Bound by Bliss

by Lavinia Kent

  “I am not sure that I’ve ever heard the word ‘bossy’ applied.”

  She raised a brow, and then with slow deliberation let her tongue flick out, removing the drop of moisture from the tip of his cock.

  The muscles in his chest flexed, his lips tightened, but he made no comment.

  “What is it that you wished me to do? You know I am here only to serve,” she said, sweet and demur.

  His gaze sharpened and then the tiniest hint of a smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “I would like you to take the oil and pour a small amount on my belly, and then I would like you to rub it in, slowly moving lower until you reach the base of my cock, circle around my shaft, and lightly, using only the tips of your fingers, work it into my balls. Do not touch me with anything except your fingertips. I want only the lightest, breeziest of touches. And do not stray from what I have requested.”

  “Bossy,” she mouthed, but did not let a whisper of sound escape. Rising up on her elbows, she leaned over him, letting the peaks of her breasts brush against him, as she reached for the oil. She waited to see if he would comment.

  He did not, but again his lips curled as if he knew something she had not yet realized. Should she ask? She wanted to, but asking would reveal that she could not read him as he read her. Trailing her nipples back across him, she returned to kneeling and poured a small puddle of oil into her hand. Cool and sweet, the scent filled her nostrils. Rubbing her hands together, she allowed the oil to warm.

  “Do you need to be disobedient?” Stephan questioned.

  “I suppose that I do,” she replied, placing her oiled palms upon him just below his navel.

  “I cannot decide if you are merely obstinate or are trying to give me an excuse to punish you.”

  “Would you punish me simply because I poured the oil on my hands and not on your belly?” She moved her hands, pressing deep into his skin, up and then down to his sides, enjoying the slide of his skin and the subtle changes in texture.

  “You know that is not really the point.”

  Yes, she did. Her mind stopped there. She would have liked to pretend that it was because she was so overcome by the sensation of him, but deep in her heart she knew better, knew she was once again avoiding confronting what she truly felt. “I just want to concentrate on this, on how I feel right now. I don’t want to think. Cannot this night simply be about tonight?”

  “Will you marry me, Bliss?” Stephan’s voice growled, and the words seemed to fill the room.

  The question caught her by surprise, no warning, no clue that it was coming.

  She wanted to answer carelessly, to joke or act coy, but the words would not come. “No,” was all she could say, her throat closing so that even the one syllable was hard to speak.

  “Why? I still do not understand why you are so resistant.”

  Duldon watched as his simple question hit her face as if hitting a wall. He could see it penetrate, and yet see the denial that marked her features.

  “Why do you ask? What does it matter? And I thought that was what we just talked about, my avoidance of love and the pain it might bring? And why ask now in the midst of our play? You already knew my answer.” The words that had been halted a moment before now rushed to her lips. Her hands grew still upon him.

  His body still screamed for more, screamed for satisfaction, but his mind took control, pushing all other thoughts back.

  “I ask because it is now. You want this to go forward between us and yet you will not be honest with me. I am growing impatient. You know what I want and yet you seek to play with me.”

  She drew herself up. “You knew what I wanted, what I was willing to give. Yes, this is a game, but I believe you set the rules.”

  Were they at that moment? He feared that they were. “That may be true, but I think your actions, if not your words, indicated that you wanted more than you now pretend.”

  “I have told you I do not want love in a marriage. We have just finished that discussion.”

  It was time to push for more. “What is really preventing you from giving me the answer I want, Bliss? What have you held against me for all these years, that even now prevents honesty between us? Why am I worse than any other man of your acquaintance?”

  Her features drew even more closed. There truly was something he did not know, something she was not prepared to tell him. Somehow he needed to break through those barriers, to find out what had stood between them these last years. He could not pinpoint when she had changed, and no matter how often he had played back events in his mind he had never solved the riddle of what had happened.

  He waited.

  She said nothing.

  He waited.

  Her eyes dropped—and then she settled her hands upon them, letting them move in small, magic circles.

  It would be so easy to go along with it, to take what she would offer and let the battle slip until tomorrow.

  His body cried for him to give in, to take pleasure and satisfaction, to let her explore and trust that all would be resolved.

  He had never been a man to take the easy path. He needed Bliss to surrender to him, to bare her soul and all that stood between them. If she kept up the walls of her resistance they would never proceed to the place he wanted them to be, needed them to be.

  Somehow he must force her to open up, force her to spill her secrets.

  With a sudden twist, he turned his hips away. His hand moved and pulled out the small drawer in the table beside the bed. Bless Ruby, she did know her clients.

  Another twist and a surge forward and suddenly she was below him in the bed, his body pressing hers into the soft mattress. “It is time that we take this all a step further. You can tell me to stop, Bliss. But if you do, know that it is truly the end. I am done with this game. Just say the word at any point and we will rise from this bed and return to our lives and I will never again bother you except as your brother’s friend.” He lifted his head and stared down at her.

  He could see the word on her lips, feel her need to speak it, but she held silent.

  Slowly, still holding her gaze, he grabbed both her hands and pulled them over her head, securing them with the silk binding he had taken from the table. The black silk wound twice about her wrists before he pulled tight and secured it to the headboard.

  A flash of worry, of fear, swept across her eyes, but still she said nothing.

  Being sure she was held tight, he leaned back and took in the sight before him, breasts raised and high, white flesh tied with black scarves.

  Her pupils grew large beneath his gaze, her breaths shallow. She was afraid, but the fear brought excitement, a hint of the thrill.

  Grabbing the last two ties, he slid down her and placed a kiss on a delicate ankle, before knotting the silk about it.

  “What…” The word leaked from her lips and then halted.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, even as his cock protested, its desires fighting everything else in his mind.

  Again she did not answer, but her eyes filled with questions.

  He grabbed the silk tie and knotted it about one of the posts, pulling it tight.

  He repeated the action with her other leg, his eyes still on hers, seeking any sign that she was unwilling.

  There was confusion and debate, and that edge of fear, apparent upon her face—but also desire. She might not understand, but her body did. He could see that in the rise and fall of her breasts, in the scent of womanly arousal that filled his nostrils.

  Kneeling between her legs, he had a moment of debate. How did he take her to that next place, that place that opened doors and broke down boundaries? He knew where they needed to go, but finding the correct path might be tricky.

  Her eyes were still upon him. They held his gaze and then dropped lower, widening, and then swept back up to his face. He had never been so aroused. An hour ago he might have made the same statement, but against all expectations his need for her only continued to grow.

  Pa
tience. He needed to find patience.

  An idea began to form. Sliding off the bed, he gazed about the room. There was a single hardwood chair almost hidden between the wall and the bed. Grabbing his jacket from the floor where it had dropped, he pulled out a cheroot and lit it from a candle. He lifted the chair and moved it so that he could sit and watch Bliss. Then he sat and took a long drag of the cigar, letting the smoke fill his lungs, waiting for relaxation to fill him. It did not come.

  He blew out, inhaled again.

  Bliss squirmed on the bed, pulling against her bonds, turning her head to him. He could see the questions in her eyes, knew that she wanted to know what was happening. He gave no clue away. Let her wait. If he must learn patience so must she.

  She glared at him. Opened her mouth. Closed her mouth. Opened it again. Closed it.

  Closed her eyes.

  Waited.

  Opened her eyes.

  Closed them again.

  He spread his legs wide, leaning back in the chair.

  Her eyes opened and, turning her head, she began to stare up at the mirror. He saw the exact moment in which she stopped merely looking and saw herself as he saw her, saw the full peaked breasts, the narrow waist and full hips, the nest of blond curls, the firm white thighs, damp and slick with desire, the barest hint of pink hiding between. And the bonds, the dark silk holding her open and spread, an offering, his to do with as he pleased, so vulnerable—so desirable. He could feel the shudder that took her as full comprehension settled about her, her gaze still locked upon herself.

  His hand slipped down and stroked upon his long length. Her eyes turned and watched. He ran his hands up and down, slowly, so slowly, allowing not a hint of hurry. They had the rest of the night and he would take every moment that he needed to bring them both along.

  Her gaze focused completely on his cock. He could feel the clench of her body longing for him, for his touch, for his attention.

  Instead he paid attention only to the feel of his hand sliding up and down; he paused at the base, holding it tight and then up again, pressing along the pulsing vein, playing about the head.

  Her lips parted, her tongue visible between.

  “Do you want to touch me? To touch yourself? Do you want to run a hand over your breasts, to feel them swell with need, to pinch your nipples until you can bear no more, to trail your oil-slick fingers across your belly, to tug upon your sweet curls? Do you want to part yourself, to feel the cool air upon your hot flesh? Can you imagine looking up at the mirror as you do it, seeing yourself tremble, seeing your flesh beg for more? You would spread yourself, let your fingers play through your folds. Can you imagine the shiver coursing your body when you first touch that spot, when you first rub against your clit and then circle down? Would you press into yourself, feel the suck upon your finger, feel the moisture, feel the desire? Would you press deep, needing more, longing for more, imagining me lying between your legs, knowing how I would fill you, complete you? No, no words, my dear kitten. This is for me. I gave you your turn.”

  A sheen of sweat covered her. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly and yet her eyes remained on him, watching the slick glide up and down his length.

  “You are so greedy,” he continued. “You want to press your lips about me, to taste me, to know me. Do you imagine the feel of me in your mouth, pushing down into your throat, demanding that you soften yourself, that you take my all?” He stood on those words, pressing, pulling, stretching himself to his full length. He bit down on his lip as he saw her eyes gauge him, knew the thoughts that flowed through her mind. “Are you wondering if you could take me, if you could breathe as I reached my climax, as I pounded into you, deeper and deeper? Can you feel me spurt down your throat, feel yourself gulp and gasp, wanting more even as you fought for the next breath?”

  He took a step toward her, moved nearer to the bed, still stretching and pressing. He stopped and closed his eyes, concentrating on nothing but the sensation and need of his own touch. “If I freed you would you fall on your knees before me, thighs spread wide, begging for my cock, begging for me to fill you, to allow you to pleasure me?”

  He opened his eyes and stared down at her. “I see all that you want, all that you desire, and it is my choice what release I will grant you, what release I will grant myself, but that does not mean that you do not have choice. It was your choice to come here. It was your choice to take off your clothing and lay down upon my bed. It was your choice not to run when my hand slapped upon your ass, when you felt the burn of punishment and knew the fires that blazed in your secret core. It was your choice when you closed your lips about me. And it was your choice when I buried my face between your legs and ate your greedy cunny until you screamed your pleasure. And finally, it was your choice to let me stretch and tie you to the bed for my own pleasure. You cannot say that I have not given you choices.”

  Her eyes widened and he saw her gulp.

  He lifted the candle in its wide holder from the table and held it over her, letting the light fall upon her, a perfect play of glow and shadow. “But now it is my turn, my choice for what I want. You can still say no and leave, but that is the only choice remaining. If you stay, you give yourself to me, you trust me with all of you.”

  Another gulp, but no words came to her lips.

  Trust. Once again it was all about trust.

  He gave her a moment, preparing for her denial, even as he prayed that she would stay.

  Her eyes held his for another moment and then dropped back to his cock. She opened her mouth and licked her lips, the invitation clear.

  He smiled. She still thought she had some control, some say in what would happen between them. It was time she learned. He would listen to her and even argue with her during the day, but here, here at night, in bed, his was the only say that mattered.

  He would care for her, push her beyond her boundaries, give her what she needed, bring her more pleasure than she could imagine, but it would be at his pace, at his will.

  He stepped a little closer, watched her eyes follow. Again, he stroked slowly and with care, forcing himself to a pace far below that which he wished. He watched her focus follow his movement, her entire being caught in that one movement. He inched even nearer, until the tip of his cock was only an inch from her calling lips. He stopped there, still caressing and stroking, squeezing, holding. His gaze focused on that mouth, those swollen, eager lips.

  He felt the seep at the tip of his prick, felt the need grow and grow within him, knew the need for release, pictured himself burrowing between her lips, digging deep, pressing hard. He almost groaned at the pull of the image.

  God, that was what he wanted, what he needed.

  He held back. Her tongue snuck out, reaching. She wanted that taste, wanted him.

  He stroked harder, felt more cum leak from the tip.

  This time he did groan. The sound caused a tremor to run down Bliss’s body.

  He moved his eyes away from her mouth, focused on the flicker of the candle, on the melted wax pooling below the flame. The light filled his eyes, tiny dancing sparks that symbolized the burn within. Tilting the holder he watched the wax drip and fall to the wide base, forming a hot puddle. He waited, counted. Fifteen seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

  He pulled upon his cock once more, stretching the skin tight over the rock-hard flesh, and then he turned. He lifted the candle high and let four perfect drops of wax fall upon Bliss’s belly, a perfect line reaching from navel to breast.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  That stung. It burned. Oh, it stung. Bliss fought for breath as the unexpected heat dropped down upon her. She closed her eyes as a loud moan rose in her throat, but she held it back. The burn cooled, the wax—for it had taken her only a moment to understand what was happening—cooled and hardened.

  And then another drop hit, just at the base of her breast.

  She bit down hard.

  It hurt and yet…The pain was not nearly as bad as she had first thought. The firs
t second was bad, but after that it was not bad.

  She could do this.

  Opening her eyes, she focused on Stephan. His gaze remained settled on her, measuring her response, seeking to understand every small flicker of reaction. She swallowed and focused on her body, on the multitude of feelings running through her. It did burn, there was no denying that, and yet in no way did she feel scalded or injured.

  It was merely heat, heat such as she had never experienced. And there was pleasure in it. It took her a moment to realize that, to understand it. The intensity of the sensation was so great that it blocked out understanding. When the wax hit her skin all thought left her, all that remained was heat, heat that licked through her, filling her, leaving her mind blank. And in the echo of the heat came pleasure, flickers of delight as sensitive skin met cool air, as her whole body arched for Stephan and trails of desire moved from drop to drop and then deeper into her, toward her core.

  “You are still thinking too much. It is time to let the thoughts fade away,” Stephan said, his voice tender and yet commanding.

  Four more drops of wax, almost a steady stream, traced up her breast almost to the tip.

  She breathed deep, puffing out the air as the burn took over. She was not thinking now.

  And just as thought returned, four more drops circled the deep pink flesh, each landing on flesh more tender. The burn grew, but so did the desire. Her nipples burned and they had not yet been touched, she could feel them clench and grow tight, blood filling them. They ached for the warmth of Stephan’s mouth, for the pressure of his lips, for the release she felt as they were sucked deep.

  As her breathing slowed, she held Stephan’s gaze for a second and then dropped to her turgid peaks, trying to translate her need, her want.