“I never ask nicely,” he growled. “Not in games like this.” Holding the ropes, he scooped her up, put her over his shoulder for a second, and tossed her lightly on the bed.
She bounced and scrambled to sit up, but he wrapped the rope around her wrist. Fast, but not with a vampire’s speed. Black velvet slid smoothly around her slender pale wrist. Raven knotted it firmly, making a loop that she could not slip her hand through.
His cock bucked again at the thought of what would come next.
“That’s tight,” she gasped.
His throat was damned tight. “Too loose and you won’t have the fun of feeling bound and beyond your control. It’s tight enough to make you my sexual prisoner, but not enough to hurt.”
“Maybe you made a mistake.”
“I never do.”
He knew she was wrestling between her upbringing to be a good and proper young lady and her natural erotic, sensual nature. The way to encourage her to play, to free her to enjoy this, was to take control.
He drew the rope to the bedpost and the sudden tug made her fall on her back. Her breasts jiggled, her flushed nipples bobbing temptingly. It took him only moments to wrap the rope around the post and tie a secure knot. While she pulled hesitatingly at the rope, testing its strength, he caught her other wrist, and attached her to the post with smooth ease.
He did it without touching her skin and without hurting her.
Raven stepped back. The sight of Ophelia like that, with her arms raised behind her head, black rope in a band at her wrists, struck him like a blow. Her breasts wobbled softly with her every quick breath. Her pink nipples were distended, as plump as thimbles, revealing she was enjoying it.
He’d never been so aroused. But damn, he couldn’t touch her.
Panting, she met his gaze. She blushed again sweetly.
“You are beautiful, Ophelia,” he said. “Even though you’re the one in ropes, I feel bound right now. Bound by you.”
She blew at a strand of hair that dangled over her face. “I don’t understand.”
He whisked the hair away. “Watching you is so enthralling. Every time you tug at the rope, the way you turn your head to peek at how it’s tied to the bed, the way your breasts sway as you move. I feel like your captive, Ophelia.”
Ophelia would not quite believe Ravenhunt, except that he spoke slowly as if he were trying to understand himself what he felt. He sounded sincere.
She remembered waking here as his prisoner. Now, being his prisoner in fun, for carnal games, didn’t feel frightening.
True, she felt unsure and awkward, just as she always felt. But she was caught up in erotic excitement, too. It made her cunny throb.
Even with nothing touching her but the ropes at her wrists, she was becoming aroused. Ophelia could smell the lush scent of her juices. She felt wet and slick between her legs.
What was he going to do to her? He couldn’t touch her. He couldn’t go inside her, as much as she ached for it.
She didn’t know what he planned. For once, not knowing was driving her mad in a delicious way. The anticipation allowed her thoughts to run riot. What could he do without touching her to make her “come”?
“You look very thoughtful. Have you ever fantasized about this?” Ravenhunt sat on the edge of the bed. The blue velvet robe he wore highlighted the paleness of his skin. His cheekbones and strong jaw looked to be carved of marble. But his eyes were dark, so black they were unfathomable.
“I—” She couldn’t reveal the
truth
.
After reading the gothic novels, sometimes she had thought about being taken captive and ravished. When she had been a prisoner at Mrs. Darkwell’s and she’d had nothing to do but sculpt and read. Locked away in a room, she had not only sculpted, she had also spun wild, erotic fantasies. She’d dreamed of a dark, mysterious man taking her prisoner, seducing her, and falling madly in love with her . . .
She’d ended up in that very situation.
But she could never admit it.
“Of course I haven’t,” she said firmly. “What are you—” She broke off. Ravenhunt held another rope. The length of it dangled from his strong hand.
“I know you have thought of this.” His voice was a deep, husky growl. It slid over her as decadent as hot, dark chocolate.
But she could never reveal those fantasies to anyone. They were her most shocking secret, and she would keep them buried forever. “No.”
Smooth velvet teased her bare ankle and, startled by it, she jerked her leg away. But Ravenhunt captured her foot, and had her ankle tied and bound to the column at the foot of the bed in moments.
He crossed his arms over his chest. His robe gave a glimpse of white skin and sculpted muscle. More ropes lay over his hand. She was his prisoner again, and he was watching her with a shiver-worthy heat in his gaze.
He watched her with such intensity, her heart hammered. She had to say something. “You are very quick at tying knots.”
“Practice.”
When her other foot was equally bound to the bedpost, he paced slowly at the end of the bed.
“W-what do you do to me now?”
“Whatever I desire.”
The rough way he said it made her heart thunder, made her wetter, hotter, and made her cunny clench in a slow, intense way.
“Imagine what I can do to you now,” he said.
He moved away from the bed, and she strained against the ropes to see what he was doing. But her bindings were too tight, and she couldn’t lift up enough to watch. She was tied spread-eagle to the bed, her legs parted and ready for him—well, ready if he could make love to her. She was served up for him, unable to refuse to do anything he wanted.
She should be afraid. But she wasn’t. She trusted him. Perhaps more than she had done with anyone but her family. She’d never had anyone else she could trust.
She was ready to do anything he wanted—
He turned, the leather-bound handle of a whip in his hand, the long tail trailing to the floor.
“No,” she gasped. “That I won’t do! I cannot take that.”
“I will be the judge.” He approached the bed. His robe was open, giving glimpses of his muscles as he moved, prowling with confidence. The light played on the ridges of his abdomen, the strong lines of his chest.
Tension raced over her—her muscles tightening.
“I won’t hurt you.” He lifted the whip and let the leather tip trail up her right leg, skimming over her naked thigh.
She hadn’t expected that—a tickling tease over her bare skin instead of a swift, sharp flick of the leather. “Are you going to whip me?”
“This is about teasing you. I want you to delight in what you can feel. I would never hurt you. Trust me.”
The lash of the whip danced up her naked inner thigh. Oh heavens, she shut her eyes and savored.
The whip moved closer to her sex, to her curls already damp with her juices and her plump nether lips. She wriggled on the bed. To feel so much, yet not be able to move—it was thrilling.
He flicked the whip lightly and the leather tail lightly slapped her. There was no force behind it and it didn’t hurt. It made her cunny wetter.
With his lashes low over his eyes, his mouth tense, Raven stroked the end of the whip’s handle over her nether curls. The leather barely grazed them, and tickled her so she giggled and gasped at the same time.
“You see you can trust me,” he said, his voice rich as sin. “All I want is for you to know pleasure—the pleasure you’ve never been able to have.”
He slid the whip’s firm handle between her curls and across her aching clit.
She screamed in surprise. Hot sensation streaked through her.
Heavens, it felt good.
She arched her hips up, seeking to press her clit against the handle again. He let her pump against it, pleasuring herself for a mere moment, then he moved it away. She moaned and he smiled. The smile of a man who knew he was in control.
Teasing her, he traced the damp tip over her tummy. She trembled, wriggling on the bed. His robe was partly open, unbelted. Giving teasing, thrilling glimpses of his gorgeous naked form—his taut stomach, his broad chest, his thick, enormous erection.
Amusement glittered in his eyes. Slowly, the end traced her navel. The whip coasted so lightly over her belly, it was as if a flame teased her skin. Focused on her beneath thick lashes, he reached her breasts with the whip. He traced them in a slow, light spiral.
A flick of his wrist and he brought the handle of the whip against the underside of her right breast in a quick, abbreviated tap. Her breast bounced. Goodness, the rise and fall, the bounce of their weight was as hot, as pleasurable as being caressed.
He tapped her breasts, playing with them, making them jiggle heavily. Ophelia closed her eyes, whimpering with delight. It felt so good.
She wished he could do this with his hands—
He couldn’t. She must stop wishing for what she could not have.
Her lids lifted, her eyes opened to his smile. Roguish. A tease of dimples, beautiful curved lips. “Nipples now,” he said.
She gasped before he even touched them.
Flicking the whip’s handle, he strummed it over her nipples.
“Oh goodness!” She arched off the bed. Goodness was meaningless. It was glorious. Pleasure shot to her cunny, almost exploding there.
He tapped harder, right atop her nipples.
Too much!
She’d been on the brink, but the shock of the taps pulled her back. She let him do more, then begged him to stop, for after a few gentle strikes with the whip, her nipples were large, engorged, so sensitive she was sobbing. “I think I want to stop,” she began.
“But I’ve only just started,” he said. But he did stop.
He leaned to whisper in her ear, “What would you fantasize about, Ophelia? Close your eyes. Would you like to be in a harem, where the handsome Turkish prince uses you for his decadent pleasure? While he ties you up with silks on plump cushions, blindfolds you, then drives his cock deeply into you?”
“I don’t have such dreams—”
“I know you do,” he said, and she squirmed. How could he know? Was it so obvious on her face?
“Perhaps you fantasize about a castle, where you are chained in a dungeon by a handsome duke who is determined to ravish you.” The very tip of the whip brushed her nipples again, barely a touch, but so wonderful. “How would you want to be ravished, Ophelia? By more than one man? Your duke and your Turkish prince could take you together.”
She had to keep her eyes shut. Wild images played in her head. She couldn’t look at him while she was thinking these things.
Something smooth and thick pressed to her nether lips. She opened her eyes. He held the ivory wand he’d used on her. Slowly he plied it between her wet nether lips.
The thick ivory slid in. “I wish it was you,” she whispered. “I want your cock—” She couldn’t believe she was saying such things, but she couldn’t bear wanting him and not having him. “It’s so long and so beautiful and I want it inside me so much.”
“Shh. Let me make you come.”
With long, slow strokes, he slid the wand deeply inside her. Filling her. He tapped her clit with the whip handle as he did.
“Three men making love to you,” he murmured. “One thick cock deep in your cunny, thrust inside by a man eager to make you come. Another man suckling your beautiful breasts. A third man to slide his prick inside your sweet, voluptuous bottom—”
“Oh goodness!” she cried.
Everything came together at once—his wicked stories, his naughty games with her clit, the thrusts of the wand. Ophelia pulled hard at the velvet ropes as the orgasm swelled inside her. She tore at them as she exploded.
Pleasure commanded her now, and she surrendered to it. Her rump bucked up, the bindings at her wrists and ankles strained, and she cried out to the heavens.
His lips touched hers, and it seemed so right that their mouths sizzled together.
The restraint of her arms vanished—he’d cut the ropes—and her arms flew free. She wrapped them around him. She shouldn’t, but she wanted one precious second to hold him tight.
While she came and came and came.
She let him go.
Breathing hard, Ravenhunt moved to her feet. He held a small dagger and he sliced the velvet ropes. Her legs relaxed bonelessly into the soft bed. With swift, spare motions, he untied her ankles, tossing the cut ropes away. Then he undid the bonds at her wrists.
She looked at him shyly, shut her eyes, looked around the room, and awkwardly met his steady gaze once more.
It had been thrilling. He’d fed her the wickedest fantasies. Just imagining what he’d said had been thrilling. Though in truth, she wasn’t really picturing three men. She was thinking of Ravenhunt doing all those things to her.
“What are you thinking, my dear?” he asked. Crinkles touched the corners of his eyes, lines bracketed his lips as he smiled.
That he was the only man she ever wanted to dream about. But she couldn’t say that. This was about sex, not about love. She was perilously close to saying she loved him—but how could she yet, when she barely knew him? How could she when she knew all of this was only to take her power?
He helped her sit up, then released her hand, of course. “I guess I do like being tied up,” she whispered.
Her words almost crippled him with arousal.
Raven yearned to touch her. He’d never wanted to caress, stroke, and fondle a woman more. She gazed up at him with sweet innocence, and wild carnal thoughts ripped through him.
He wanted to take her now, while she was slick with her pleasure. Give her climax after climax, until she almost fainted in ecstasy.
Not yet.
She rubbed her wrist. The ropes had been soft velvet but had left pinkish rings around her wrists. He lifted her right wrist to his lips, ready to kiss the place where her skin was marred—