The Pearl at the Gate

by Anya Delvay

  He cupped her breast, stroked up, closing his fingers around her nipple, pinching it, sending lightning bolts of arousal into her flesh. Arching against her bonds, she pressed into his hand, gasping. He moaned in response, and twisted her tender flesh, rubbing it between finger and thumb. He positioned the head of his cock at the entrance of her cunt again. Writhing, she closed her eyes against the rising need.

  His fingers stilled. “Why aren’t you afraid of me, Jenesta? Why aren’t you shocked by what I am doing to you?”

  Jenesta turned her face away. A cold lump formed in her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. Roake’s words shattered the dream, the hope of getting through this night without explanation. It had been silly to harbour such a forlorn wish.

  “Tell me, Jenesta.” Roake leaned over her, his breath flooding warmth across her cheek. As his heat and scent enveloped her, his hand remained on her breast, his cock twitching between her folds. Her muscles jumped, desire for him at war with fear. “Tell me.”

  It was a command, his voice demanding the same acquiescence of her mind that she gave with her body. She could fight his domination. Her mind and her actions were her own. What she had difficulty fighting was the need to speak the truth, to trust him. Yet she still feared his reaction, the end result of her confession.

  “Tell me.”

  His voice had fallen to a soft, low tone—almost a plea. With a slight movement, his cock nudged the opening of her cunt, promising full reward.

  Let tomorrow take care of itself. Tonight he should have nothing but honesty.

  But she did not look at him as she said, “Once, when I was fifteen, I saw a man and a woman together.”

  Roake shifted, inserting the head of his cock inside her again. “What were they doing?”

  “The man said he must punish the woman, so he made her remove her skirts and tuck up her shift so he could birch her. Before he started, he touched her, told her how wet her…cunt was, even before the whipping.”

  Roake’s breathing deepened, and a little more of his cock slid tantalizingly into her. “What happened then?”

  Jenesta drew in a deep breath, trying to ignore the pressure building inside. All she wanted was for him to slam forward, thrust as hard as he could. Her body was a seething cauldron of desire and he was stirring it to a full boil. “He beat her with the birch twigs. She was moaning and begging to come. When he told her she had permission, she reached down between her legs and touched herself, screaming and thrashing about.”

  As though cognizant of her need, Roake gave two hard thrusts in quick succession. He stilled, chuckling softly when she moaned. Lifting away from her torso, he straightened and gripped her hips as he said, “Go on.”

  “She kissed the birch and then took his…cock in her mouth. Then she lay on the ground and he fell on top of her.”

  Roake thrust fully into her, his hard pelvis grinding forward, sending tremors flooding over her skin. “What were they doing, Jenesta?”

  “They were…” The word had never crossed her lips before, and she struggled to force it out now. Not because she didn’t want to say it for him, but because she could hardly find the strength to speak. Orgasm was only one hard thrust of his cock away.

  Roake laughed, a low chuckle accompanied by a slow retreat from inside her. “Say it, Jenesta. I want to hear you say it.”

  It was the underlying tone in his voice and the strained sound of his amusement that made her moan in reply. Arousal, thick and hot, laced his words.

  She turned her head, facing him now, meeting his eyes. They were wild, storm grey again, full of desire.

  Jenesta took a shallow breath, held it for a moment. “They were fucking.” Roake shuddered, eyes darkening until almost black. His lips curved—not into a smile but something almost feral. Jenesta wrapped her fingers around the chains holding her arms in place and took another swift breath, fighting her own arousal to repeat, “They were fucking.”

  Roake rewarded her. The forceful thrusts of his cock catapulted her instantly into a bone-jarring, muscle-clenching orgasm. Her entire body was caught in a spasm of lust so intense it brought tears to her eyes. The spasm faded, replaced by deep tremors emanating from her cunt to travel to the tips of her pointed toes and convulsively clenching fingers.

  She sagged against her bonds, suddenly boneless, limp with reaction. Roake wrapped his hands around her thighs, fingers sliding up and down. His cock pulsed deep inside her cunt.

  “How did you feel as you watched, Jenesta?”

  Heat flooded her face at the excitement in his voice, the renewed stirring of her senses at his question, but she held his gaze. “I was enthralled, ashamed…excited.”

  Roake nodded. “Watching others is exciting. Did you touch yourself?”

  Jenesta hesitated.

  Should I tell him the rest?

  Again a cold shiver of apprehension trickled along her spine. Would she have another chance like this?

  Roake was watching her, his face tense, strain showing in the corded muscles of neck and arms. His cock twitched, sending a new wave of lust through her body. Memories of what he had done to her before swirled through her mind, telling her to take the risk.

  I want it all, and he can give it to me.

  Jenesta held her husband’s gaze and answered his question. “I did touch myself, as I watched the woman get on her knees to be fucked in the arse.”

  Chapter Five

  Roake closed his eyes, absorbing her words, picturing the scene in his mind, trembling. Sliding his thumb between the lips of her cunt, rubbing the throbbing flesh, he held his hips carefully still so as not to spill his seed inside her right then and there. She was still slick and hot, her little pearl firm and quivering, begging for his touch again.

  “Do you want me to do that to you, Jenesta?”

  The blush along her cheeks deepened and her eyes were moist. “Do you want to? Would it give you any pleasure at all?”

  Roake choked back a laugh, struck by the innocence of her question. “It would give me great pleasure, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Jenesta drew a short sharp breath, her lips quivering slightly before she replied, “I want you to do it. I want to know how it feels.”

  She pressed her lips together as though to stop them trembling. Ravenous for the taste of her, Roake put his mouth to her throat and felt her groan. Using his teeth, he nipped and sucked a path to one breast, her cunt rippling a passionate massage around his cock. Her responsiveness thrilled him, deepened his arousal. Already she climbed toward orgasm again.

  He bit her nipple and she cried his name, head thrashing from side to side. She was close now, cunt pulsing in ever faster waves, and he lifted his head. Using his other hand to capture the nape of her neck, he pulled her forward and kissed her just as he increased the pressure on her pearl.

  Jenesta writhed as though on fire. The sound she made struck him like a typhoon. He had made her come before, had revelled in her screams and cries of pleasure, but this time it was more.

  She was moaning, almost chanting into his mouth, her tongue tangling with his. Her hips bucked, rocked to meet his every thrust. He was so deep inside her he could imagine leaving a piece of his spirit there. Roake Barbenoir had no right to this trip through the gate to heaven, but he gave thanks for it with his entire, fervent, breaking heart.

  When she came, her cunt tightened almost painfully around his cock, and her scream of release pierced his soul.

  Her lips softened under his as the peak of her orgasm passed and the tip of her tongue slipped out to touch his mouth. Roake pulled her closer, leaning in so her nipples brushed his chest. But he couldn’t release her lips.

  He slid his hand up her body, curved it around her back, lifting her away from the bench, bringing her as close as he possibly could. Jenesta sighed, moaned and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. Deep shudders still wracked her and found answer in his own.

  As they kissed, desire caught him by the thr
oat, wrapped talons around his chest. Harsh and impatient, it clawed at what little control he still possessed. Yet he couldn’t relinquish the taste of her sweet mouth.

  This was not what he had planned. The night was almost over, time running out. The silken swatches he planned to use to blindfold her and run torturously over her skin remained untouched. The jade dildo was still in its velvet bag. There were nipple clips, fashioned in the shape of lions’ heads, plus a plethora of other oddities he had picked up over the years. His journal held a pictorial catalogue of desires stirred and satisfied with the objects in his sea chest. The images had come to him in dreams, where he used them to bring Jenesta to pleasure over and over again.

  Now all he desired was to hold her lips with his as he sank into her sweet, wet flesh again, thrust and plunged until the world and all its harsh irony disappeared. The titillation of his dreams had not disappeared, only shrunk in importance to being inside her, her mouth open under his, absorbing his cries of ecstasy, releasing her own into him.

  God help me. How can I love her this much and walk away?

  How can I stay?

  The truth would not flee just on the strength of one tale. A pearl was not forever marred by falling into the mud. Jenesta may not have been ignorant of the pleasures found in being dominated, but she would have lived her life content without experiencing it firsthand. But he had forced it on her, dragged her back into the mire. He heard the shame beneath her voice as she told her story. Tomorrow she would think back on this night, be horrified at the recollection, and he couldn’t bear her anger. Or her rejection.

  Reluctantly, he released her. Jenesta leaned forward against her bonds, following him, making a sound of distress when she could no longer reach his mouth. Roake watched as her eyelids fluttered open, saw the way her lips curved into a beautiful smile that sliced right through him, left him gasping.

  “Roake.”

  The sound of his name, said with passion and that wild nameless thing he refused to acknowledge, almost bore him to his knees. Wordless, every emotion caught tight in his throat, he withdrew from her cunt and bent to release the leg straps from the couch. Bending her knees up to her chest, he pressed the head of his cock against the tight ring of her anus. Jenesta stiffened, taking in little gasps of air.

  “Are you sure, darling?” He wanted to bury himself in her, held back only by strength of will. “Be sure.”

  Immediately she relaxed, her eyes shining with trusting desire. “Yes, Roake, I am sure.”

  Slowly pushing forward, Roake breeched her body’s resistance, watching her face, ready to desist if she asked. Jenesta closed her eyes as her flesh yielded to his cock, closing around him like a sheath of hot, slick silk. Completely embedded in her, Roake held back the words I love you. Not for just this one night, but forever.

  He reached up quickly to release the straps around her wrists, needing her touch to make the moment perfect. Her hands were open, waiting. As soon as the first strap was undone she was touching him—his stomach and chest, arms and back, her fingers stroking and clutching. When the second strap fell away, she cupped his cheek but couldn’t move closer.

  Roake picked her up and sank to his knees on the carpet, somehow maintaining their bodies’ connection. Laying her down, he quickly leaned forward and she lifted her torso toward him.

  Their lips met and the world splintered into shards of sensation, every one infused with Jenesta. Her mouth and hands, legs and breasts, the sweet suction of her arse reluctantly releasing his withdrawing cock, welcoming it as he plunged desperately back in, harder and harder. Love and lust, pain and pleasure inundated his body and soul, his heart swelling with emotion, knowing it would soon lie shattered.

  Pressure built in his belly, dropping into his groin. The need to come almost overwhelmed him.

  Not yet. The night is almost over.

  Pulling back, he broke the kiss, cupped her cheeks, ran his thumbs over her eyebrows and nose, lips and chin. Her eyes opened and he wanted to drown in them, die in her arms, happier than he had any right to be—happier than he had ever been in his entire life.

  She started to smile but it froze on her lips. Her hands, which had been softly stroking his back, stopped too. He wanted to look away, knowing all the love he felt must be showing on his face, but she held him as tightly with her gaze as she could have with her hands on his cheeks.

  “Roake, what—?”

  “Shh, my love.” He put his thumb over her lips, shuddered as her tongue crept out to touch it, coax it into her mouth. “Shh.”

  Replacing his thumb with his lips, Roake sank into her again. Slow and deep he loved her, kissed her, until Jenesta demanded more and more, and he gladly gave it. Harder and faster, pelvis driving to satisfy the rhythm she set with her twisting hips and unsteady, grasping hands.

  With every thrust of his cock, Roake tried to imprint himself on her soul. Jenesta was everything, his reason for being. Dreams held no importance in comparison to having her wrapped around him, surrounding him with her body and scent, taking all the love he had to give.

  She arched away, turning her face up to the ceiling, calling his name. Curling his arm around her back, he kissed her throat, felt each moan and sigh as a shockwave to his heart. The supple, frantic movements of her body drove him deeper into passion, threatened to sever the final fragile strands of control. Reaching between them, Roake felt the tremors of her stomach beneath his palm, groaned from behind teeth clenched tight with near-convulsive need.

  He found her pearl with his thumb and she came apart in his arms, sobbing his name against his neck, body writhing. Roake roughly drew her lips back to his, her incipient orgasm pulling him to explode with her. When he came, he wanted to be as deep inside her as he could be, cock and tongue and spirit.

  Jenesta arched away from him, but he held her tight, refusing to let go. Once more she screamed into his mouth, crying out his name over and over again. Overwhelmed, teetering on the brink, Roake thrust one more time, felt her squeeze around his cock, her orgasm bowing her back in his arms. Holding her, whispering into her mouth, he waited and then, as she went limp, he exploded.

  The orgasm rushed from his fingers and toes, his lips and heart and belly, liquid fire flashing through his balls and out to pour into Jenesta. Through the storm, Roake clung to her lips, silently crying his love against her sweet heartbreaking kiss.

  She fell asleep under him, her hands circling on his skin until the actual moment she nodded off.

  He had exhausted her with his attentions and it was a good thing. Jenesta would sleep and, by the time she awoke, he would have made all the arrangements necessary and be out of her life.

  His cock was still inside her, almost completely flaccid now but seemingly reluctant to part from her. With a slight movement of his hips Roake pulled free, bit his lip as a wave of loss crashed through his heart. She murmured and turned her head into his neck, but hardly stirred further as he gently lifted his body from hers.

  Kneeling beside her, he brushed wisps of silky hair from her forehead and watched her sleep. The agony inside grew until it threatened to overwhelm him, and Roake did not try to fight. It was too immense, too all-encompassing.

  A flush stained her cheeks, a remnant of their lovemaking. It gave her a rosy glow, soft and satiny, like the blush of a perfect Indian pearl.

  Hadn’t he heard once that pearls also represented tears and sorrow?

  Unable to bear one more moment of frozen silent agony, he moved to unbuckle the straps from her ankles, working as gently as he could.

  “Roake.”

  Her voice was so soft he could almost pretend it was but a continuation of his pain. Unable to look at her, he kept his attention on the chore at hand, loosening the second strap, laying it aside to rub at her reddened skin.

  Jenesta fell silent, and he prayed she had returned to slumber, but when he looked up, she was watching him. He swiftly turned away, rising to his feet, heart inching toward shattering under her gaze.


  Years of discipline stood him in good stead and he donned his control in much the same way as his clothing. By the time he was dressed, she would not be able to see the pain or his intentions on his face.

  Jenesta sat up, watched as Roake pulled on his breeches and boots, tugged on his jacket. He would not meet her eyes, did not look at her once. Mostly he stood so all she could see was his back. As he bent to pick up his shirt, his foot struck the string of pearls where they lay on the ground. Their soft click caught his attention and he froze, staring at them, his face impassive. Jenesta turned away.

  Lifting her knees and wrapping her arms around them, she stared sightlessly toward the window. A strange numbness pervaded her mind and body, like the sensation just after you cut your finger, before the pain of the wound makes itself felt. Shivers began low in her spine and radiated slowly up and out until her teeth began to chatter. The touch of his hands as he fit his shirt over her head made her jump.

  “Slip your arms into the sleeves.”

  His voice, as steady and impersonal as his hands, stabbed into her heart—brought the first breath-stealing shock of anguish. Silently, she did as he bid, forcing her trembling limbs to comply by sheer willpower alone.

  He tugged the linen down and lifted her into his arms. Laying her head on his shoulder, Jenesta looked around the room, fighting the tears stinging to emerge. He walked into the corridor and darkness enclosed them completely as they left the light behind.

  Chapter Six

  Sleep eluded her, held at bay by hurt so deep it clawed at her heart and squeezed her stomach into an aching ball. The agony wrapped around her, blocking her ability to do anything but feel it.

  Silently, Roake had brought her here and put her into bed. Just as silently, he had left. There was a moment when she thought he hesitated, but before she could speak, he turned on his heel and was gone.