She could
not
do this.
Not with him watching.
“I want you to know how to pleasure yourself, Catherine.”
She gnawed her bottom lip and shook her head. She attempted to pull her hand away but he held it firmly in place.
God, she wanted to…
She squeezed her buttocks together and shifted her weight but it only made it worse.
“Do it, Catherine. Touch yourself. Make yourself come.”
“I can’t.”
“Do it for me.”
The clamps around her nipples constricted even more and she whimpered as she slipped a finger through the wet folds of her sex.
“Yes,” Thomas whispered. “That’s it.”
The sound of his voice encouraged her and slowly, tentatively, she began to stroke the hard little crest.
It felt so good
. So good.
She had never dreamed she could do this. Emboldened by the sheer hedonistic pleasure of the act, she began to writhe, dipping her finger down and into her hot wet hole, only to bring it back up again to furiously stroke her hardened bud.
“Doesn’t that feel good?”
“Yes!”
“Try this.” He handed her the smaller dildo once more and without protest, Catherine thrust it between her thighs and slipped it inside her as far as it would go, frustrated that it failed to fill and stretch her. If only it were bigger, longer…
“Yes, Catherine. Fuck yourself.”
Thomas watched. What a beautiful sight she was with her long legs spread wide, her ankles bound to the bedposts and her hand working the smaller black leather dildo in and out of her sopping wet hole.
He breathed in the scent of sex and leather as he languidly stroked his own cock. She writhed and twisted, her mouth open, her breathy sighs coming more frequently now. She was on the verge. And so was he.
Her breasts quivered with each breath, setting the golden baubles on the nipple clamps in motion. He had never seen a woman respond this way.
Never.
Suddenly, her body tensed and she cried out. Her hips rose off the bed and with both hands, she pushed the reed-thin dildo inside her as far as it would go.
“I want the big one. I want your cock stuffing me full,” she mewled.
Thomas’ own eyes fluttered shut as he erupted in his hand and when he opened them again, Catherine was lying limp on the sheets, the glistening dildo discarded at her side.
He seized her wrists and quickly bound them once more.
“Where are you going?” she demanded when he stood.
“I’ll be back later.” A sense of smug self-satisfaction flooded him at her distress.
“But these…” she uttered as she thrust her breasts upward.
A laugh rumbled up from his chest. “Oh no, Catherine. I want you to wear those until I return.” He fingered one of her distended nipples.
“Oh please!” she cried.
His gaze halted on the little dildo again. Should he?
Why not?
She thrashed wildly as he slid it inside her.
“At least untie me,” she demanded.
“Oh no.” He relished her sweet torture. “After an afternoon of having this wicked little dildo stuffed inside you, you’re going to be willing to do anything I ask when I return. More than willing.”
“Damn you, Thomas,” she said with a grin.
* * * * *
Catherine groaned. Damn him. How long had he been gone? Did he intend to torture her this way all day?
Her nipples burned and her insides clenched fruitlessly around the maddeningly thin dildo. She’d twisted and wriggled but the damned bonds had prevented her from getting any real satisfaction. Her distended clitoris made her ache to the point of insanity until she could stand it no longer.
“Thomas…” she whimpered. She thrashed back and forth until her shoulders hurt. “Thomas…
please
…”
And then she screamed.
“
Thomas
!”
Her back arched off the bed and she screamed his name again and again until her throat burned.
“Catherine?” His voice overflowed with concern. She had not heard him come in but he was suddenly there and she felt his warm hands remove the torturous dildo and the nipple rings. Deft fingers untied the sashes which bound her wrists and ankles—and then he swept her into his arms.
She clung to him and sobbed against a fine linen shirt. His fingers threaded through her hair and he held her close. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
She tilted her face up. The temptation to rip off the blindfold arose so hard in her she wanted to scream from frustration. Her palm found the hard line of his jaw. “Make love to me.” Her voice was only a whisper.
He became rigid.
“Please. Remove this blindfold and make love to me, Thomas.”
Chapter Six
Thomas breathed in the scent of lavender, of sex—and that fragrance belonging only to Catherine. His mind and heart warred. Here she was, pleading with him to make love to her—begging him to do the one thing he wanted to do more than anything in the world.
Her body trembled in his arms and he was assailed with the feel of her silken skin and her riot of black hair. She raised her knee and her thigh brushed his side, scorching him through his clothes. Damn it all to hell. He wanted her.
All he had to do was free his rock-hard cock and bury himself in her tight, wet hole. He shuddered.
“Please, Thomas.” A sob shook her shoulders and he instinctively pulled her closer.
Her lips parted and she sought his mouth. He kissed her with reckless abandon, thrusting his tongue between her lips until his teeth grazed hers. He wanted all her mouth had to offer. He wanted to crawl inside her silky skin. He wanted to know what it was to be inside her. He ached for her.
Forcing himself not to think, he pushed her back on the sheets and moved over her. He parted her knees wide with his.
Catherine’s hands roamed over his body, tugged at his shirt and fought with the buttons on his trousers. His aching cock sprang free and he felt the engorged head brush the slick, wet opening between her thighs. Just one thrust…
No clothes to hinder him.
Nothing…
“Yes,” she breathed as she grasped his hips and pulled him down. “Yes.”
He shook off the doubts and the hard-rearing guilt and took himself in his hand. Positioning the head, he intended to tear her innocence with one powerful thrust.
She lifted her hips, raking the velvety folds of her labia over his sensitive cock and suddenly, he was coming uncontrollably, spewing pearly cream across her tuft of black curls and her belly. A shimmering ribbon unfurled all the way to that kissable little hollow at the center of her collarbone.
God, what had he almost done?
He shuddered with the knowledge he would not have stopped.
He wilted onto Catherine and held her, trying in vain to muffle the sob that tore involuntarily from his throat. Her hands slipped around his neck and shoulders, her innocent caress absolving him. He shook, attempting to suppress another sob but Catherine’s voice was his undoing. “It’s all right, Thomas,” she whispered in his ear.
The urge to purge himself of all his painful memories proved to be more than he could stand. The memory of Estelle, the pain of losing her, the inexplicable guilt he felt, all bubbled to the surface and he found himself confessing it all to Catherine in lurid detail. And all the while, she stroked his hair, his neck, his back.
And she listened.
* * * * *
Catherine felt for the covers and found them in a wad at the end of the bed. Thomas had long since fallen asleep. She pulled the covers up over them and snuggled back into his embrace.
If only she wasn’t wearing this stupid blindfold, she would finish undressing him. But as it was, she feared her
fumblings
would awaken him and after the things he’d confessed, she knew he needed rest.
She’d gathered from his obvious pain that he’d never told anyone the details about his wife’s death. It must have been awful for him watching her waste away, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. Catherine had sensed the helplessness—and anger—in his voice.
His deep, even breaths fanned her shoulder and a little smile curved her lips at the thought of him sleeping so peacefully.
Sleeping…
She could remove the blindfold and take a peek at him. Just a little peek…
Didn’t she deserve that much?
Her heart raced at the idea of finally getting to see him. She propped herself up on one elbow and made ready to lift the corner of the blindfold but something made her hesitate. If he caught her, he would never trust her again. But could she leave here never knowing what he looked like? What if he and Robert were friends? What would she do when she saw him out in society?
Her resolve melted and she sagged against him once more, going over in her mind what she already knew about him. She knew his name—but only his first name. There were a thousand men named Thomas in London alone.
She assumed he must be somewhat wealthy because of the sumptuous furnishings and the expanse of the grounds outside her window. He spoke as if he were well educated. He was not a boy. His voice and the texture of his skin told her that much. But how old was he?
He had thick, coarse hair which was cut short. He didn’t wear whiskers or those silly looking sideburns called Piccadilly Weepers. Thank God.
But what color was his hair? And what color were his eyes? Dear Lord, she would give anything to see those eyes. Did he admire her when he looked at her? Would she see passion there? Her stomach tightened as she imagined an intense gaze leveled on her nakedness.
No. She would not take a peek at him however much she wanted to. He trusted her and she would not betray his trust.
Besides, she did not need to know what he looked like to know that she was already in love with him.
* * * * *
When Catherine awakened, she was still nestled in Thomas’ warm embrace. A storm raged outside. She could hear a torrent of rain pelting the window and hear lightning both distant and near.
Languidly, she breathed in the heady scent of her lover. His fragrance was warm and bespoke a spicy masculinity. Gently, she pressed a kiss to the place where his open collar touched his throat. His arms tightened around her and a low groan of approval rumbled in his chest.
I love you.
She mouthed the words and then kissed him again just beneath the earlobe. She’d lain awake thinking of her new revelation for a long time. She loved Thomas.
But what good would it do her when she didn’t even know his last name? She had no idea if he had a title—although she seriously suspected he did. A bright thought occurred to her.
Surely he felt the same for her. What if she and Thomas eloped? What if they married?
Her heart soared only to come crashing down around her. Thomas was most certainly not a duke. Robert had promised to support not only her but her family as well, and with her father on the verge of impoverishment, she simply had no choice but to marry Robert.
She couldn’t very well ask Thomas to support her and her entire family.
But what if she told him she loved him? What if he loved her just as much?
I will never marry again…
Darkly, she recalled his words. He had been adamant. And after what he had told her about his wife, she knew he could never love that way again.
A lump welled in Catherine’s throat and she fought back the tears that stung her eyes. She could not stand being second best. She could never live in the shadow of his deceased wife. Never.
It would be better for her to go on and marry Robert and keep the love she’d found with Thomas secreted away in her heart.
Besides, even if he did feel the same way about her, he was too honorable a man to elope with another man’s fiancée. For that reason alone, she could never tell him her feelings for him.
If he did care for her, it would break his heart when he had to turn her over to Robert. Catherine knew—because with every second that ticked by, her heart shattered a little more.
* * * * *
Apprehension swept over Thomas as he awakened fully and realized he had spent the night in Catherine’s bed—in Catherine’s arms. How could he have been so foolish?
He took a deep breath as last night’s events washed through his memories. Squeezing his eyes shut, he recalled his untimely ejaculation on Catherine’s stomach. A wave of utter horror and humiliation swept over him. And then he recalled Catherine’s soothing voice and her reassuring caresses. He remembered sobbing like a baby in her arms. He’d been thoroughly unmanned.
She lay awake tracing slow, mesmerizing circles on his chest with her index finger.
Innocent Catherine…
A sense of calm swept through him which he knew would not last. It was like the calm before a storm. Wallingford would be coming for her soon.
Wallingford.
That son of a bitch.
A graphic image of Catherine being forced to submit to Wallingford’s sadistic whims assailed Thomas.
I
just want her to learn to respond. To learn how to please me without question.
That had been Wallingford’s request. Thomas knew he could never teach her to respond without question to that bastard. He had often bragged about the cruelties he performed on his mistresses. Humiliating sex games. Pony costumes. Thomas shuddered. Would the bastard put Catherine through that?
He held her a little closer and nuzzled his face in her fragrant hair. He wanted to protect her, to keep her locked away here where she was safe. He wanted to make love to her, to show her how a man and a woman could come together, could please one another with mutual respect and appreciation. She would never know that with Wallingford.
Perhaps she would take a lover after she married Wallingford. Thomas hoped so but even the thought of that dismayed him. Besides, Wallingford was not the trusting sort. He would have his spies watching her every move and if she did perchance behave with indiscretion, Wallingford would surely punish her for it.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had the power to take her from Wallingford. He could marry her—if she wanted him to.