Restraint (2 page)
He felt so old and so damned jaded. It was almost as if taking her, as if being inside her could and would absolve him of all the pain he carried around within him.
But he couldn’t have her. He had promised Wallingford he wouldn’t fuck her.
Bugger her in the
arse
.
He groaned at the thought of being in her even there. Just to feel her heat, to lose himself for the first time in years inside a woman, was consuming him to the point of insanity.
He couldn’t stand it any longer.
With a jerk of the ebony silk sashes that bound her feet, Thomas freed her ankles and flipped her over onto her stomach, shoving a pillow under her hips to lift her taut, rounded buttocks up in the air.
She gasped and tried to fight but he held her thighs firmly, his gaze raking her from head to toe. Her arms were crossed now, stretched above her head, her black hair wildly framing her blindfolded face. She panted, becoming perfectly still.
Both apertures were visible now despite the wealth of black curls between her legs. Thomas’ swollen phallus strained at the sight of her tight little anus and the dusky pink lips of her labia. He nearly exploded in his pants. He could smell her. Hot. Sweet. He wanted to taste her.
But not yet.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice raising nearly an octave in her distress.
His hand slid up the back of her thigh and gently, barely brushed the cleft between her legs. “I want to touch you. Here.”
She tensed when his fingertip circled her clitoris.
“May I, Catherine?”
“No!” She sounded hysterical but her cleft glistened with her wetness.
He swept his palm over her rounded buttock, knowing she wanted it but waiting for her to ask, to plead with him for more.
The muscles in her thighs tightened and she raised her buttocks just a fraction of an inch and that was all the impetus Thomas needed.
He leaned toward her and breathed in the feminine scent of her, so close he knew she could feel his breath, his heat. “May I taste you then?”
She said nothing.
He closed his eyes and grazed his cheek against the swell of her buttock. “I forgot, Catherine. You don’t know what it’s like to have a man taste you there. Let me show you. Let me. Just once,” he murmured.
And with that, he pressed a tender kiss to the soft pink folds. She whimpered.
“Let me, Catherine. Tell me you want me to kiss you here.”
“I can’t!” She was breathless. Her body was taut. Her clitoris swelled and he knew it was aching. She was so close.
“Yes you can,” he whispered. “Say it.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No…” Her voice was weaker this time.
“Yes!”
And then she acquiesced. “Yes.”
Thomas groaned as he parted her thighs even farther and buried his face in her moist sex. He breathed her essence in and then tasted her. Honey. Sweet, feminine honey. When he flicked the tip of his tongue over the soft, wet lips, she shuddered violently. His hands tightened around her soft thighs.
He could not get enough of her. “Catherine,” he breathed and spread her legs farther still, opening her, burying his tongue inside her, inside the place he wanted to shove his rock-hard cock. Hot. So hot.
Her back arched and he could tell she was giving him greater access. Yes, Lady Catherine was teachable. Very teachable.
And he would enjoy every damned minute of it.
He pushed his face farther into her hot crevice and slid his tongue up her tight virgin hole.
She trembled and whimpered as he ran his tongue between the folds and then to the apex of her pleasure—her clitoris. She cried out. No man had ever touched her here. His cock throbbed at the thought. No man had ever kissed her here, save him. And somewhere deep inside he felt a pang of jealously that she belonged to another man.
Catherine could not believe she was submitting to this—to this wonderful, wonderful pleasure. She had never felt anything so good in her life, so all consuming, so hedonistically gratifying.
She was afraid to move but her body was betraying her, arching back, spreading impossibly wider, giving herself up completely to the greedy kisses the stranger bestowed on the most private, sensitive part of her being. He suckled, nuzzled and kissed. His hot tongue explored inside her, darting in and out until she thought she would scream from the pure pleasure of it.
How could she submit to this? How could she? But God she wanted it! She wanted it more than anything she had ever imagined.
His tongue laved her clitoris once more and she rose off the pillow to give him even better access.
“Do you like that, Catherine?” he asked huskily. His breath was hot against her sex.
She swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered hesitantly. This was maddening.
“Tell me where you want me to kiss you.”
She froze.
Damn him. Damn him!
“Here?” His tongue swept along the opening of her sex.
She shook her head.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
She groaned and writhed, trying desperately to get him to return to her clitoris. She could never bring herself to voice those words.
“Here?” This time, his tongue traced the rim of her anal aperture.
Catherine gasped and tensed. This was intolerable. Simply intolerable. “No!” she wailed but part of her didn’t want him to stop. Part of her wanted him to explore that sensitive little orifice as well.
“Where then?” He was toying with her and teasing her relentlessly.
“Where you were before.” Her voice was ragged.
A little chuckle escaped his throat, infuriating Catherine. She had been on the precipice of something she had never known, something she had up until now feared. But now she wanted it. She wanted
him
.
“Damn you,” she seethed. “Damn you. My…my clitoris! Kiss my clitoris.”
That was all it took.
Big hands lifted her and pushed her thighs open to the point of pain—and then he had her in his mouth. He sucked and tongued and nibbled, his fingers digging into her flesh, holding her impossibly close against his mouth.
Something inside her began to build, emanating from that oh-so sensitive part of her. Catherine shuddered. Her fingers tightened around her restraints and she fought it, not wanting it to happen just yet. But it happened anyway.
His expert mouth sent her suddenly spiraling inward until she was aware only of her own body, of spasm after immaculate spasm coming together to assuage her passion.
Thomas tasted the sweet nectar of her cream and as he felt her shattering around him, heard her cries and stifled moans. All he could think about was slipping his hard cock into her tight, wet hole.
He hastily freed his arousal and got on his knees behind her, intent on taking her, Wallingford be damned. But something stopped him. He had made a promise.
His gaze fell on her puckered little anus and he stroked his cock and considered it, imagining slowly, inch by inch, burrowing inside that impossibly snug little hole. With the fingers of his other hand he stroked her glistening hole, rubbing the warm wetness upward around and around her tiny puckered aperture. He watched her response. Did she want it? Would she accept him there? His gaze flicked down to his distended cock as he continued to stroke it. Dear God, it was huge compared to her tiny opening.
Could
she accept him there?
Her body stiffened. Her breathing stopped.
And then with his finger drenched and slick with her come, he slid it slowly inside her anus. She tensed and tightened around his index finger. She tried to squeeze her thighs together. When she whimpered, he knew she wasn’t ready for this.
Neither was he.
He withdrew his finger, half wondering if she would accept him between her legs, contemplating breaking his promise to Wallingford.
Her cleft glistened with her cream, just begging him to fuck her. But he knew if he even slipped his finger into her wet, wet center, he would have to fuck her. He would have to.
And just the thought of it made him spew his hot load all over the curve of her buttocks.
Thomas shuddered and wilted over Catherine’s back, winding his arms around her, lying too heavily on top of her, breathing in the scent of that wealth of black hair.
He had never in his life ejaculated that way. Never. It was humbling—almost humiliating.
“Please tell me your name.” Catherine’s voice was but a silken whisper. “I want to know your name.”
Chapter Two
“Thomas,” he blurted. He had never given his real name before but God in heaven, he wanted to hear it come from her lips.
“Thomas,” she said softly.
And then she lay there, still, unmoving, the faintest hint of a smile curving her red lips. He could tell by her expression that she had never experienced an orgasm like that.
Neither had he.
Not even with Estelle.
He squeezed his eyes shut and forced her memory from his mind. He would not think about her. Not now. Not with Catherine naked and sated underneath him.
Three years. Three long, painful years. Why did he feel this guilt?
He propped himself up on his elbows. Catherine’s forehead furrowed above the blindfold and she lifted her head off the bed. “Where are you going, Thomas?”
“To bed.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “You’re not staying with me?”
“No.”
He wanted to. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to forget everything except what it felt like to awaken with a beautiful woman. But he couldn’t.
He had loved Estelle too much. Losing her had shattered his heart and he was not about to allow himself to be that vulnerable ever again. Keeping his distance from any woman had worked thus far and he intended to maintain his life as a hermit. He’d been a fool to consent to Wallingford’s inane request. A fool!
“I don’t want you to go.” Catherine’s lips formed a pretty pout, making him temporarily forget about Estelle and Wallingford—making him want to stay.
“I will loosen your restraints so you will be comfortable but I will not stay.”
Catherine acutely felt the absence of his warmth and the heaviness of his body. She shuddered. How could he leave her after what they’d done? She wanted to cry but she refused to let him see her tears.
Shame and self-loathing filled her as he cleaned his semen from her buttocks with a cloth. She ached inside. She ached for his touch, for his acceptance. She ached from the indignity of what she had so willingly participated in.
Dear Lord, she had wantonly begged him to perform unspeakable acts on her, in no uncertain terms. She had arched and wriggled and cried out in ecstasy. And damn it to hell, she would do it again if given the chance.
He’d had his finger in the absolute most private recess she possessed and yet, she had fantasized about having more.
She had considered asking for more.
She had wanted him inside her—everywhere.
Catherine trembled at her licentious behavior although she was no stranger to the power she had over men. She knew Robert wanted her for her looks and she was well aware of her beauty.
Often she wished she had been born ugly. No man had ever taken her seriously, had ever deigned to have a real conversation with her. But there was something about Thomas…
There was something in his words, in his touch, that bespoke of a tenderness that came from within. It was as if he cared if she derived pleasure from him despite the unseemly situation. He could have taken her. He could have ruined her. But he had not.
And now he was leaving her.
Heartsick, she lay still as he loosened the sashes which bound her wrists and removed the pillow from beneath her hips. A cool, soft eiderdown coverlet fluttered down over her back and legs but still, it was not what she wanted.
“Why won’t you stay with me?” she asked pointedly, surprised at the desperation evident in her voice.
“You will sleep better alone,” was his terse reply. “Besides, you and I will have a busy day tomorrow. There is still much more for you to learn in these two weeks.”
* * * * *
Catherine did not sleep. Instead, she lay awake and listened for the sound of her captor’s footsteps outside the door. She listened for the twist of the doorknob.
Her stomach tightened when she thought about what they’d done—when she imagined what they would do next. Desire flooded her abdomen.
She had never dreamed she would want to explore this dark side of her nature. She had grown up with strict parents and the topic of sex had been taboo. Her parents had never even kissed in front of her, much less touched.
With a twinge of shame and horror, she recalled the talk her mother had given her regarding sex. She’d sat wide eyed while her mother had described men as nasty, sex-starved beasts with horrid penises.
Catherine had not thought Thomas was horrid. Not at all. However, she was shocked she had wanted him inside her.
Sexual yearning spiraled downward in her body. She had wanted it more than anything and she would have done anything—said anything—to have him.
She thought of her fiancé. Robert certainly fit her mother’s portrait of a nasty beast. With his ragged breathing and hands always reaching and pulling…
Catherine shuddered. Robert had sent her here. Thomas was supposed to teach her to respond to Robert. But she would never respond to him. Never. Not the way in which she responded to Thomas.
Her heart tightened. She could not even picture Thomas in her mind’s eye. She guessed he was tall from the size of his hands, the length of his fingers and the feel of his body on hers. He was patient, therefore he was no boy, and his seductive voice was definitely that of a man—a seasoned man.
But what color was his hair? His eyes? How old was he? It was difficult to tell.
She would beg him to remove the blindfold when he returned. She wanted to see him.
All of him.
* * * * *
Thomas sat in his den, his thoughts consumed with the young woman who was tied to a bed in his home. He swirled the last swallow of brandy around in his glass before downing it in one gulp and standing to pour another.
