Authors: Lavinia Kent
It was time. Time for them to be together. Time to end this game between them.
Did he understand her? He always did when she did not wish him to, but did he now?
Should she speak, explain how she felt? Should she tell him of her fears, beg him to help her with them, lay her soul before him and trust him to treasure it?
How could she? Men did not stay. Love did not last. Stephan had not been there when she needed him before. Could she trust him to be there now? How could she open herself to him now? Her body she could, but her soul must remain her own, locked and guarded.
“I do not like those thoughts. I told you not to think. Feel. Only feel.” He lifted the candle holder before her eyes, tilted it again, made her watch as the wax melted, as it streamed down the side of the candle, as it pooled in the cupped base of the holder, more and then more.
Her whole focus shifted to that wax. She understood now what it would do, how it would feel.
Could she handle it, handle so much?
“Yes, you can,” he spoke, his voice full of confidence. “For me you can do this and more.”
For him. She had not understood that. For him.
Did she do this for him, or for herself—or for both?
Still holding the candle high, he bent his head and placed a light kiss on the tip of one of the needy peaks. Her want grew as she saw the contrast between them, the roughness of his cheek against her pale skin.
And then his lips were there, her every desire filled as he drew her deep, his tongue rasping against her, his cheeks drawing tight, pressing. God, it was good. So good. Her hips were rising on the bed, fighting the bonds that held them wide. And still she needed more and more. Her blood pounded within her, her heartbeat loud and steady. She could feel it course through her, sweeping desire and thrill to every needy spot.
And then he was gone, his mouth pulled back, the slightest scrape of teeth sliding against her swollen flesh.
Her mouth opened to protest. She needed. She wanted. She demanded.
And then the wax hit.
All thought left her, blasted away in a volcano of sensation.
Heat and pain. Pleasure and warmth. Sensation and desire. Too much. It was too much.
Before even that amount of thought was formed, wax landed on the other nipple, coating it.
A scream. She knew it was her own and did not care.
Too much. Her body was nothing but the feelings of burn and want. She was nothing but her swollen nipples, nothing but the ache that grew and grew between her legs. Want. Need. Desire. Ache. Pain. More want. More need. And delight. Even in the darkness the tingles of pleasure danced and grew. There was salvation in the pain. Light in the darkness.
His fingers were on her breast. She felt the soft peel of the wax, another flash of hurt as reddened skin met cool air. A gasp and then wonder. His lips were on her again, easing her, soothing her. His tongue laved the first nipple, seeming to know what she needed, needed as she had never needed anything.
The crack of wax on the other nipple. The contrast of his warm mouth and the cool air.
Her mind splintered, the sensations too different, too…There were no words for the feelings that filled her. All was too simple for the complexity of the feeling, physical and emotional.
She should not like this, should not enjoy it.
It was pain, pain was not good, but…
His tongue brushed her at the same time as his other hand pinched the overly sensitive peak tight.
The spot between her legs clenched and held, moisture spreading on her thighs as quickly as the wax had pooled.
He pinched again. Her body clenched again and did not release, coiling, tightening.
He pulled his mouth back from the first nipple, the warm moisture of his mouth meeting the air and cooling quickly. It was almost like being brushed with ice. Another clench.
“Look at yourself,” he commanded. “Look how red you are, how swollen you are. The reddest, ripest berry ready to be eaten. And so sweet, sweeter than sugar, than honey, than candy.”
With some difficulty her eyes focused. Was that her? The nipple was as big as she had ever seen it, the flesh as red as any rose, and glistening, the slickness of his mouth leaving her moist and shiny. It was beautiful, white flesh marked with reddened marks surrounding the swollen glory of her nipple. She really did look like a raspberry on cream, begging for a bite.
His mouth came down on the nipple again. Her head fell back. A lightning bolt shot through her.
He was going to kill her.
She’d never thought it possible to die from pleasure, but now she wondered.
His lips trailed down her breast, his hands taking their place, continuing to tease the aching nipples. His tongue moved from wax dot to wax dot, hitting every sensitive spot as he trailed down her belly. The wax peeled easily from her oil-slicked skin. He stopped when he came to her navel, his tongue circling, leaving a slick path. Then he pulled back, their eyes met—and he raised the candleholder.
No.
Yes.
No.
Please. Please. Yes.
Bliss braced herself for the heat, but even so the bite of heat caught her. She pulled as much air as she could into her lungs and released it in short, quick puffs.
She felt his smile against her belly, his mouth instantly soothing away the burn.
And then he moved lower, licking, laving, nipping. He pressed her thighs even wider, his mouth settling.
She was thrashing now, fighting the bounds that held her.
She couldn’t take it. She truly could not.
Heat. Heaven. Too Much. God, it was too much.
She was breaking apart. It would never be possible to get all the pieces back together again.
“Please.” It was the first word she had said since he placed the bounds about her.
“Soon,” he replied, his tongue flicking her hard.
Her bonds held tight as she struggled. She needed to be free, needed to escape, needed to press herself to him, needed, needed, needed.
She was all about need.
She
was
need.
And only need.
His teeth grazed her and she did not care. She wanted more.
His thumbs pressed her open, his tongue moving down to her entrance, circling, playing, pressing deep.
Yes. Yes.
No. Go back.
God, yes.
If only he would…
And then he pulled back and stared down into her eyes. His fingers still played, and stroked and touched, pushing back the skin that covered that magic spot. He pinched slightly.
A small spasm shook her.
A beginning, but not enough, never enough.
He pinched tighter.
She felt it begin, but then fade as his fingers pulled back.
It was hard to breathe, her whole body focused on those scant inches of skin.
He pushed the skin farther back with one hand, holding her spread apart and still.
His mouth. She needed his mouth.
Now. Please. Please. Now.
His tongue ran across his lips. He was going to…He was…She saw the candle. All she could do was murmur, “please,” not even sure what she was asking for.
The first drop of wax hit her, and despite her bonds, her whole body rose on the bed—and shattered and broke.
Pain. Pleasure. Burn. Climax.
There was no beginning, no end.
A thousand stars of light. A thousand flickering flames.
Nothing had ever felt so good, hurt so bad—and yet the pleasure would have been less without the pain.
Another drop landed, and she shattered again.
Her tender hold on thought was lost as her whole being shook and tensed with ecstasy. Again. And then again. His mouth was on her again, soothing and stimulating all at once. Her body rose and fell, her mind awash in a sea of pleasure and glory.
And then it was over.
Her body collapsed upon the bed.
Her eyes slipped shut, movement too much, thought too much.
It was all she could do to simply be.
One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths.
Peace as she had never known it.
Her lungs still worked. Her toes still twitched. It seemed a miracle.
She peeled open her eyes, an effort that took her every ounce of will, and found him kneeling above her. His hands stroked his well-oiled cock, the strokes strong and sure. He was close. She could see it in the strain of his face, the tendons in his neck standing out.
Her eyes met his and she saw it happen, saw the pleasure take him, heard her name cry from his lips. The hot spurt hit her belly, glistening on the already shiny flesh.
Again and again, he pumped, the fluid coating her.
She had never seen anything so frighteningly beautiful.
And then he too was done. He untied her quickly, using the scarves to clean them both. With great care he repositioned her so that all was comfort before lying down beside her on the bed, cradling her against him.
She wanted to melt into him. She might never move again.
Her body was limp. Her mind was limp, her whole being shattered and vulnerable.
Her eyes began to drift closed again.
“So tell me, Bliss,” his voice called her from the coming slumber, “why won’t you marry me? What do you hold against me deep in your heart?”
—
What do you hold against me deep in your heart?
He knew it was manipulative to ask her now, but it was the only way. They could not proceed if she would not be honest with him.
Her sleepy eyes lifted. “You didn’t kiss me or dance with me, and then…You broke your promise to me.” Her voice began to trail off, but then grew more firm.
What? He focused on the first part of her statement. He’d certainly done both. “I do believe you are wrong about that. I most certainly have kissed you. And I don’t know to what promise you refer.”
“You’d promised to give me my first kiss when I asked you to marry me. I know it seems silly now, but it was important to me then, when I was seventeen.”
“I truly don’t remember. I am not sure if that makes it better or worse.”
“It was at the Daremoors’ house party. I was there as a friend of their daughter’s. You were out in the garden. It was one of the only times I ever found you alone in private. I was so determined to get my kiss. It was time. But you said no. You told me I was a child and that you had other things to do.” Her voice rang with hurt.
Shit! He did remember, or at least he could almost recall that night. He’d been with Clarissa, an older and much more experienced widow, and he’d been just beginning to discover who he was. They’d been scheduled to meet in the summerhouse. All of his thoughts had been on what they were going to do, what she was going to teach him. And then he’d seen Bliss, so young, so pure, and so different than what he was heading for. He’d felt dirty and ashamed, for the first time unsure of what he truly wanted.
And he’d hated her for it in that drunken moment.
He’d just been coming into his own, and she had made him doubt, had made him dislike and distrust himself.
What had he said to her? He had no recollection of the actual words, but he did remember her eyes, so bleak and injured.
It was no wonder he’d thrust it from his mind all these years.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Bliss.”
“But you did—and I think you did mean it. You looked so angry at me.” She rolled in the bed, turning from him.
He wanted to insist that he hadn’t, but how could he be sure? “Bliss, you were still a child. I did not want to sully you.” Now that was the complete truth. He had felt that his very touch would corrupt as she’d stood there so innocent and sweet.
“I was not a child. I was a woman.”
“Bliss, you were. You were all things innocent and I was not.” He placed a hand upon her shoulder, but did not force her to turn.
She sniffed. Was she crying? “I was as much a woman as she was.”
He froze. “She was?”
“I don’t know her name, but I saw you.”
“Saw me?” He was afraid he knew where this was going.
“I couldn’t believe that you wouldn’t kiss me. I’d been waiting for months for that night. I was sure you would kiss me and it would be heaven. And then—then—then I saw you with her. You were at the far end of the gardens, just entering some small building, and I followed. I couldn’t think why you would go there alone. I crept up and peered in the window—and I saw you, saw her. You kissed her, you pressed your mouth to hers like you wanted to eat her, and—and fondled her when you wouldn’t even grant me the lightest brushing of lips.”
Shit. What else had Bliss seen? Clarissa had been a woman of extreme tastes. He tried to remember that night, but it was mostly a blur of alcoholic haze. “Clarissa, that is her name, was not an innocent. There was no need to protect her.”
“There was no need to protect me.”
“There was.” He rolled over and picked up the candle again. “Would you have been ready for this at seventeen, ready for my spank, my slap? I was only beginning to know what I wanted then. I had no restraint, no bounds. You were not ready for that.”
“You could have taught me.”
He closed his eyes. “No, I could not. I was still learning myself, and you were so pure, so innocent. You dreamed of kisses and I craved…God, I cannot even now whisper to you the things that I craved.”
“And so you abandoned me for her. Only my mother’s death has hurt as much.” There was a level of despair within her voice.
“I did not abandon you, I tried to save you. You were not meant for the things I needed.”
Bliss lifted a hand and tapped the candle. “I think I did rather well myself.”
That was true, but…“It has been years, you are older now—and I have learned that the world is not as black and white as I saw it then.”
“I felt that you had left me, as everyone I cared for left me.”
God, he could understand that, could see it through her eyes, even if he could not in any way see changing his actions. Bliss had not been ready for him then; he was only just coming to believe that she was ready for him now. “You mentioned a dance. I don’t remember dancing at the Daremoors’. I wasn’t there for the dancing.” That he was sure about. He’d only gone there to meet Clarissa, and he didn’t think they’d left the summerhouse before dawn.