by London Casey
But even in the dim light, she could see his eyes riveting on them. Her nipples came instantly erect and he cupped their softness, grazing the stiff peaks. “You have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen. I’ve wanted to push my cock between them, just like this, from the first time I saw you in a low-cut bodice.”
“They are surely too large for a young lady.” The words left her lips before she thought. All she could see in her mind was Mama frowning in disapproval as Nellie attempted to bind them smaller.
Jon chuckled softly. “They are perfect. Your body is perfect.” He gave her left breast a squeeze.
Little eddies of delight shimmered from her breast into her belly. She caught her breath.
“Do you like for me to handle them?”
It was a silly question. Her nipples were hard as pebbles and she was trembling with excitement. But she nodded.
“That’s fortunate. Because there will be a lot of that sort of a thing, Nan.”
He moved closer to her, his cock brushing her cheek, all velvet over steel. She tilted her head, pressing against its hardness.
He gently squeezed her breasts together then touched his cock to the crease between them. The supple smoothness of his crown was warm against her flesh. He began to leak and seemed to grow firmer. As the amount of lubrication increased, Jon pressed his erection between her breasts. A slow, sensual slide.
The marble-like shaft disappeared partially and his hands pressed her a little more closely. It was shocking, wicked. He thrust his hips back and forth several times. Then he paused, breathing heavily.
His words had heated her blood. She arched her back, unable to get enough of his large, slightly roughened hands as he handled her to suit his fancy. He thrust again and again and again. She became dizzy with the excitement of it.
Then he withdrew. He took her hand and wrapped it about his erection. He was very hard, very large. She gave him a firm squeeze and his shaft throbbed within her grasp. Her heart skipped a little beat.
“I am going to come all over you, like this,” he said in a rasping voice.
The image of his climax that night at Whitecross in her bedchamber flashed in Anne’s mind. All power and force. The stunning spectacle of his pleasure. Her breathing began to hitch.
“Do you want that?” He stroked her hand up and down his shaft. She fancied she could feel his seed surging within the organ. “Do you want me to come all over your beautiful breasts?”
A most ardent desire overcame her and she moaned her assent loudly, not capable of modulating her need. With his hand over hers, he helped her to keep the correct pace and firmness of grip. His cock surged, a pumping sensation. The first jet of seed hit her under her chin, hot and fierce, full of vitality.
She cried out with the shock. He pulled himself from between her globes and took hold of himself, stroking his cock as further jets of thick, creamy seed erupted from him and poured warm rain over her bosom. His groans were like harsh music in her ears.
It was simply the most thrilling thing she’d ever experienced. She became aware of the wetness slipping down the insides of her thighs and the beating pulse in her swollen, aching nub. When his climax ebbed, he took several deep breaths. He was staring at her as she knelt there, drenched in his seed.
His gaze was strangely soft and under it, she felt beautiful and filled with a strange sort of power she had never felt before.
“My Lady Cranfield,” he said breathily.
He backed away, returned and wiped her off with a linen towel. The rhythmic strokes of the cloth over her skin lulled her. Filled her with warmth. She wanted to crawl into his embrace and curl into him.
Then he touched her head, dropped something over her eyes.
All her shimmering elation vanished. “Oh, don’t…”
He touched his finger to the tip of her nose and made a sibilant sound. Then he continued securing the cloth at the back. He let her go.
She touched the cloth, her fingers gliding over the pure silk.
“Don’t touch that,” he growled low.
She let it go as if it were afire.
“Good girl,” he said and her stomach turned over in that pathetic, flippy-floppy way it seemed to do every time he praised her like that. “Open for me.”
She complied, leaving herself exposed and vulnerable, a fact that both unsettled her and caused a fresh surge of wetness from her channel. Her inner muscles clenched fiercely.
He inserted his leg between hers, his hairs tickling her as he parted her thighs even further. “Don’t close them even an inch.”
She could hear him moving about, building up the fire in the large stone hearth. From the warmth, the popping and cracking sounds, there would be firelight now. He would be able to see her, yet she was still in darkness. From the quiet, she suspected he was observing her. Gooseflesh rose over her at the thought. “Why must I be blindfolded?”
“Because I will it.” His voice, firm and commanding, set her channel contracting hungrily. After a few more moments, he took her hands and placed them in front of her. “Clasp them.”
He looped something several times around her wrists. Then he was tugging. She tried to pull her hands apart.
“They’re bound, Nan.”
He touched her shoulders. “Move backwards.”
“Why?”
“Because I will it.” He moved, pushing her shoulders, forcing her to walk backwards on her knees. Blindfolded. Bound at the wrists. Why was he insisting on this?
They moved in a complete circle. Once, twice, three times. She lost her sense of direction. Then he was behind her, pulling her back slowly. The blindfold made everything so dark. The sensation was like free-falling. Her heart pounded in alarm. It was silly but she couldn’t help feeling a little afraid. Instinctively, her hands jerked, trying to free themselves and reach for the floor.
“Easy now, I’ve got you,” he said softly.
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“I know.”
Her back touched something soft and slightly scratchy. She arched up and her whole body went rigid.
“I’ve got you,” he repeated.
He let go of her shoulders and held her head in his palms, still lowering her. Then he slipped his hand away. Her head landed and sank into something soft and seemingly groundless.
Her heart beat jarringly for several moments as she seemed to float and spin on the air. Then she realised she was on the floor, her head on an extremely fluffy feather pillow. She laughed in both relief and release.
He brushed her ear with his lips. “Do you see? It is not so unpleasant to trust in me completely, is it?”
He untied her wrists and she immediately reached out to her sides, feeling the soft flannel blanket. He touched her stomach, gliding with warm, silky sensation. Sweet coconut oil permeated the air. Slowly, rhythmically, he massaged every part of her. She went limp and her eyes grew heavy.
At the touch of two of his long, oiled fingers sliding deep into the softness between her legs, she bolted awake. She was already wet, already swollen and aching with desire. A moan forced its way from her throat, long and low.
His fingers moved slowly and steadily, back and forth in her channel. She’d never known arousal like this before. Needed to come immediately.
“Please, please,” she begged.
He withdrew his fingers and his large hand cupped her whole quim. “This belongs to me now. Do you realise that?”
“Wh-what?” she asked, barely able to comprehend his words, much less decipher what he wished to hear in return.
“I want to hear you say it, Nan. Say my cunt belongs to Jonathon Lloyd.”
Beneath her excitement, her hackles rose. After last night, all the stakes had been raised. Such comments were no longer a game. “I can’t possibly say something like that.”
“You will,” he said with perfect assurance.
He touched the insides of her thighs and, automatically, her legs parted wider and her
hips writhed uncontrollably. His finger traced the outer edge of her cunny.
“Damn, you get so wet. I knew you’d be a little hussy. I knew it on the first day we met. From the first time you gave me one of your deep and penetrating glances. You wanted me then, didn’t you? You wanted me to touch you like this.” His tongue snaked, warm and moist, along her inner folds. “And like this.” He flicked her straining nub. “Didn’t you?”
She moaned in frustration at the brevity of the contact. “I didn’t… Heavens, I didn’t think of you like that…” He licked her nub again.
Fiery sparks shot through the firm little protuberance and she gasped. “Certainly not like this, back then.”
“Little liar. You can lie to yourself but you cannot lie to me. Before all is said and done, we’re going to have some truth between us.”
“What truth do you imagine that to be?”
“That you wanted me to claim you”—he cupped her mons and lips—“this part of you, as my own.”
Her heart raced beneath her breast. God, she could never admit such thing. Even if it were true. Which it wasn’t—surely it wasn’t. She’d been attracted to him for the strength of his character. The innate raw power and vitality that emanated from him. She’d wanted to learn how she could acquire such strength for herself.
It had been only her treacherous body reacting to his. Instinct. She, Anne—the person aside from the weakness of her flesh—did not want to be owned.
His lips touched her stomach and she quivered all over. “Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but soon—very soon—you’re going to cede ownership of this precious part of yourself to me. You’re going to tell me exactly what I want to hear and you’re going to do it of your own free will.”
She began to fear that the stakes here were higher than mere temporary games between lovers. Her throat went dry and her heart gave a little string of erratic beats. But his mouth touched her again, closing over her aching, intimate flesh, alternately sucking and flicking and circling. And every other thought fled from her mind except the pleasure he gave her. Good lord, he was a virtuoso. He brought her right up to the edge of golden, shimmering orgasmic perfection.
Then he stopped.
“Jon.” She moaned his name and twisted in the bonds.
His mouth closed on her again, slowly building her back up, pushing her higher this time. And when he stopped, the crash was all the more devastating.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked in panting tones.
“Because it’s my will. My whim. I told you I’d treat you like a plaything.”
Pure desire pulsed through her cunny at his words. Logically, she still didn’t understand her own reactions, but that didn’t seem to matter. She was helpless to do anything but feel.
He inserted two fingers into her depths and her hips danced furiously. Her slick core slid easily, moving to and fro on his digits, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out.
“See, already your cunt recognises its owner. It remains only for you to admit it.”
He moved up level with her, the fine hairs on his body brushing along her stomach. He kissed her deeply, slowly, forcing her to taste herself on his lips and tongue. The intimacy shocked her, seared her.
He ran his hand over her breast, slowing as he grazed her hardened nipple.
“Your skin glows like amber in the firelight. You must surely know I am quite taken with it.” He pressed a trail of kisses over her breasts. “But not half as taken with that as I am with the idea that every inch should belong to me.”
He took her hand and wrapped it around something—a soft braid.
“This is silk rope, the most expensive, exquisite I could find in Paris.”
She caught her breath and her heart beat a fierce tattoo. Channel clenching, savage hunger set her trembling.
“I have been saving it for someone worthy.” He looped the rope loosely around her arm several times and slid it up and down on her skin. The texture was velvety, refined, like a caress.
“What colour is it?” she asked, needing to know for some reason she didn’t even understand.
“I had it dyed your favourite colour.” Something serpentine dropped on the soft curve of her tummy. The thick coil of rope. There was so much. His hand gripped her hip. “I am going to wrap you in it.”
Fear shivered through her—the most delectable kind. She forced herself to think of something safer. “What is my favourite colour?”
“Deep, dark crimson.”
She could picture it now. God. She swallowed hard, her breath hitching with exhilaration. She tried to ignore it. “You really think you know me that well from merely observing me a few times?”
“I don’t know all about you, no. But I know that’s your favourite colour. If a lady has a wrapper and bedspread of the same colour, then a man can wager that is her favourite colour.” He lifted her, his hands caressing her as tenderly as if she’d been spun from glass. Slowly, deliberately, he wound the rope beneath her breasts, his hands brushing her now and then. He traced his finger along where her skin and the rope met, sliding in between as if testing the tightness. “And I know that the colour suits you best.”
He wrapped the rope twice above her breasts. The silk cord caressed the sides of her neck and he pulled her arms high over her head and looped them together much as he’d done earlier.
She struggled against the bonds and found herself quite thoroughly tied. A thrill chased through her. “Why must you do this, tying me up?”
His mouth encompassed a straining nipple and his tongue ran lazy circles around it. “You seemed to like it before.”
“It seems rather silly now. I don’t understand why you want it so much.”
“Haven’t you guessed, love? I am binding you to me.”
His words and the possibility of their truth frightened her. She was unable to keep herself from struggling against the bonds. All she managed to do was reinforce the initial helplessness and each tug and strain of the rope sent new thrills racing through her. Soon she was panting and her nipples were so erect they hurt.
She became aware of the time that had passed. Other than the occasional popping logs in the hearth, it was silent. Sudden panic seized her. “Jon?”
“I am right here, love. I would not leave you alone like this.”
“But what are you doing?”
“I am watching you.” He caressed her stomach. “You are so beautiful in your excitement.”
He touched her mons, his fingers tracing along her lips through the lingering wetness. All the pounding, painful arousal of earlier pounded into life. Her hips arched upwards before she could stop them and she bit her lip to keep from pleading for him.
“Don’t be embarrassed by your reactions, they are beautiful. We shall be very honest with each other about our sexual feelings.” His thighs brushed the insides of hers and his hands slipped under her buttocks and lifted her hips.
Something warm touched her entrance. The barest kiss of his intimate flesh. She caught her breath and wetness rushed out of her to greet him.
He impaled her, suddenly, driving all the way inside. Discomfort flashed like lightning from her core up to her throat and down her legs to her feet, quickly followed by a stronger, longer-lasting blast of pleasure.
Oh God, Oh God.
She hadn’t expected him to—to…not without some kind of verbal warning.
But the suddenness, the surprise, had also been so exciting and now her heart pounded in its wake.
His hands tightened on her hips and he held himself still for a moment. His breathing sounded heavy and hard in the quiet. He filled her, stretched her and consumed her, and her channel clenched around him frantically, as if for fear he’d withdraw.
He did.
She cried out at the loss, fighting the bindings on her arms, wanting to pull him back. Her hips tried to lift, seeking him. He held them with ruthless firmness, forcing her to be still.
He drove
in again, harder, faster this time. But there was no discomfort, only a brilliant starburst of sensation. His harsh groan sent sparks like gooseflesh over her skin and heated her blood.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he said in a hoarse voice.
She moved to obey and he lifted her buttocks as she did. His cock sank even deeper, touching the very mouth of her womb. She gasped.
He touched her head. The silk blindfold fell away. Firelight and shadow accentuated the hard planes of his face and his bright blue eyes were like flames, piercing hers. Holding her transfixed. He moved slowly within her, pulling almost all the way out then inching all the way back in. Each jarring thrust against her depths filled her with the most delicious pleasure. Each time he withdrew, she couldn’t wait for him to plunge back in. She heard her own voice, the tone pleading, the words incomprehensible above the rush of her heartbeat in her ears.
He said something, the sound harsh, like a groan. He began hammering in and out of her like a piston. His sweat poured onto her, his scent filled her senses. Her insides felt stretched to their very limits by his hugeness, his width, his length. There was soreness, yes, but such blissful soreness.
There was nothing for her but him.
It was too much and she closed her eyes, but the darkness offered little protection. The fine hair on his body rasped hers as he moved on her, thrusting with increasing speed. His fingers touched her nub and she came undone, sensation pounding through her, mind-searing pleasure that blotted everything else out.
Except for him.
His cock still pounded into her, his pelvis grinding against her erect, straining nub. He buried his face into the curve where her neck met her shoulder, sinking his teeth into her. Shocking her, then stilling her. A second, vicious release tore through her, her channel rippling around his cock.