Chapter Four
Catherine was only vaguely aware of Thomas leaving the bed. Footsteps padded across the floor and then she heard the sound of splashing water in the adjoining bathing chamber.
Her entire body tingled from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair and all she could do was bask in the glow that permeated her being. It no longer mattered that she was tied like an animal or that she was blindfolded and exposed to a virtual stranger.
There was something about Thomas. Something she could not put her finger on. Something that connected her to this man and something she had never before known.
She breathed in, the mere act of filling her lungs with air sending bliss throughout her limbs.
Bliss…
The bed sank and Catherine turned her head toward Thomas, wishing she could see him, touch him.
Please him.
“Untie me,” she said. It was neither a plea nor a request.
He stilled and she would not have known he was there but for the searing heat radiating from his body.
“Untie me,” she said again. “I want you to show me how to please you.”
Again, silence ensued. But then he half whispered, “Can I trust you not to remove the blindfold?” His voice was uncharacteristically rough, tinged with some emotion she could not place.
“Yes,” she said honestly.
He drew in a breath and then slowly let it out before she felt his fingers deftly untying her wrists.
And then as if she had just gained newfound sight, Catherine pushed herself up and reached for Thomas so that they were both sitting, facing each other on the bed. Her palms blindly found fine linen covering broad shoulders and muscled upper arms. With surprisingly dexterous fingers, she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down his arms, listening to the whisper of the fabric against his skin. She was no longer shocked at her own wanton behavior.
This seemed so…right. So natural.
Her hands found his smooth, hard chest. She smiled. He was just as she had imagined—all big and masculine and oh-so perfect. His skin was hot to the touch. There was a light dusting of hair on his chest that trailed downward. But she would explore that later.
Boldly, she let her hands glide up to his face. Her palms found strong lines with the raspy hint of stubble. His lips were full and sensuous. His hair was thick and coarse. She longed to rip off the blindfold, to look her fill at the man who had awakened her desire. But she had made a promise—a promise she intended to keep.
She offered her mouth and sighed when his lips met hers once and then twice again. “Show me what to do,” she whispered against his skin. “Show me how to please you.”
Her heart pounded as she listened to the unmistakable rush of buttons being undone and then a trembling hand took hers, guiding it downward, down the hard wall of his chest, over his flat stomach, down to a thatch of coarse curls.
Catherine swallowed when her fingers encircled his cock. It was big—so much bigger than she had expected. It was thick, hard and velvety. She’d never held one in her hand before.
She immediately wanted it inside her.
But, she reminded herself, she was not intent on pleasing herself this time. She wanted to give him the satisfaction he had given her so many times.
“Show me how,” she said huskily.
His hand covered hers and guided it up and down the length of his hard shaft, prodding her to squeeze, to run her palm and fingers just over the head and then to pull back down toward the base.
“Like this?” she asked as he moved his hand away and let her stroke him.
He murmured his approval and laid his forehead on her shoulder. His lips brushed the curve of her neck. His kisses became more and more ardent the harder and faster she stroked.
Catherine held his head there, threading her fingers into the short, thick hair at his nape, breathing in the heady scent of male and some spicy, exotic cologne that mingled to drive her mad with desire. Her clitoris throbbed.
His shoulders shuddered and his body tensed as she pumped him. This was like nothing she had ever known. It was frightening and wonderful and empowering.
She held the key to this man’s pleasure in her hand. The table had suddenly turned and now his desire was totally at her mercy.
The idea of it, of knowing she could have anything from him at this moment—
anything
—frightened her. But she was not yet ready to wield her newly discovered power. Not just yet.
Slowly and steadily, his body became rigid, his arousal rock hard. His arms locked around her while his hot mouth opened against that sensitive little hollow at her collarbone. He voiced a slow, languid groan and Catherine felt his hot seed erupting over her fingers, over her hand.
Her insides tightened and she yearned to know what it would be like to have him gushing that way inside her. Would she feel the heat? The spasms? The thought of it made her quiver.
His mouth moved to hers and claimed hers. His kiss was warm and thoroughly appreciative as he pushed her back on the bed.
He lay half on top of her with his face nuzzled against her cheek and ear. His slow, warm breaths fanned the curve of her neck. One hand came up to possessively cup her breast and one of his thick thighs parted her knees and rested between her legs.
Catherine had never experienced anything like this. She’d given him the same pleasure he’d given her. There was power in it. The intensity mesmerized her. If she could gratify him with her hand, what could she do with him inside her
cunny
?
Catherine’s pulse throbbed heavily. It was as if time was standing still and the only two people on the earth were she and Thomas. She wanted it to remain that way forever.
* * * * *
Thomas could not bring himself to move or to leave the comfort of Catherine’s absolving embrace.
How long had he been here like this? An hour? Two?
It had never been this way with any of the other women he’d trained. He had never slept in the same bed with them. He had never allowed himself to become vulnerable.
But there was something so sincere in Catherine’s innocent touch…
Something that made him fear the joy he had experienced with her. She had wanted to touch him.
She wanted to touch him.
It was not like it had been with the other women. They had touched him because he’d offered them something they had never before known—the forbidden. Catherine’s hand, kisses and caresses were bestowed on him out of something
inside
her.
Her fingers grazed the line of his jaw and he opened his eyes. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to leave. He desperately wanted to tear that damned blindfold off her and gaze into her eyes.
But they only had two weeks.
No. Less than two weeks now.
Something in his chest twisted. She belonged to another man.
He turned his cheek into the warmth of her palm and kissed her fingertips.
A demure smile claimed her lips. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“No. Just enjoying holding you.” He instantly regretted his candid admission.
Her smile broadened.
Damn. Why had he confessed to such a stupid thing? He was here to teach her the art of lovemaking, not to indulge in some forbidden affair.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said wistfully.
His forehead furrowed. He’d done it. He’d gone too far. He’d broken the cardinal rule of seduction.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Of course there is. Are you married? Do you have children?”
He took a deep breath, wanting desperately to unburden himself of the pain he carried around in his heart. Would it be safe with Catherine? Would she ever know his true identity?
He swallowed hard. “I
was
married.” He hesitated, trying to quell the waves of fear and remembrance.
“Is she…?”
Even though she didn’t finish her question, Catherine’s voice had a compassionate quality that compelled Thomas to continue. “Yes,” he said simply. “She died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
He knew somehow that she meant it.
“Did you have any children?” she asked as her fingers brushed through the hair at his temple—the hair she didn’t know was interspersed with more and more gray each new day.
“No.” He was surprised by the raw emotion in his own voice. He had always wanted children but Estelle had never been able to sustain a pregnancy to term.
“That is unfortunate. I think you would make a wonderful parent. Perhaps you will marry again someday.”
“No. I will never marry again.” His tone was laced with a finality that made Catherine wince.
She was silent for a moment and then she asked, “How did you come to know Robert?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t risk her finding out who he was after he’d returned her to Wallingford.
A dark and ugly image of his beautiful Catherine in Wallingford’s slick embrace made Thomas nauseated.
All I ask is that you leave the maidenhead for me.
Thomas balked when he recalled Wallingford’s words.
Bugger her in the
arse
.
Indeed!
Even given his repulsion, his cock involuntarily stirred at the idea of sliding inside that tight little orifice. He shook off the thought.
Catherine belonged to Wallingford and Wallingford would soon bugger her in any orifice he damned well pleased. Thomas knew it was none of his business.
“Thomas?”
“Hmm?”
“I am sorry about your wife.”
He brushed a kiss across her lips. “Yes, Catherine. I am too.”
Catherine drew him a little closer. Her heart went out to him. Pain was evident in his voice and she ached at the thought of him suffering such a terrible loss. It was obvious by the tone of his voice he had loved his wife.
She inhaled a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Robert did not love her. He
desired
her. But he did not love her. She swallowed, wondering which was worse—knowing love only to lose it, or never knowing what it was to be loved completely by another person?
Chapter Five
Thomas paused at the door to Catherine’s room. It was early. Too early. She would not be awake yet.
But hell, he hadn’t slept all night. He’d tossed and turned in his own empty bed, wanting—needing—to feel Catherine’s heat, to feel her arms encompassing him.
Damn. Damn. Damn. He had no right to be here standing at her door as if she belonged to him. She was Wallingford’s woman.
He ground his teeth even as his fingers encircled the cool brass knob, even as he turned it and quietly, slowly pushed open the door.
Catherine.
Catherine tied to the bed.
Bound for her own pleasure.
Bound for his.
She lay on her side with one slender thigh visible in the waning moonlight. The white sheet with its blue
moonglow
cascaded over and under and around her sensuous body.
Did she have any idea just how fucking beautiful she was?
A whisper of a sigh escaped his lips as he gently pushed the door closed and then treaded softly across the Oriental rug. He stood there at the edge of the bed and stared.
Waves and waves of black hair tumbled wildly, indiscriminately over her shoulders, her cheeks, the pillowslip. He longed to thread his fingers through it, to breathe in the scent of it, to feel the silken strands caress his body as she rode him to climax.
Beautiful Catherine.
With the sashes loosened for her comfort during the night, she looked perfectly at peace. One tiny fist curled gently against the pillow.
His knee brushed the side of the bed and he nearly climbed in with her but instead, he hesitated.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t take from her no matter how much she wanted to share herself with him. He knew where it would lead—with him buried to the hilt inside her, ramming, thrusting, watching her come undone beneath him.
But God, he couldn’t force himself to leave.
Silently he cursed himself as he eased onto the bed and lay down behind her. She stirred and moaned sleepily but she did not awaken.
His heart raced as he nestled himself against her with his leg over hers. His hand rested on the bed just underneath the fullness of her breast.
She was everything.
He was becoming obsessed with her and it frightened him to the core. Somehow, after he’d admitted his life story to her, he’d left the room and had stayed away—until now.
He was getting too close.
Dangerously close.
He tried to justify in his mind that it was only because she was the first woman he had taken on to train since Estelle’s death.
Other than the servants, she was practically the first person he had confessed those things to.
She drew her leg up higher. Her knee grazed his arm while her hip rose enticingly in the light of the moon. With a
featherlight
touch, Thomas trailed the backs of his fingers down her arm, down her side, down that voluptuous hip, over her rounded buttock to her sex.
She was moist.
He closed his eyes and touched her.
There. Yes, there.
His stomach tightened as he worked his fingers gently through the copse of curls, between the folds, to the hot wet hole no man had ever been inside.
Leave the maidenhead for me.
Fuck Wallingford.
Thomas gently worked one finger inside her, eliciting a soft, sleepy moan from Catherine’s throat. Still, she did not awaken.
So wet.
So hot.
Leave the maidenhead for me.
She felt good in there. Too damned good.
* * * * *
Catherine awakened, languidly aware of Thomas’ heat behind her—and aware of something else, something she had never felt before.
He was inside her. But it wasn’t his manhood. She could feel his arm pressed against the cleft of her buttocks, his hand conformed to her sex and the tip of his finger burrowed inside her.
When had he come into the room?
His breathing was slow and even. He was sleeping.
Sleeping with his finger inside me.
A little moan caught in her throat and she gently undulated against his hand. Pleasure rippled through that part of her body. She had never had a man’s finger inside her hole before. She had never had her
own
finger inside her hole before.