Forbidden (Scandalous Sirens) (26 page)

“I want you.”

“You want only to hurt your father.”

“To hell with the old man,” he snarled.

She watched him intently, as though if she looked hard enough she would find the answer she sought.

He attempted to explain himself a little better. “I knew you were an equal and not the plaything others assumed you to be.”

A blush raced quickly up her neck. “A plaything?” she replied.

He shrugged, hoping to disguise his discomfort with such disclosures. He caressed the upper swell of her breasts above the dress, through the delicate lace. God, just standing this close to her was making him throb with need for her, for the sweet release he had enjoyed that day. “You are no plaything,” he added. “I could take you a dozen times and it would not be enough.”

She pushed his hand aside and slipped past him, moving to the bed. She sat on the edge and leaned down to push off her slippers. Her breasts, lush firm globes of pale flesh, pushed at the lace—he could see the dark valley between them and the sight brought a silent groan to his lips.

She looked up at him. “Leave me. I need to sleep.”

He could now add headstrong to her long list of traits. “I can think of more exciting things to do than sleep.”

Her expression was cold, but he could see her eyes darken, the lashes lower. She was angry, but still aroused at the thought.

A knock sounded at the door. “Marianne,” Elisa said under her breath. “You have to go.”

Vaughn crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall.

She shook her head. “Hide then.”

Dutifully he found a good hiding place behind a chest of drawers that once graced his mother’s room.
 
He crouched down and waited.

The conversation between the two women was light. Each one of Elisa’s words were clipped and curt, signaling to the other woman she was in no mood for conversation. After endless minutes, the light went out and the door closed behind the maid.

He stood, finding his way by the light of the full moon that escaped through the sheer drapes. It occurred to him that it had been a full month since he had been struck speechless by her angelic appearance in the library the first night he had returned here. “Does she tuck you in every night?” he asked, sitting on the end of the bed.

“Yes.”

Even in the darkness he could feel her anger. “I apologized, Elisa.”

She sighed heavily. “I know, but it doesn’t change what happened. You knew I would give into you. You knew I would not be able to resist your charm.”

Had he known that? Yes, he had been confident that sooner or later she would give in to him. It had never occurred to him that she would be able to resist.

He ran his hand up her leg, wishing it were her flesh and not the coverlet he felt.

“You want me,” she said.

“Of course.”

“Lay down beside me,” she whispered.

His heart beat in double-time with almost schoolboy glee. He obeyed with alacrity, realizing that she had forgiven him somewhat. He had an inarticulate hope that her forgiveness would be total.

“Your boots. Take them off,” she ordered.

Again, he obeyed her command, enjoying the little game.

“Take off your shirt.”

Unable to hide his smile, he threw the shirt on the floor.

She held the covers aside and he slipped into the warm bedding. Her thigh, wrapped in silk, came to rest over his breeches and she cuddled up to his side with a sigh.

He stroked her leg through the silk, his fingertips tingling with the touch, while her hands moved up along his arms, curling around his biceps. “I am more than a plaything, then?” she asked.

“Yes,” he agreed, puzzled. Hadn’t he just told her that?

She sat up then, straddling him and in the moonlight, her silk shift rode up high, revealing the pale, slender length of her thighs.

“I see,” she murmured and moved her hips in an enticing, lustful way.

His erection, already painfully engorged despite the drink he had consumed this evening, grew thicker and longer as she rubbed against him. She leaned toward him, and her breasts, gleaming in the moonlight, were mere inches from his lips. He swallowed dryly and reached for them, but she caught his wrist in her hands and pulled his arm over his head, until it brushed up against the iron bed frame. The movement brought her breasts breathtakingly close to his mouth.

Distracted so, it took him a moment to realize that she had slipped something warm and soft around his wrist. It was only when she caught the other wrist in her small warm hands that he felt the tug of the restriction on the other.

“What…? Elisa, what are you doing?” he asked, trying to move his head around so that he could see.

“Shhh, plaything,” she murmured. “You need to learn your place.” Even as she spoke, his other wrist was moved to the other corner of the bed head and anchored.

He tugged at the bonds experimentally. They were quite secure. Straining his head to one side he could glimpse a hint of bright colors around his wrists. Bending his fingers inwards allowed him to feel the sensuous touch of silk.

“What is this? Elisa, where did you get these?”

“They are scarves. Silk scarves from the Orient. I put them under the pillow just now when Marianne helped me to bed.” Her voice seemed distant, as if she were concentrating on other matters.

Scarves or ties, it did not matter. The tight weave of silk meant that if she had tied an adequate knot he would never break the bonds. His tugging told him the knot was adequate.

“Elisa, enough of this. I apologized. Let me loose.”

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she slithered down the length of his body, her breasts grazing his flesh, brushing past his groin and he realized her next target. He moved his foot out of her way, but she was quicker. A loop of silk was whipped around the other ankle and cat-quick, she looped the other end around the bedstead and fastened it. That left one remaining limb free. By the simple expedient of sitting on his thigh, her round warm bottom anchoring his leg, she tied his ankle to the other side of the bed frame.

He was utterly helpless.

She turned around and in the moonlight he could see her small smile. She ran her fingers lightly down his arms and then his sensitive side. She moved further down his body, her hair tickling his belly and then his groin. Her lips followed the same trail and soon he was straining against the bonds.

“Elisa, I want my hands free.”

Her teeth flashed white in the darkness of the room. “Not until you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Hell’s hounds, Eliza, I apologized. And I explained—revenge upon my father was…an afterthought. A sweet bonus.”

“Yes, I know. But that is not the lesson.”

“Then…I don’t understand,” he confessed, a little confused. Although her lips on his flesh were causing some of the confusion, too.

“Exactly. You need to understand.”

She reached across him towards the side table, her breast again brushing his chest. His flesh rippled beneath the fleeting touch, sending spears of feeling into his groin. He caught his breath. There was a degree of enjoyment at being completely at her disposal, he realized. The novelty had cleared his head of the last of the port, too.

Then she straightened up again, her knees on either side of him, the negligee again pushed high up by her hips. This time, though, she wielded a knife.

Fright touched him. “What do you intend to do with that?” he demanded. Surely…she had forgiven him, yes? Or did her anger run deeper than he had suspected?

“I thought I might want to have a weapon for protection.”
 
She waved the knife, the blade gleaming dully, catching the direct reflection of the moon in ghostly flashes of light that caught his attention and held his gaze. The blade looked ridiculously long.

“What is it that you want?” he said, keeping his voice as even as possible.

“You,” she answered, her voice ethereal.

“Elisa—” he began as she lowered the knife towards his stomach. He held his breath, bracing himself, as the cold blade slid beneath the top of his breeches. “Elisa,” he tried again and then, abruptly, she flexed her arm. The tough broadcloth parted with a soft tearing sound, from waistband to hip, split by the knife. She pushed the raw edges aside with the knife, then used the point to tickle the extremely sensitive flesh right next to where his shaft reared against his belly. She seemed thoughtful, absorbed in her task.

He flexed against his bindings. “For God’s sake, Elisa, let me loose.”

“No.”

“Let me loose, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” she asked, lifting her chin to look at him. The knife had stopped its tickling and rested alarmingly close to his groin and the master vein that throbbed there.

“I’ll…you’ll pay for this.”

“I have already paid. Clearly, you still don’t understand.” She pushed the knife down the leg of his breeches, which was still relatively whole, then turned the knife sideways so that the edge of the blade lifted the fabric. The broadcloth gave way with another quiet rip. Slowly she worked her way down the leg of the trousers until the fabric lay on either side of his now bare leg.

He lay still, his heart beating with a mix of puzzlement and astonishment.

Still in thoughtful silence, she tore the other leg of his breeches from his body, leaving him completely naked, with his limbs stretched to the four corners of the bed. Despite his demeaning position he was painfully aroused.

Still holding the exceedingly sharp knife, she leaned down towards him. He gritted his teeth as her lips encircled the tip of his cock. “Elisa…”

She ignored his helpless protest and instead suckled him until he was writhing beneath her. He fought to maintain control, to stay on top of the powerful swell of pleasure building in him, sensing it would be an acknowledgement of her power in this position if he were to climax.

But that was not her goal, he realized, when she sat up on her heels and looked down at him. She brought the knife up to rest between her breasts and slipped the tip inside. The blade split the fine material without effort and the insubstantial nightgown fluttered down onto the bed, leaving her glorious body naked and awash with the glow of the moonlight. Her nipples were hard and erect. Her hands came up to cup them and her fingertips played with them.

“What is it you want, Vaughn?”

“You.”

Her hands dropped to his thighs. The fingers ran up both thighs, coming to a stop right at his groin. She skipped over his throbbing, hot member and caressed his stomach, then chest.

“I cannot hold out against you much longer,” he warned.

“You have no choice,” she responded. “That is your lesson.” She leaned over him, and this time her breast caressed his chin. The tip nudged his lips. “Take it in your mouth,” she commanded.

He took the proffered nipple and suckled it, flicking it with his tongue, deliberately doing his best to arouse her in the hope that she would release him to finish the task properly.

Her soft moans were indication that he was succeeding. After a few moments, though, she moved so that the other neglected breast was presented to him.

“Again,” she commanded.

He doubled his efforts and this time he could feel her moving against him, her hips rubbing in tight little circles, pressing against him and sliding up and down the length of his shaft. Warm moisture from her slick sex anointed his cock, making it leap in response.

Then she was pulling the breast away, straightening up, positioning herself over him. Then slowly, inch by inch, she lowered herself onto him. Her progress was so slow sweat began to bead upon his forehead. He could feel every inch of her channel slide down over the sensitive tip of him. She was obviously enjoying herself, extending the sensations for as long as possible.

That was when he understood with growing wonder: She was using him. Using him for her own pleasure.

Just as slowly as she had lowered herself she began to rise once more. She had learned much since this afternoon for now there was no faltering in her motion. She was regulating the motion with deft precision for her complete pleasure. But it was not his complete pleasure, it was not exactly what he needed. For many minutes she continued to pleasure herself upon him. If he gave any sign that he was close to climaxing she would halt her motion, denying him the release. His breath grew ragged and harsh and his body wound tighter and tighter as he sought with the limited means at his disposal to find a release despite her. Unable to stand it, he thrust upward.

She immediately grew still and put her hands on his chest. “No. I am in control here. Do you understand?”

The need for release was like a scream in his mind. He could think of nothing else. And Elisa held the power to give that to him. He could deny her nothing. He nodded.

“Excuse me?” she coaxed.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Yes, what?”

He took a deep breath, an attempt to make his voice behave normally. “Yes, you have control,” he said.

“And the lesson?” she demanded.