Silver Silk Ties (6 page)

She tilted her head to one side, her interest evident.
"And never to be assuaged?"

He shrugged. "Not where it could harm you.
Oufft!"

She had clenched her fist and punched him hard in the
stomach.

Only a spit-second of awareness gave him time to tighten his
muscles and deflect most of the impact. Her gasp of pain smote his conscience.
He hoped she had not given herself an injury.

"Not at all, unless you wish me to pursue you with a
kitchen knife, my lord. I swear now, if you do anything without me, it will be
only the once."

 
He laughed and
watched, fascinated, as she ground her teeth. It was something he had never
seen before, and she reminded him of a furious, spitting kitten.

"If you agree to this liaison—relationship—marriage, I
will have no need to do anything without you."

 
"Hmm, that is
true. So, what now?" she asked.

To stall for time, he opened the cupboard and withdrew two
silk gowns. "We decide on our parameters. As much as I wish to fuck you
five ways from Friday, I have to know what your limits are. And then tell you
some things that may better be unsaid. But I have decided we will have
no
secrets between us. Are you agreeable?"

Ara walked across to one of the screens and, with one
finger, traced the outline of a dragon, spitting fire. She turned to look at
him, the seriousness of her demeanor at odds with her slightly disheveled look.
With a swift movement of impatience, she pulled the pins from her hair.

Felton watched, fascinated, as her dark curls tumbled over
her body, teasing the top of her arse, and covering her breasts. He determined
there and then to enjoy her thus, without the annoyance of clothing, but he
rather thought with the long row of pearls he had earmarked as a wedding
present around her waist and inside her cunt. When he had commissioned the
string, he had hardly dared admit to himself what he dreamed of using them for.

Ara
ran her fingers through her
hair. "Ah, that is better. I detest my hair confined. It is so much more
comfortable thus."

"Then shall I demand that when we are alone, you never
tie it up? That only I tie anything, and it will not be your hair?"

"I think," Ara said, all seriousness, "we
need to talk."

 
He handed her a robe.
"Will you undress and wear this then? Shall I unhook you?"

Ara shook her head. His heart sank. She was saying no?

"No, I can unhook myself, thank you. If I let you near
my body, I will be a quivering mass of frustration," Ara said frankly.
"But I will wear the robe. Will you?"

"But of course. It will be our ritual. Go behind the
screen if you wish, and once you are ready, we will go through."

"To your room?"

"Our room," he corrected her.
"No,
to a sitting room.
Only once we are clear on what we expect will we go
into our silk room."

Ara peered out from behind the screen where she had
disappeared a few seconds earlier.
"Silk room?"

"Why not?
What else would you call
it?"

Chapter Six

Ara
considered his question as
she made short shrift of her hooks and ties. Silk seemed more than appropriate.
She thought of those ropes she had seen hanging from the ceiling earlier. They
had not been silk, but she could well imagine they would feel so delicate if he
allowed himself to let them cross her skin. Well, it was up to her to persuade
him she was ready and willing.

"Ara?" he asked, and she realized she hadn't
answered him.

"Oh, I like it, sir."
Sir?
Where did
that
come from?

"Good girl." His deep voice had her juices flowing
over her womanhood and down her thigh. "Come out and into the next room
when you are ready. I'll wait for you there, and pour you a drink."

 
"Wine," she
said. "No disgusting ratafia please, I beg of you."

"Oh, I like you saying that, Ara," he said and laughed.
"Please beg. I am sure I will find it hard to deny you." There was
the sound of a door opening and closing.

Left alone, she tried to calm her quivering body, and took
several deep breaths. The gown was a soft slither of silk, deep blue, the color
of the finest sapphires with
a sheen
of a peacock's
wing. She slipped it on, savoring the way it embraced her body.

Hanging from a hook on the wall, next to a mirror unseen
unless you were behind the screen, was a hairbrush. With swift, economical
movements she drew it though her long tresses and winced at the pain as she
untangled knots. There, she was ready. As she went to replace the brush, she
saw the parchment fixed to the wall. '
Bring
it with you.'
Who was that meant for
?,
Ara
decided she may as well begin to remember her chosen
role. Ara slipped it into a deep pocket in the robe and began to walk to the
door she had yet to access. Stopping, she turned on her heels and went back
behind the screen to lift the parchment, fold it and place it next to the hairbrush
in her pocket. Now she was ready.

Felton looked up as she entered the room. The fire glowed,
the coals settled and not sparking.

"Join me here." He indicated the seat next to him
on a long day bed. She noticed he was also wearing a robe. His was a dark
maroon. It scarcely covered him as he sat sprawled in studied insolence,
masculinity personified.

Obediently, she walked across the oriental-patterned carpet
and sat next to him, the skirt of her robe wrapping across her knees.

Felton handed her a goblet. Its golden-pink contents bubbled
and fizzed. He must have noticed her quizzical expression for he chuckled.
"I have relations who survived the Corsican and prospered. This wine is
the wine of the future of
France
.
At present they are able to bottle and store very little, but as times change
and methods improve, it will become the king of wines."

Ara took a sip. The bubbles teased her nose and she sneezed.
"
Sweetish,
and I taste summer," she said.
She took another cautious sip. "I like it."

"Good.” He took the glass from her hands and set it
down on a table. "So now, we talk." It was not a question.
"Honesty and truth now, Ara.
We hold on to nothing.
Between us we must be open and true. If we admit and disclose everything now,
we will be free to move on together. What say you?"

"I say yes, my lord." His face relaxed, and Ara's
cunt did the opposite. How could he make her want to plead for him to take her?
To show her paradise once more?
All with one
relaxed,
open look.

"So, I will start. Will you go to the set of drawers
over there?" He pointed to a cupboard commonly called an elbow chest.
"Inside is a box. Bring it to me, set it on the floor between us, and seat
yourself again."

Puzzled, but interested, Ara rose and tightened the belt on
her robe. Silk was not known for holding a lose tie, and in her eagerness to
join him, she had not secured the ends tightly.

"No, leave it. If it loosens, it is your fault. And I
am desirous of seeing all of you, my wife."

 
Ah, well, if he puts it like that.
Ara walked slowly to the furniture
he had mentioned, and opened the cupboard on one side. The box was not
overlarge.
Big enough for her to have difficulty maneuvering
it through the aperture and onto the floor.
As she bent to lift it, the
belt, which had been slipping away from its mooring with each movement she made,
fell apart and her robe gaped. She shrugged mentally. If he demanded her not to
retie it, she wouldn't.

"Slip it off, Ara. It will hinder you otherwise. As you
will spend most of our time together naked, you may as well start now."

"If I agree to your demands," she said. With a
jolt of awareness that sent her pulse racing, she realized even as she spoke,
she had let the gown slip to the floor. Her hairbrush and the parchment fell
out.

Felton smiled.

 
"I wondered if
you would bring that. Leave it for now. We will decide if I color your
beautiful arse with it later.
For now, the box please."

Straightening with the box in her hands, her curl-less cunt
on view, she caught the flash of naked desire in his eyes before he hid it. She
was satisfied.

As he had commanded earlier, she put it on the floor, between
their seats, and resumed hers.

"Do you wonder what is in this, Ara? It is for you, if
we continue." He opened it and lifted out a long, perfectly matched string
of pearls. Ana gasped, they were magnificent. He put then over her neck and
they fell between her breasts and past her cunt. "Beautiful. I have a
pearl choker which it would please me to see you wear. These I would prefer
around your waist and inside your cunt.
So.
Let us
move on. What do you know of me?"

Ara took a deep breath and ran her hands down the pearls and
over her thighs. The thought of them inside her, and Felton toying with them,
was almost enough to have her come there and then. She did her best to step
back from the edge. "Not a lot. You are, I believe, a Dominant, one who
directs. You enjoy rope play, but are not one who uses ropes for sadism, merely
to enhance pleasure. You rarely, if ever, play within the ton, or touch others
of a different class. Therefore, most of your dalliances have been out with
this country. It is whispered you are a master of rope play, and the flogger, your
creations with a candle and wax are magnificent, and you can judge to a fine
art how to bring your sub to the edge of an orgasm and leave her there."
Everything her late husband had talked about now made sense. He may not have
mentioned Felton by name.
Always by the initial F.
As
Ara, thought the F was a title of surname, she hadn't until that evening connected
it with her new husband.

"And, no," she added, "George did not tell me
this in so many words. He told me about the person in charge of the house on

Felton joined in with her laughter. "It seems so. He
told me that if I looked after you, as you deserved, I would get my just and
true rewards." He sobered and, with studied deliberation, he opened his
robe. Then he took one of her hands in his, brought it to his cock and curled
her fingers around him.

 
Ara moaned. She felt
heat, hardness and a soft velvet skin that would fuck her to fruition and
beyond.

"Tell me, sir, what must I do?" She slid off the
seat and on to the floor, making sure she didn't remove her fingers. Carefully,
she knelt in front of him, the pearls tracing a line down her body. With her
head bowed, she waited to see what he would do or say.

The silence lengthened until her skin crawled with worry.
Was he going to tell her she was not for him? That she was not submissive
enough, that she challenged him too much? Her heart was pounding, and her ears
rang.

 
"Lift your head,"
he
said,
his tone even. With a lump in her mouth the
size of one of John Nash's crescent of houses, she did so.

"Sir?"
She used the title once more
without volition.

"What happens in these rooms are for us to decide and
agree on, Ara. It is for no one else. I do not share, either my lady or details
of our life."

 
He tangled his
fingers in her hair and began to comb them though her tresses from her scalp to
the bottom. The soft sensual touch made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Her
fingers tightened on his cock, and she
ran the tip of her index finger over its head to collect the liquid gathered
there. Her gentle touch caused it to jerk and she forced herself not to bend her
head and run her tongue around its length.

"I am a Dominant, but not, I believe domineering. I like
to direct, but not coerce. I will push you, but do nothing you do not
want."

He smiled and motioned for her to stand. Without unclasping
her fingers, she did so
. His smile sends
me weak at the knees. I am wet and wanting, and he has yet to touch me. I have
it bad. What
is
it? Why do I feel
this way?

Ara's mind whirled, a kaleidoscope of pictures flashing
through it. The scenes of them joined together, his cock deep inside her, and of
her body, crisscrossed with silk, aroused and excited her. How could she feel
so wanton by something she had not experienced?