Enthrall Him (Enthrall Sessions Book 3)

by Fewings, Vanessa

  “Didn’t Anne go to the tower for a while?”

  “Yes, and then a French swordsman ended her life at the king’s behest.”

  “You wouldn’t have chopped off Anne’s head, would you?” I said, pleading. “If you’d been king?”

  “I’d have been a lot more imaginative,” he said. “My punishment of choice would be extracting the truth out of her using unusual and yet effective means.”

  A rush of blood, a sudden blush. “How?” I said huskily.

  His lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Sounds like you’re asking for a demonstration?”

  A curl of excitement settled low.

  With his gaze locked on mine, he unbuttoned his coat then removed it slowly, before throwing it onto the end of the bed.

  “Sir?” My mind raced with the idea Cameron might be this reckless.

  “Take off your coat.”

  I unbuttoned it and threw it over his.

  “Would you like to see how I would have punished Anne?”

  “Yes please, sir.”

  He took my hands and rested them on the end of the throne’s armrests, guiding one to either side. “I would have placed her hands here, like this.”

  “She would probably have relented,” I said softly, “realizing how much she deserved to be punished.”

  “I imagine she would, yes.”

  Leaning over and shoving my butt out, I glanced toward the door, hoping we wouldn’t get caught.

  “Look forward,” he snapped.

  Cameron hoisted my skirt above my waist. His firm fingers stroked my sensitive flesh as he eased my panties down my thighs and they pooled around my ankles. I gripped the armrests, staring forwards, thrilled with this building anticipation. His hand trailed over my buttocks.

  Spank.

  I jolted forwards and quickly righted myself to remain bent over.

  “Higher,” he ordered.

  Curving my spine, I offered my buttocks out to him. That exquisite low thrum wooed me into submission.

  Endless spanks echoed.

  Delicious strikes sent shockwaves all the way into my sex.

  “This is how I’d deal with a disobedient queen,” he said darkly.

  I exulted when the strikes became more violent, shooting me right into subspace, and the heady thought I was clutching at a king’s throne made my head spin out of control.

  For goodness sake, I was being spanked in Buckingham Palace by the great Cameron Cole; blood rushed through my ears.

  His hand caressed my heated flesh between strikes, running over my cleft and landing spanks there too. His cologne fired my senses.

  Nothing was beyond this man.

  He kneeled behind me, his breath warm on my thigh. “This might have worked on her better.” He parted my cheeks and brought his head between my thighs. His tongue trailed over that puckered flesh, and lower still, lashing at my cleft, flicking and licking as he went, suckling my clit.

  I let out a long moan.

  “If you were my master,” I said, my voice low, my body riddled with passion, my hips rocking against his mouth, “I’d have worshiped at your feet with you sitting here.”

  “But as your master,” he rose to his feet and turned me around to face him then nudged me back to sit on the throne, “it would be my duty to idolize you.” He pried apart my thighs and he again sunk to his knees, his face burying between my legs, his tongue meeting my clit again with stunning precision. “To honor you.” He suckled, his tongue swirling.

  Bringing me over, making me tremble, I bit down on my hand to suppress my cries.

  He lifted my thighs and spread my legs wide apart, pulling them over each armrest, exposing me completely.

  Cameron rose to his feet and stood before me so masterfully, so domineering, his expression full of power. “Would you have submitted?”

  “Oh yes, sir.”

  He eased himself out of his pants, his cock hard and ready. “The worship of you would have continued night and day—”

  He slid inside me.

  I arched my back at the strain of him stretching me wide; those pangs of bliss. My pussy spasmed around his length, deliciously expanding.

  He thrust hard. “Until you’d understood what you really meant to me, as my monarch.”

  “I’d be your one and only.”

  “One and only.”

  Taut around him, my sex glistened.

  “I love watching my cock disappear inside you,” he whispered breathlessly, his eyes burning with the deepest desire.

  His intensity rose, and his fierceness was hypnotic.

  We both stared down at the beautiful spectacle of his hardness disappearing, sliding in and out slowly, controlled, the tip being brought out. His hand guided his cock to slide over the surface of my clit, then he slapped his erection over that delicate nub, before again resting at my entrance, only to plunge fully inside with precision, his balls striking me as he went. The process repeated and repeated again until all I knew was this--this pattern, this pressure, this pleasure, this need for him.

  “Sir,” I pleaded.

  “You may come.”

  That strike to my clit with his cock, that pause, this thrust, these shockwaves of bliss capturing every cell in my body—it all sent me outside of myself.

  On and on and on…

  The world slipped away and my climax carried me off into nothingness. My eyes squeezed shut as I savored his brilliance at holding me suspended in this place. My orgasm seemed never ending, and this proved he was more than a master of the Kama Sutra--he was the God of sex.

  My moans echoed around us.

  Until my body could take no more and I collapsed in the chair, staring up at his beautiful face. His expression grew wistful, and his gaze filled with longing.

  “This,” I whispered, nudging him away from me. “This is true adoration.” I slipped off the throne and it was my turn to guide Cameron to sit.

  His frown deepened as his usual power over me was suspended.

  Kneeling at his feet, my face buried in his lap and I sucked him all the way into my mouth. The stunning sweet taste of me on him, the erotic sensations lingering low, made me crazy for him.

  He raised his hips, his fingernails digging into the armrests, his breathing rapid and stuttering…

  And I centered all my attention on my rapid movement to rise and fall, using all the tricks he’d taught me along with a few of my own. My hands cupped his balls in perfect rhythm to my head bobbing between his thighs. My tongue swirled and flicked as I went, until I felt his trembling, his loss of control, his surrendering.

  “Master, come for me.” My lips snapped back over his length, sucking hard.

  Cameron went rigid. His hips raised and his breath stilted as he came in my mouth, flooding me with warmth. His hardness pounded against me in a furious burst of pleasure as it reached its pinnacle.

  Swallowing all of him, I let out a long groan of pleasure, grateful he’d trusted me enough to let me take him like this. Our shifting power was proof of our growing trust.

  He settled into the seat, his breathing slowing, his hands guiding my head to rest on his lap. “Mia, what was that?”

  I peered up at him, nervous I’d somehow let him down, worried I’d not pleased him.

  He grabbed locks of my hair, which stung my scalp, and held me tightly in his grip. “I had no idea how a man could be willing to give up a kingdom.” His head crashed against the headrest. “God, now I get it.”

  CHAPTER 8

  THERE WAS NO more talk of giving up kingdoms.

  Or any further discussion of me taking his breath away. We’d merely straightened our clothes, put our coats back on, and left to go reunite with Molly.

  Our passionate interlude became merely another miraculous memory.

  My cheeks were flushed and my body thrummed with pleasure. The echo of Cameron’s touch lingered.

  On our way out, Molly gifted us with a union flag umbrella and a Buckingham Palace heart
key fob. There was a twinkle in her eye as she handed it over.

  Cameron told Molly he would be delighted to return her kindness, and should she ever visit California he would make sure her stay was a pleasant one. It had been wonderful to see Molly blush and swoon, showing a glimpse of her playful side.

  Declining the car Shay had arranged for us, we caught a taxi instead, heading over to Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

  The breathtaking church was vast and spectacular and profoundly moving, and easily one of the most remarkable places I’d ever visited. Crowds of visitors swirled around us and we eased on through to the front chapel.

  Cameron had me stand beneath the main dome, and as we peered up, admiring that round inlaid gold offset by the surrounding stunning marble, he explained the optical illusion. Sir Christopher Wren had utilized geometry technology, Cameron told me, designing a cone shape for structural purposes, and around it that magnificence dome shape. There was a balcony around the outside, but with the optical illusion it created you’d never have guessed it.

  It stunned me to think this beautiful place first began construction in 1675. Cameron knew so much about British history, and I leaned against him as he relayed his knowledge, telling me what he knew about London and how people had lived back then.

  I let out a long sigh of contentment.

  “I have a gift for you,” said Cameron, and he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small box.

  He eased out sapphire studs and gently slid them into my lobes, his fingers tender.

  “What’s this for?” I said, leaning into his hand as it brushed against my face.

  “A reminder of our time together.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “Don’t ever take them out. Not even when you sleep. Understand?”

  I told him I wouldn’t and thanked him again, pushing myself up onto my toes to kiss him.

  He tucked the box back into his pocket.

  We continued on through and Cameron explained that the pineapple above the towers symbolized peace, prosperity, and hospitably. As we strolled arm and arm down the west front, he gestured to the sculpture of St Paul, telling me this was the work of Francis Bird, who sculptured it in the early 1700’s. Apparently, Bird also carved the statue of Queen Anne that stood in the front of the cathedral.

  Rain poured as we hurried out to the street, and we were grateful for Molly’s gift of the umbrella.

  We caught another taxi and it was fun to pretend we’d lost Shay and his mysterious men we never caught a glimpse of. We were free to explore, with the illusion of privacy, and I loved it. I relaxed for the first time since we’d arrived.

  “Although this is out of character,” said Cameron, “how would you like to choose where we go next?”

  I beamed at him.

  “I’ll reel off destinations. You decide.”

  I sat forward, excited to hear.

  “The Goring serves excellent tea. And by tea I mean finger sandwiches, cakes, and of course tea.”

  “Let’s go there.” I flung my hands up.

  He laughed. “You haven’t heard the second choice.”

  “What’s the second choice?”

  “Harrods,” he said. “We can shop for a while and then have tea there.”

  “Let’s go there,” I said, giggling.

  “Instead of the Goring?”

  “Yes, instead of the Goring. Harrods.”

  “Or.”

  I was in a giggling fit and he was shaking his head, amused.

  “We can go to the Ritz.” He raised his hand. “Let me guess. You want to go to the Ritz?”

  “Can we go to all three?”

  “Well we could, but then we wouldn’t have time to go to a very special place I’ve been planning for you later this afternoon.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, I know you’ll love it, but it’s a surprise.”

  “Where would you like to go?” I said.

  “You choose.”

  “Which one is your favorite?”

  “They all offer something different.”

  “I can’t decide.”

  “We need to tell our driver where to take us.”

  “Harrods,” I said. “Let’s go to Harrods.”

  Cameron told me this was an excellent choice and instructed the driver to take us there.

  Our taxi nudged through the city traffic.

  The doorman welcomed us in.

  Even after having visited some of the most high end stores in America, like my favorite, Bloomingdales, I was still not prepared for how Harrods wooed me. With its Egyptian styled lobby, to its wide assortment of luxury items, this place had everything, and its floors went on forever.

  Cameron led me through the crowd of shoppers and we soon found a well needed space to take everything in and steal a hug. We went from floor to floor exploring, and I had to stop mentioning how much I liked this or that as Cameron kept offering to buy it for me. Which was ridiculous, because I’d even pointed to an enormous Buddha I knew Richard would love.

  “Well get it for him,” said Cameron warmly.

  I’d managed to dissuade him, forcing Cameron to shove his wallet back in his pocket.

  We ended up in Harrods’s Caffe Florian, tucked away at a corner table with a pristine white cloth and silver cutlery.

  I followed Cameron’s lead and placed my napkin on my lap. In the corner, a pianist elegantly struck the keys, the haunting notes stirring melancholy.

  “Claude Debassy,” Cameron told me.

  The waitress introduced herself as Sarah, and poured freshly brewed tea from a sliver pot into two delicate china cups. A slice of chocolate cake was placed between us. Cameron arched a mischievous brow and reach for his fork and I reached for mine.

  “Let the best man win,” he said.

  Between sips of tea, we took bites of mouthwatering cake. The sponge was moist and tasted nutty; the icing enhanced the sweetness.

  Cameron used his fork to tackle mine and I tackled back, scooping up another mouthful.

  I held the last piece out to him. “Here you are.”

  He waved it off and gestured for me to finish it.

  My eyes lit up as I savored the last crumbs melting on my tongue, and I beamed Cameron’s way.

  “I don’t recall ever seeing you quite this happy,” he joked.

  I sat back, lulled by all this sugar.

  Cameron peered at the plate. “The case of the missing chocolate cake.” His gaze met mine. “Aha. Evidence.” He leaned over and dabbed my mouth with his napkin, and his touch sent tingles into my cheek.

  I beamed at him.

  He reached across the table and held my hand, making small circles with his fingertips on my arm, seemingly lost in thought.

  His gaze rose to watch the piano player.

  The man was dressed smartly in a tux and struck the keys beautifully.

  “The thing about artists,” said Cameron, “whether it’s writers, or painters, or singers, or musicians, is that when they’re in the zone they leave the room.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Picasso stated he left his body behind when he entered the room to paint. It always surprises me how so many artists we know today as geniuses died in poverty or under tragic circumstances. As though the world wasn’t ready for them.”

  “Like Rembrandt,” I said, remembering his self-portrait.

  “Yes.” Cameron gestured towards the piano player. “I wonder if anyone else considers the hours he spent mastering those keys.”

  I looked around at the other diners enjoying their tea. “I’m sure they do. Do you play an instrument?”

  He gave a shrug. “Piano, when I was younger.”

  “Not now?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a hard instrument to learn.”

  He gave a shrug.

  “There so much to you, Cameron. I love discovering more about you.”

  His eyes held mine and it was easy to disappear
inside that warm gaze, that wonderful promise of learning more.

  He gave a look of confusion. “I imagine you miss Richard?”

  “A little.”

  “Me too. Until I met you, he was the only other person capable of bringing out my playful side. You’re like a female Richard.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  He gave a nod indicating he did too. “He’s an extraordinary man. Thank you for making him so happy.”

  “He makes me happy. Even if he wasn’t able to reach me like you did.”

  “I understand Richard’s reservations,” he said. “It’s a reflection on how much he cares about you.”

  “Enthrall feels like one big family. I feel so at home there.”

  “We can’t imagine the place without you. That offer I made to support a career in fashion still stands.”

  “That means the world to me. I really am giving it serious thought.”

  “Is there something on your mind?”

  “Our time at Chrysalis was spectacular.”

  “I agree.”

  “How’s Richard going to react…”

  Cameron twisted his mouth. “You don’t know, do you?”

  My gaze shot from the piano player to Cameron.

  “You and me together is one of Richard kinks.” He raised his hand in a warning. “One I took advantage of, however.”

  “Kink?”

  “I’ll tell him not to share you,” he said. “You’re far from ready. That’s why I resisted the demonstration of a ménage a trois in the Harrington Suite.”

  “Richard gets off on knowing we’re having sex?” I whispered.

  “Usually he’s watching.”

  Richard and I had never discussed this, and I hoped it wasn’t one of his hard limits.

  Cameron brushed a stray hair out of my face and tucked it behind an ear. “So you don’t have to worry.”

  Yeah, thanks for that. No worry here. Nope. All good. Discovering your boyfriend has the mother of all kinks is just a normal occurrence, folks. Nothing to see here. Just move along, please.

  “Mia?”

  “Yes.”

  “You okay?”

  I let out a sigh. “Richard looked riled up when he came to your home in Beverly Hills to get me?”