he slapped her mound, ever so lightly, three times. Each slap with a slightly longer caress to her screaming button. “Tell me.”
“Yes. Yes. Yes Sir.”
He shoved deep again, this time grinding the heel of his palm over the center of her being and plucking at her nipple as he filled her.
Bliss took her. Completely.
Ravaged her. Possessed her.
She collapsed against her bonds, boneless, mindless, complete.
James untied Eloise and gently laid her on the blanket. He slipped her arms from the sleeves of her dress and coiled the rope around her wrists once more. He brought the end of the length back to the convenient tree and tied it securely to the trunk.
She looked lovely there, with her dress bunched up at her waist, her breasts bare, wrists bound over her head. Hunger seared his gut. He wanted her. He wanted to fuck her now.
But he would wait.
The anticipation was delicious.
The dark beast inside him began to whisper. He hunted around the copse, looking for what he required. When he saw it—a slender, supple, leafy branch—desire snarled through him.
She began to stir as he came back, stripping the leaves from the switch. Her eyes widened. “James, w-what is that for?”
He hunkered down beside her. His cock throbbed like the devil and his balls were like hard nuts. But a deeper desire drove him. “Are we still playing the game, Eloise?”
She blinked, winced, nodded.
“Then I am not James, am I?”
“No. Sir.”
He loved the way she tested her bonds, just ever so. Reminding herself just how utterly helpless she was. He let the switch dance along her instep. She shivered and clenched her legs together. He nudged at her. “Open.”
She complied, though slowly. Slowly enough to light a fire in his gut.
God, she was good. She knew. She understood.
He watched the slender branch make its knobby way up her calf, over her knee then up along her thigh. She watched too. And she trembled. He could tell she was holding her breath.
He didn’t need to change his angle to scrape against her clitoris. Her legs were wide enough, her cunt swollen and open. Her nub was so engorged it poked out. As he dragged the branch over her pubic hair, it snagged on that tiny tongue.
She moaned, arched her hips and sawed against the rope.
“Keep your legs spread, darling,” he grated, letting the tiny leaf he’d left in place dab against her pearl. She flinched and then dutifully spread her legs farther.
“James,” she panted. “No more games. Please. Please.”
“What do you want, Eloise?” Saliva pooled in his mouth. He knew damn well what she wanted but he needed to hear her say it.
“I want you in me.”
Not good enough.
To punish her, he teased a fingertip into the mouth of her cunt, but only that.
“Say it.”
“No. Not that. Please, James.”
“Be specific.”
“I can’t. I can’t say it.”
“You can.” She flushed from tip to toes, and all parts in between. He thumbed her clitoris and she shuddered. But it was not a shudder of bliss, it was a shudder of frustration. “We have all day, Eloise.”
Tears streamed down her face. “Please, James. I don’t know the words.”
He caught her gaze. Something akin to feral satisfaction, mixed with a hint of mortification, trickled through him. Of course she didn’t know the words. She was a girl. Yesterday she’d been a virgin.
He h
ad been lax in his instruction.
“The word is fuck. You want me to fuck you. You want me to put my cock in your cunt and fuck you. Can you say those words, Eloise?”
“Yes. Fuck me. Please, James. Put your big cock in my wet cunt and fuck me.”
Oh. Dear. God.
How he got his trousers down and kicked off as quickly as he did, he’d never know. But those words from her lips enflamed him, enraged him, exhilarated him. And the fact that she’d elaborated on his suggestion delighted him.
She was very inventive indeed.
He would ponder that later. At the moment, he was otherwise occupied.
He pushed her knees wider and fisted his cock and guided it home. Ah. Such a tight, firm grip.
Thank God she’d already come while tied to the tree. His girth stretched her but she was not too excruciatingly tight. He could shove his way into that slippery channel with ease. She clutched at him with each withdrawal, a hellish torment.
The sight of her hands, bound over her head, fomented his hard, manic thrusts. When she struggled against the bonds, he edged closer and closer to the abyss.
“Yes, James.” She clenched. He sensed her imminent crisis. And his.
“Call me Sir,” he gasped.
“Sir,” she sighed. She met his gaze. Something loomed in her moss-green depths. And grew. Desperation crossed her features. The tiny muscles around her mouth tightened, her lids drooped, lashes flickered. “Yes,” she whispered. “Do it again, James.”
“Do what?” He strained, struggled toward his own crisis. His seed seethed, snaking its way through his balls. He was barely coherent, barely human.
“Do what you did last night. Please. Please.”
Shit. What had he done? He couldn’t remember. “Tell me. You have to say it, little one.”
“Ah. Please. Pinch my nipples.”
Jesus. It was all he could do to find her breasts and grasp her nipples. Because her command, her plea, sent him over the edge. Jerking and thrusting and snarling his pleasure, he emptied into her, tweaking her hard, distended tips. That she came around him, clamping him in an unbelievably exquisite clasp, only drove him higher.
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