Catherine felt sensuously sinful as she committed to memory the sight of her legs spread wide, with her ankles tethered to the mahogany posts of the big bed. Her freshly washed black curls were mounded high beneath her slightly rounded stomach and her nipples were diamond hard. She wanted to writhe and squeeze her thighs together to assuage the throbbing between her legs, but the bonds prevented her.
Only Thomas could fulfill her. Only he could make this yearning subside.
Dear, dear God, had she lost all sense of decorum?
Lydia blindfolded her once more and she lay back on the pillow, hoping, praying that Thomas would come soon.
Chapter Three
Thomas paced in his den. There was something about knowing Catherine was still naked, unbound and
unblindfolded
that drove him wild with the desire to see her—to let her see him.
He glanced at his reflection in the gilt-framed mirror which was suspended over the fireplace and a foreboding sense of disappointment washed over him. He was old. What would she think if she knew he were forty-eight?
He took a closer look. It wasn’t that he looked old. He just felt it in his bones. And he knew in his gut she would find him unattractive. With his slightly graying hair and the little creases at the corners of his eyes, how could any woman—especially an alluring woman like Catherine—find him attractive?
Perhaps it had just been too long. Perhaps he had denied himself too long in his grief for Estelle.
He squeezed his eyes shut at the invasion of memories. Estelle had been the first, the only woman he had ever truly loved. Losing her had nearly been the death of him.
No, he wouldn’t open himself up to risk that kind of pain again. Never again. Catherine was merely a pupil. She would be on her way in two weeks, hawking her wares in Wallingford’s bed and he would forget she had ever existed.
He blew out a sigh.
A knock sounded on the open door and Thomas startled, shaken from his thoughts by Lydia.
“She’s ready, sir.”
His pulse quickened at the visual images in his mind of Catherine being ready for him. “Did she enjoy her bath and breakfast?”
“Very much, sir.”
“Good. Was she any trouble?”
“None, sir.”
A little flare of disappointment brought a self-deprecating grin to his lips. He had hoped to spank those pretty little rounded buttocks of hers before the two weeks were over. There would be plenty of time for that and he had no doubt Catherine would enjoy it every bit as much as he would.
At any rate, it was time to continue her lessons. He crossed the room, stopping when he reached Lydia at the door. “Lydia?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Did you happen to notice what color Lady Catherine’s eyes are?”
Her knowing gaze met his. “I can’t say as I did, sir.”
He knew she was lying by the smug grin on her face but he rather enjoyed the mystery. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a woman in the house, hasn’t it?” he asked, his demeanor suddenly turning serious.
“Too long, sir.”
He gave her a nod and then climbed the stairs, his pulse ever quickening at the thought of seeing Catherine tied and spread on the bed once more.
The sight he beheld when he opened the door did not disappoint him. She was beautiful with her wild black hair still damp from her bath and cascading in striking contrast across the white cotton pillowslip. The room was inundated with the scent of lavender and Thomas breathed it in.
She turned her head toward him. Her lips parted.
“Did you enjoy your breakfast?” he asked as he crossed the room to the bed.
“Very much.” Her lips curled into a smile.
She was ready.
Damn, damn and damn, she was ready.
His cock stirred, impeded by the tight-fitting trousers. He shouldn’t have dressed. He wanted to shed his clothes, to climb into that bed with Catherine and feel every inch of his naked body pressed against hers.
But that might prove too dangerous.
Instead, he sat on the bed with his hip against hers. The heat of her skin drove him mad with desire.
“What are we going to do next?” she asked, the coquette in her already brimming to the surface.
His gaze scanned her body. Her hips lifted just slightly, enticingly, as if she could feel his eyes on her.
Beautiful
, he thought as his hand hovered over her raven-haired pussy. Could she feel his heat? If her hips rose again he would be touching her.
Not yet.
His hand glided upward, still not grazing her skin, toward her breasts. And then barely, barely, he ran his palm over one hardened little nipple.
She arched immediately into his touch and her breast was in his hand. It was just as he had imagined—soft and firm at the same time. He gave it a gentle squeeze, eliciting a sigh from Catherine’s lips.
“These can be a source of great pleasure to a woman,” he said, staring, kneading, longing to kiss. “In the right hands.”
“Yes.” She arched again.
Her nipples were hard and growing even harder. He aroused each one between his thumb and forefinger, pinching, pulling, until she was writhing and twisting against her bonds.
“Thomas,” Catherine purred, her voice but a breathy moan. She had never known her breasts could be such a source of sensual excitement. But she wanted more. It wasn’t enough.
“Please,” she beseeched, not knowing for what she begged, not knowing what would bring her to that bliss only he had sparked in her.
And then she felt something warm, wet. His tongue. She rose off the bed and pressed her breast into his hot mouth as desire flooded her loins, as his relentless fingers continued to work her other nipple. He kneaded harder now. She felt his teeth graze her tender nipple. He sucked.
“Yes, yes,” she gasped, fighting the silken sashes, wanting only to hold his head there, to run her fingers through his hair.
Her sex throbbed until she thought she would go mad.
His mouth moved to her other breast, kneading, kissing, biting, sucking. It was overwhelming, the things he was doing to her. She tried in vain to squeeze her thighs together but the damned bonds held her tight. She wanted him to touch her sex, to kiss it again—to make love to her.
She wanted him inside her. And she wanted it now.
“Make love to me, Thomas.”
He relinquished his hold on her breast and she felt his quick breaths feathering the one he had been kissing. His body trembled above hers.
“Make love to me,” she said again. “I want to feel you inside me.”
“I can’t.” His voice was but a whisper, his tongue making slow, hot circles around her nipple.
“Please.”
“Catherine…”
“
Please
, Thomas!”
“I promised Wallingford.”
“Damn Robert!” She wanted to cry from the frustration of it. She wanted to scream. Anger flooded her veins and she yanked wildly at the sashes.
Suddenly, his body was on top of hers, his arms pinning hers to the bed. He was hard. Hard through his clothing, his hips gently undulating, promising something he refused to give her.
Catherine lay still, her breaths coming in short, shallow pants. She wanted him beyond reason. “Please, Thomas,” she said again, this time with tears stinging her eyes.
“No.”
A groan ripped from her throat. “Damn you! Make love to me!” She lifted her hips against his. “Please!”
She felt his body tense, felt his arousal swell through his trousers. He was on the edge. Her heart soared, triumphant. “Yes…please…” She lifted her chin to fuse his mouth with hers.
He raked his lips across hers and ground his hips down. But it was all too brief. Suddenly, he pushed her shoulders to the bed, pinning her there with his heavy body. His hand caught her chin and he roughly turned her head to the side.
Catherine’s heart thundered.
His mouth was against her ear, hot, trembling. “If you say that one more time, I’m going to spank your bottom, Catherine.”
A delicious ripple coursed straight to her loins at the thought of it, at the wild sexual images that played through her thoughts. A defiant little smile tugged at her lips.
A pregnant pause hung between them for what seemed an eternity and then she uttered the words. “Fuck me, Thomas.”
His weight left her and she felt the sashes around her ankles being tugged loose, followed by those binding her wrists, but before she could even move, he rolled her onto her stomach and roped her wrists together behind her back.
“On your knees.” It was a command.
No. She couldn’t submit to this. However much she wanted it she could not present herself to be
spanked
.
“Catherine.” His voice was stern and charged with warning.
She chewed her bottom lip, unable to bring herself to comply.
And then a hard, stinging slap landed on her buttocks. Catherine gasped, surprised by the unexpected pain of it.
“Get on your knees!”
This time, she timorously pulled her knees up, raising her buttocks in the air with her head pressed into the pillow, maddeningly aroused by the exhibition of her own genitalia.
Crazy desire spiraled through her. If he touched her pussy, she knew she would come.
She panted, anticipating another hard slap, but instead his palm rubbed the place he’d spanked before.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Catherine.”
She quivered.
“Very bad. The idea! Trying to tempt me when you know I made a promise to your fiancé.”
Wild images fled through her thoughts.
Her
cunny
throbbed, ached. “Do it like this, Thomas. Take me like this. Fuck me.”
Another slap fell on her buttocks, this one harder than the first and strangely, wonderfully stimulating. Heat rushed to her backside and spread to her sex, making her even more crazed with desire. She groaned. Her clitoris pulsed.
“What do you want, Catherine? Tell me.”
“I want you to fuck me.”
Another slap resounded in the room. She spread her thighs wider, reveling in the exquisite blend of pleasure and pain, imagining what she must look like to him with her blazing red buttocks and glistening wet crevice. Her pussy clenched over and over until she ached from wanting him.
“I think you want me to spank you.”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Is that what you want, bad girl?” His palm moved over her hot buttocks, his finger dipping down the spread cleft between her legs, the tip brushing and circling her vagina, rubbing cream across her throbbing, distended little hillock.
She wriggled and pushed back against his hand, wanting more. So much more.
But he refused to give it to her. Instead, another swat landed on her backside. “Do you want me to stop?” His voice was ragged. He was obviously affected. His hand caressed once more, teased.
Another hand slid underneath her and his long fingers brushed the sensitive swell of her belly, gliding upward to squeeze her nipple. “Have you had enough, Catherine?”
No, she would never get enough. “No.” The word came out in a heated breath, shocking her, thrilling her.
She actually wanted him to hurt her, to spank her harder, to squeeze her nipple harder. It made her feel alive. Aware.
“No, Thomas,” she whispered again as she spread her legs even wider. “Spank me.”
His palm fell across her buttocks again and again, stinging, heating. Between each blow, he caressed. His finger delved between her nether lips, circling her vagina, moving up to trace the rim of her anus. She pushed back, thinking, hoping each time he would slip that finger inside her but each time disappointment consumed her until the next hard slap.
“Your
arse
is red, Catherine.”
She shuddered from the inside out at the thought of her bright red buttocks raised high in the air with her shimmering sex gaping and aching desperately for his touch.
“I don’t care,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. Make it hurt, Thomas.”
The back of his fingers brushed her sensitive cheeks.
Thomas bent down and kissed her reddened buttocks. If he wasn’t careful she was going to be bruised, but Jesus, she was loving it. Her pink lips were glistening and literally dripping with her cream. He had never seen a woman so aroused. Slipping inside her would be so easy. So damned easy.
“Make it hurt,” she whispered into the pillow. Her fists clenched. Her wrists were still bound disgracefully behind her back.
He exhaled slowly. He couldn’t hit her any more. He wouldn’t—no matter how much she begged.
However, he would give her the little bit of pleasure-pain she needed to bring her over the edge.
He slipped his fingers through her folds, wetting them until they were slick with her shimmering cream. And then in one sudden thrust, he plunged two of them into her tightest little aperture. She gasped at the sudden invasion of her anus but rocked back against his hand, voicing her pleasure as his fingers pushed in and pulled out and pushed in again.
She shook. Her body misted with perspiration as she wildly met his thrusts. He could do it. He could do it now. All he had to do was free his cock and slide inside that tight little hole. She was wet enough.
But
dammit
, did he have the resolve to stop there?
No.
He knew better.
He found that nipple again and squeezed it harder and harder as the fingers of his other hand plunged and pulled out of her anus, faster and faster. She sank to the bed with her legs spread impossibly wide, her anus opening to his ruthless onslaught, her breast pressed hard against his kneading fingers.
Catherine trembled, the words begging him to stop just on her lips but she would not utter them. She wanted this. There was something in the pain of his thrusting fingers that made the most immaculate waves of pleasure swell over her. It was something she could not name. She was full—so totally at his mercy—and she loved it.
He was completely in control. Completely.
Her body convulsed and tightened around him and she rode the crest of his expert touch before she fell against the sheets, exhausted, sated, vaguely aware of his lips pressing a kiss to her shoulder. So completely…