It was—exquisite.
She writhed slightly, wanting to rock her hips against his invasive touch but she forced herself to be as still as she could. It felt too good. She wanted to savor it. She didn’t want to come just yet.
The muscles inside her tightened involuntarily around his finger and he stirred. His hand began to move in the slow and determined rhythm of her hips.
Warm breath feathered the back of her neck and shoulders, followed by a lazy kiss.
Catherine was in ecstasy.
His finger searched and prodded, always careful not to push too far, even when she pushed back. She wanted him to take her. Now.
She wanted his sex buried inside her. Just like this.
Just like this…
She moved her hips in time to his hand slowly, maddeningly as his fingertip slipped in and out and in and out and in again.
And then it was happening. Catherine shuddered, clutching, clinging to the sashes which bound her wrists. Her cries erupted in a series of groans and frustrated mumbling and she was calling his name and begging him to fuck her, arguing with his adamant, husky refusals.
Suddenly his finger was gone and she had never ached for the loss of anything so much in her life.
She wanted more. She wanted it all.
She rolled onto her back, writhing against her restraints, begging him in blunt, unladylike appeals to make love to her. Her depraved desire no longer shocked her. All that mattered was appeasing this lust—with only this man.
“Please, please, please,” she cried as tears of frustration seeped from underneath the blindfold. She wanted to see him. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel him inside her.
The delicious weight of his body was suddenly on top of her, his hot, greedy kisses raining across her mouth, down her throat to where he hungrily suckled each breast. His legs and arms were all around her and she could feel that part of him, impeded by those damned silk pajamas, nudging against her sex. She opened her thighs and wrapped her legs around him, twisting wildly beneath him. If he did not take her now she was going to die. She was going to scream.
She did scream and he silenced her with a kiss. His tongue plunged between her lips and mated with hers. It was very wet and very, very hot.
Catherine made mewling noises and opened her mouth to his. She arched beneath him and bucked frantically against the hard, hard shaft of his arousal.
His hand slipped between their bodies and she felt him furiously undoing the drawstring on his pajamas.
And then it was intimately against her, prodding, rubbing, stroking the sensitive apex of her desire and then slipping down between the folds to her aching hole.
“Yes, yes,” she murmured. She lifted her hips upward but was only frustrated further when his arousal merely brushed her hole and then withdrew again. She thrashed wildly. “No.”
A hot kiss caressed her ear. “That’s not enough for you, is it, Catherine?”
She shook her head.
His knees spread her thighs wider and she anticipated more—all.
Again, he only rubbed the tip over her
cunny
and then retracted to slide back through the wet, wet folds, returning once more to tease her aching opening.
“It’s not enough.” She shook with sobs. “Don’t do this to me, Thomas. Please!”
His body and his kisses moved downward to her breasts, her stomach. She arched and groaned when his tongue traced around her navel and then left a warm, wet path down to her throbbing sex.
Big hands pushed her thighs wide open and she could feel his breath against her and then his tongue, his insistent mouth kissing, sucking, laving. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her and she knew damned well she could never get enough of him.
One long finger found its way inside her again, teasing her, giving her a maddening taste of what it would feel like to have his big cock in there.
His other hand lifted her hips off the bed, pulling her impossibly closer until she could feel his teeth, his tongue, his mouth all over her, greedy and insatiable, bringing her once more to that perfect state of bliss.
Catherine cried out as she came, pulling so hard against the sashes her wrists ached. Her head thrashed from side to side and she rode the waves as long as she could before she finally had to beg him to stop.
She fell limp against the sheets, her entire body alive with the earth-shattering orgasm Thomas had given her.
But he was not through with her yet.
His body moved over hers and then he was straddling her chest, lifting her head and slipping two thick pillows underneath her.
Catherine froze as she felt his cock push against her lips. Joy mingled with uncertainty flooded her being. She could do the same for him. She could make love to him this way.
Hungrily, she opened her mouth and engulfed his thick, turgid penis.
“Do you taste yourself, Catherine?”
She only voiced an assent as her tongue rippled around and down, tasting her own sweet cream mingled with the masculine flavor of his sex. She had never imagined that a woman could do this with a man but she wholeheartedly wanted to please him the way he had pleased her.
The bed creaked as he began slow, rhythmic, gentle thrusts. Words of encouragement spilled from his lips. His voice was low and husky.
Catherine took as much of him as she could. She teased him with her tongue and instinctively laved the sensitive head. She sucked and kissed and drew him in, wishing desperately that her hands were free.
Suddenly, his hand was under her head, holding her tightly against him as he gushed inside her mouth. Catherine could not get enough of his sweet, thick cream. She had never tasted anything like it.
His come was warm and spicy. As she swallowed, she heard him uttering her name over and over in such a way that made her wonder how long it had been for him.
He withdrew and she could feel the bed shaking with his trembling as he bestowed a kiss on her lips and then lay down beside her, his head against her breast, his arm possessively draped across her, his knee between hers.
“Untie me,” she said. “I want to hold you.”
Her request was met with dead silence that ended in a soft whisper of a refusal. “No, Catherine.”
Thomas closed his eyes. Every fiber of his being vibrated with life. He wanted to bask in the pure joy of having come inside a woman—the feel of her mouth, the way her lips opened to take him inside, the way she willingly, deliberately sucked and tasted and swallowed. He was still so hard he could fuck her right now.
She wanted him to untie her.
He thought about it.
Damn, he thought about it.
Wallingford’s fiancée…
He had promised he wouldn’t take her virginity and he feared he might do just that if he untied her—if he felt her arms around him again.
Jesus, he feared he wanted more than her virginity.
No. He wouldn’t even entertain that notion. Not now. Not ever.
And then Catherine turned her head toward him and brushed a kiss across his forehead, an innocent gesture that made him ache inside. “I’m marrying Robert against my will.” Her voice was but a hoarse whisper.
Something twisted inside him—something that reminded him he didn’t want to experience the pain of loss again, the pain of being vulnerable. He shut his eyes against the assault of memories, forcing them away. He had to reason with her. He had to be the sensible one.
He propped himself on his elbows and looked down at her. Damn, he wanted to look into her eyes. “Wallingford is a duke. Your heirs might be in line for the throne one day.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to go through with the wedding.”
“Dear God, Catherine, don’t you realize what you’ve got to lose?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t love him.”
Thomas took a deep breath and held it for a moment before blowing it out. He had married for love, although so many marriages were arranged to strengthen bloodlines and escalate toward loftier titles. How could he begrudge Catherine the same?
He tried to think of something to say that would console her, or reassure her that she would indeed grow to love Wallingford some day, but no words of comfort came into his mind. She would never love Wallingford. He was an ass and would remain so. He would never appreciate Catherine.
Thomas breathed in an angry sigh as he thought about Catherine and Wallingford’s wedding night. Wallingford would no doubt have her undress herself and then he would climb on top and ram through her innocence without a care for Catherine’s pleasure.
He swallowed. Damn the bastard.
Thomas considered taking Catherine’s virginity just so she wouldn’t have to experience the humiliation and carelessness of Wallingford’s
fumblings
.
But he had made a promise.
And he knew if he let himself inside her that way, he would be lost forever.
Damn.
Goddamn.
* * * * *
Thomas opened the trunk that had long since been removed to the attic. His gaze fell on a plethora of sex toys.
Dildos of all sizes and colors.
Long strings of anal beads.
Gleaming Chinese pleasure balls.
Gold and silver nipple clamps.
He stared down at the long-neglected items and blew out a sigh. After what he had allowed to happen that morning, he knew he should be sending Catherine straight back to Wallingford.
He’d had no right to take the liberties with her he had already taken.
An image of his cock embedded in her luscious mouth made him stir. Try as he might, he could not stay away from her. He’d attempted to justify it in his own mind with a thousand arguments.
He couldn’t send her back to Wallingford just yet. He couldn’t condemn her to a marriage with that bastard without first teaching her all there was to know—and with Wallingford, she would definitely need to know
this
.
He retrieved a wicked leather dildo the size of his own penis and turned it, examining it in his hand.
Catherine would need to know how to please herself if she was going to marry that fucking
toff
, Wallingford.
He lifted a thinner dildo out of the trunk.
For now, this one would do nicely.
After gathering some other curios, he left the musty attic and headed for Catherine’s room.
* * * * *
Freshly bathed and perfumed, Catherine awaited the sound of footsteps in the hall. Once more, she was bound hand and foot with her legs spread wide.
The position was hardly humiliating anymore. Now, she found it…
exhilarating
.
Finally, approaching footsteps sounded and then she heard the tumble of the lock as the doorknob turned. Her heart rioted.
Her body tightened in anticipation. Never had she wanted anything—anyone—so badly in her life.
A smile claimed her lips as she caught the scent of his spicy cologne. “Thomas,” she purred, already writhing against the restraints.
The bed sank as he sat on it. “It looks as if my little pupil is ready for her next lesson.”
Even the sound of his voice sent waves of pleasure through Catherine’s being.
Oh yes
.
“Yes,” she said and then formed a pout with her lips. “But what more is there to teach me?”
Her pout was rewarded with a brush of his thumb. “So innocent,” he murmured. “There is much, much more.”
Her smile widened. She wished she could see him.
Something hard and smooth touched her lips and then trailed down her chin to her throat, sliding lower and between her breasts, down over her belly to brush across the curls between her parted thighs. Catherine arched against it. “What is that?” she asked.
He untied her wrists. “Hold it.” He placed the thing in her hands.
It was long and hard and shaped like a…
a phallus
. She gasped. What was it for? Her mind raced with possibilities. Her insides clenched with anticipation.
“This, my dear, is a dildo.”
She laughed. “A what?”
“A fake cock.”
Catherine felt heat infuse her cheeks. She’d thought after the things they’d done together already that she could no longer be shocked. She was wrong.
“You’ll need this if you marry Robert Wallingford.”
The smile disappeared from Catherine’s face. She wished he had not mentioned her fiancé. Not when she was trying desperately to forget he existed.
“What am I supposed to do with it?” she asked.
“You fuck yourself with it.”
Catherine gasped. She could never do that. Never!
She had the sinking—arousing—suspicion that Thomas was going to show her how to use it. “How?” she asked boldly.
He took it from her hands. “You’re not ready for this one just yet.” And then he placed a much smaller one in her palm. “You can practice with this one.”
A wave of disappointment swept over her. This one was barely as big around as her index finger but nearly twice as long. They both felt as if they were made of leather.
“Have you ever touched yourself, Catherine?”
“Certainly not!”
He chuckled. “Poor dear.” He took the dildo from her and then his hand closed on hers and guided it down to her
cunny
.
“I can’t do this.” Her body tensed beneath her open palm. “You do it. You touch me.”
“No.”
Panic surged. “I won’t do this, Thomas.”
“Really?”
She heard something that sounded like jewelry clinking. “I think this might help.” And then she felt something cold and hard and tight being fastened to her nipples.
“What are you doing?” Her voice raised an octave with her distress. What was that? It pinched deliciously, sending wave upon wave of desire stampeding to her
cunny
. She became painfully aware of her breasts and achingly aware of the surge of heat spiraling from her nipples to her sex.
He took her hand in his again and guided it down once more until she felt the soft curls and the moist heat between her legs. The hard little apex throbbed under her fingertips, begging and aching for release.
He pressed her hand against her sex and she arched as a little spasm of pleasure swept over her even as she balked. She couldn’t do this.