Authors: Lavinia Kent
He’d promised punishment, but this was delight. She’d wanted to experiment, to test her wiles, to find out what she liked and what she did not, but never had she expected Duldon to allow her such freedom, to let her lead while he followed—to allow her freedom and choice. If this was punishment she wanted more.
And he gave her more. His tongue began to mimic hers, darting when she darted, playing, fencing, following her retreat into her mouth, but then withdrawing in turn, letting her follow, inviting her to explore and taste.
And she reveled in it, feeling her own femininity in a way she never had before. It was not simply that she had the chance to give and take, it was that she had the
choice
to give and take. And when at last she gave over the lead, offered herself to him, gave him control, it was with knowledge and understanding. When he led it was because she wished to follow, wished to feel him deepen the kiss, wished to feel the heat rise up within her belly, to feel the fervor that he wrought.
He leaned into her then, pushing her tight against the wall, encompassing her in his heat, his passion.
She felt as if she merged with him, although still they did nothing but kiss. His hands remained at his sides and she imprisoned hers behind her back to keep them from sneaking out to stroke him.
Again and again his tongue sought hers, plundered her mouth and then pulled back. The image of Green on his knees before Black filled her and her cheeks drew tight, sucking on his tongue, drawing it deeper.
As if sensing her thoughts, he began to move in a slow endless rhythm, a rhythm that filled her and made her ache. Her whole body responded, easing toward him and then away, her cheeks pulling ever tighter, seeking ever more.
It became hard to breathe so great was her want, her need.
He pulled back slightly, his breath warm upon her face. “Do you still want to be punished? Or is this enough?”
Before she could answer his mouth was upon hers again, driving thought from her head, but not completely.
Want to be punished? Did she want to be punished? Not did he still need to punish her, but did she want to be punished?
She did not know how to answer, what to think, what to say.
Deep in her gut she feared she did want to be punished, not with pain, but with ecstasy. Was that wrong?
God, how could she think when all she wanted was for this moment to last forever—and yet to grow, to become more?
The need was curling in her belly again, coiling, growing—waiting for release.
Her hips pressed forward, finding his hardness, rubbing against him, making her desire clear.
Placing a hand on each side of her he held her still, pushed her away. “Slow down, pet.”
“No.” The single word was a demand.
She felt him chuckle into her mouth, felt the joy of his laughter. “You are a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
Well, she was. She’d never denied it. Her hips pressed forward again, seeking.
“It’s my turn to say no.” He did not let her move. “You must learn to do as I say, to trust that I will care for you.”
She moaned against his mouth. She wanted to fight his words, but her body rejoiced in them.
“Be still.” His voice was filled with command and her body obeyed before she could even debate the matter. Her back flattened against the wall and her head moved so that she was staring up at him again.
They stood there for a moment, chests heaving, as they fought for breath.
“This is not quite the punishment I had in mind,” he said after a moment.
“I was not aware this was punishment at all,” she replied.
“If I walk away and leave you now, I assure you that you will feel quite punished as you wander through the ball. Every time your thighs touch you will think of me, long for me.”
Remembering how she’d felt after he’d left her aching the other night, she did not doubt him. She nodded her understanding, words caught in her throat.
“But perhaps you’d like something a little more lasting, something that will not let you forget me, something that will let you know you are mine.”
Is that what she wanted? She was far from accepting that she was his, but there was something about him caring enough to claim her that warmed her inside, that made her want to throw herself against him once again. Why did she feel this way? Why did she want things that she should not? The thought continued to circle her mind, refusing her escape.
He waited, his face filled with endless patience.
With the very slightest jerk of her chin she indicated her acceptance—and then she waited. Her stomach churned with anticipation and the slightest tinge of fear. He would never hurt her, not really, of that she had no doubt, and yet…The not knowing was worse than any torture he could have devised.
She swallowed hard as his hands rose and settled on her shoulders, the thumbs sweeping down to caress the bare skin above her bodice. She could hardly breathe, the anticipation was so great. His eyes still held hers, staring deep into her, seeking every hint of response.
Even as his hands slipped lower, over her collarbones, onto the upper curves of her breasts, he kept his gaze on her eyes.
She was breathing again now, hard and fast. His every stroke and touch sent a multitude of tingles shooting through her. It was hard to believe that this was nothing but skin on skin. No touch had ever felt so good, so wonderful, so full of torture. She wanted more. She wanted less. It was impossible to tell what would bring satisfaction, what would bring comfort.
She ached. She ached so badly. She wanted to plead with him to move faster, to help her, to end the tension and unending need that filled her. Biting down hard on her lip, she forced back the words and moans. She would not beg.
His glance dropped to her lips, to the teeth nipping down on tender flesh. Her chest expanded and dropped again at the heat she saw in those eyes. The emotion was violent, a storm-tossed ocean. She wondered that he could hold it back, and yet feared that if released it would encompass her, swallow her whole. There was power in the knowledge that she could make him feel so deeply, but also vulnerability. She was not sure that she liked being the focus of such an emotional vortex.
And yet, she loved it.
What woman would not?
She swallowed, watched as his eyes followed the tiny motion.
His fingers had reached the top of her bodice and with a sudden jerk they tugged it down, baring most of her breasts.
Darkened eyes rose again to meet hers, to gauge her reaction.
Another swallow, but she held herself still.
His fingers slipped beneath the top of her corset and lifted her breasts, pulling them up over the top edge, until she was completely bare. The nipples that had pressed so tight against the fabric sprang free and hardened in the cooler air of the room. His fingers and thumbs curved about the turgid peaks, bringing them to even greater sensitivity.
And still his eyes held hers. He did not look down, did not peer at what he had revealed in the faint light of the pantry.
Her heart sped in her chest as emotion and sensation warred. Thought did not even enter into the battle.
His thumbs pressed harder, pulling her nipples out, stretching them tight and then releasing only to pull again. A moan began deep in her throat, crying for release. Still keeping his eyes on hers, he bent at the waist and flicked the tip of her left nipple with his tongue. Lightning shot straight between her legs, taking the energy already caught there and multiplying it by a thousand. Now the moan did tear from her. She pushed her head back against the wall, breathed in deep, caught the scent of lemons and apples from some shelf deeper in the pantry.
She’d never be able to eat fruit again without being back here, back in this moment.
Her whole body was crying for release, her hips thrust forward, longing for the feel of his fingers between her legs.
His hands stayed on her breasts, pinching, teasing, positioning them for that ever-darting tongue—and still his eyes stayed on her face, watching her, observing her every moan and sigh. Her face must be betraying every secret she’d ever held. There was no thought of holding back at this moment, only dreams of what was coming, coming soon.
Bending even more forward, he drew one nipple entirely into his mouth, sucking deep and then pulling back to flick it hard with his tongue. His teeth grazed her virgin skin, causing a whisper of pain and then a muffled scream of delight. And every moment, every second, she felt like he learned her, that he paid attention to each and every detail, saving it all for later use.
It was strange being so closely observed. Even now that thought floated in the back of her mind. She’d never felt like anyone paid that much attention to her and now she felt like every breath she took, every hair that moved, was seen. It was quite disconcerting.
Except there was no time to do anything but feel, feel and long for more.
He moved his head to the other breast, and she cried with the deliciousness of it all. His fingers still worked the nipple of the first breast, pulling and teasing, extending it until it stretched. She felt so swollen, so bursting, another touch and it would happen. The knot between her legs grew ever tighter and she could only beg. “Please, Duldon. Please make it happen. I need it. I can’t bear it any longer. Please.” Her hips moved even further from the wall, pressing toward him.
He pulled his head back and continued to stare up at her. He smiled, slowly. “I told you this was punishment. Are you feeling punished yet?”
“Yes, please. Please. I need—I need you, Duldon.”
“I think it’s time you called me Stephan.”
She stared down at him, desperate, and yet not too blind to see how much meaning those words held.
“Stephan, please.”
“God, you make me want to give in to you, but not tonight, pet. Tomorrow at Madame Rouge’s I will make all your dreams come true, but for now you must squirm a little more.” And then, for the first time, he dropped his eyes to her breasts and stared at them directly. She saw—and felt—his intake of breath. “God, you are beautiful. I always knew you would be, but you are better than any dream, any fantasy.”
She dropped her own gaze and stared down at her breasts. She’d never seen them like this. Normally she just thought of them as there, a slight nuisance when she wanted to run or ride with great vigor, sore before her monthly, something that didn’t require much thought. She knew men liked them, had become aware at the Evanstons’ ball that she could use them to her advantage.
But this, this was different. They stood out pale above the darker silk of her gown, the yellow a deep gold in the flickering lantern light. Her corset pushed them up high, bringing an extreme fullness to them, making them look like they were begging to be touched and felt. And begging they were, the long nipples shiny and slick, swollen and red from the teasing. The pale globes lifting and falling with every breath, wanting, wanting, wanting.
She could look at herself and feel the want, know the look of it, the taste of it. Her lips were suddenly dry and she dampened them with her tongue.
How could he leave her like this? He’d called it punishment, but it felt as if she might explode if he left her like this.
“Please,” she begged.
“I know it’s hard, love. I truly do know.” He took her hand and pulled it forward, resting it on the front of his breeches. He was full and hard and throbbing. She could feel his cock’s need for escape, feel the force with which it thrust against the fabric. She eased her hand about its thickness, wondering at its size—and its strength. She’d seen several penises now, but she’d never placed her hand upon one, never felt the power within.
She gazed up at him, with wonder—and an edge of fright. That went in her? How was that even possible? She’d thought it would feel fleshier, less like a rod of iron. Her fingers squeezed. Her belly shivered. She squeezed again.
“You are killing me,” he growled. “But it will not change things. All I can promise is that tomorrow when you come to me at Ruby’s you will understand that the pain of deprivation can lead to much pleasure when it is finally released. I swear that it will all be worth it.”
“But what if I decide not to come to Madame Rouge’s? What if I decide to do something else?” She knew as well as he that she would be there, but could not resist the words.
“You’ll come. I do not think you will deprive us both.”
“Us both?” She squeezed him again.
“God, yes. I am discovering I am not a saint. And I think your education and your curiosity are ready to move forward a step.”
“Did you ever really think you might be a saint? I have to confess I never even considered that as a possibility.” With some reluctance she removed her hand from him and moved away slightly so that she could take in all of him. “Nope, not a saint. And how do you propose to satisfy my curiosity? Remember, I wish to go to my marriage a virgin.”
“I promise I will do nothing to hinder that wish. And that is why I consider that I may qualify for sainthood. Although I think you may be beginning to realize that there are plenty of things we can do that will leave us both quite satisfied.”
An image of Green and Black filled her mind—and Lord Banks and Julianna—and even the Binkshaws. They had engaged in several activities before and after the actual—the actual fucking. Yes, there was plenty to explore.
Unfortunately this was not helping to soothe her aches; rather, her whole body focused on the area between her legs, on her swollen breasts, still exposed to the chill of the air. Could she wait until tomorrow? Would she survive so long?
“You must, however, remember that you will have further punishment tomorrow,” he said, closing the small space between them. “Do not think you have escaped so easily.”
Easily? She felt ready to die with need. And why did his words make her desires coil even tighter? The current punishment already ate at her, pushing at her limits of restraint. Why would she wish more? Why, when she could barely face the return to the dance floor feeling as she did, did the thought of further teasing and torture make her tingle and grow breathless?