She’d saved the last of the oil for his chest and groin. The oil, still warm and silky, slid over her palms. Instead of touching him, she hefted the weight of her breasts and started kneading as Michael watched.
“Oh, saints above. Clarissa, you need to do something for me now.”
“Not yet.” She put the tip of her finger on the end of his erection, right where the little notch slotted. She rubbed softly.
“Yes. That’s it. More,” he said, biting at his lips.
“What would you like me to do?”
“Take it in your mouth. I don’t care. Use your hands, but do something.”
She gave him a moment of pleasure as she stroked her oily palm over his length, eliciting a deep moan.
Instead, she reached for the dildo.
She heard the intake of breath. “This is for you because I know how much you like to watch.”
She pushed up on her haunches, slid the dildo in her palm and then, while he gazed at her and the softness between her legs, pushed it inside the dark warmth of her body. He arched, his body reacting of its own accord as if his penis had a mind of its own and knew the only place it would be happy was sinking into her lubricated cunt.
Moving with long, slow strokes, Clarissa closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her husband fighting against his bonds and losing the battle for his release.
He turned his wild gaze on her. “Clarissa, you have to stop. Someone could see you,” he whispered.
Clarissa gave him a one-sided smile and then allowed him to see what she held. The dildo glistened with pearly liquid.
He cursed.
She rubbed the smooth tip between her legs, eliciting a subtle groan from him. “As much as I like this, I’d much rather have you.”
The light in his eye blazed with need. “Close the door first. Untie me. I’ll do whatever you want, Clarissa.”
For once, she had him explosive with lust. She’d no doubt that he’d come the moment she slid down his cock.
She used her hands to scoot forward, lowering her wet pussy over his raging erection. He groaned so loudly Clarissa glanced over her shoulder, fearing the footmen would be in any moment. “If you don’t do exactly as I say, I will not untie you.”
He nodded, waiting.
“You do not get to come until I tell you. Until I’ve had my pleasure. If you do, then you’ll stay strapped to this bed until they find your bones.” Clarissa loved the idea of dominating her man, but she’d never seen him so wound up, tighter than the grandfather clock in the library. He wouldn’t last. Even though she asked for one thing, she was determined to see him ejaculate long and hard. And with absolutely no control.
She smiled as she tormented him further, leaning forward, her breasts within tantalizing, agonizing closeness, but denying him any pleasure from touching them.
While he suffered over the near pleasure of sucking her breasts, she settled over the tip of his cock and then thrust backward, impaling herself on his length in one quick taking.
His eyelids slammed shut and he gritted his teeth while his hips bucked underneath her. She gorged herself on him, starting a fast rhythm that would kill him.
Michael’s mouth opened, gasping. “Slower. I can’t…I can’t.” He gasped, surged into her with one hard thrust of his hips and Clarissa met him coming down. He sucked air between his clenched teeth as his body jerked uncontrollably underneath her.
Clarissa luxuriated in the warmth of his semen spilling into her. Deep and dark satisfaction washed over her.
He surged and bucked, groaning into her with each release. The throbbing, unfulfilled need between her legs diminished. She hadn’t expected or hoped for anything but his capitulation and the realization he could get what he was looking for from his wife.
For the first time since this morning, Michael’s body relaxed into a slumberous repose. He wasn’t sleeping, but she firmly believed he was incapable of movement. The cock inside her slid free.
Clarissa rose from the bed and hurried across the room to shut and lock the door. When she returned to the bed, Michael stared at her through half-closed eyes. She gazed down at him for a few minutes before departing for her room. She changed from the red and black corset into one of her old, comfortable white flannel robes. As the familiar softness settled over her, unexpected tears welled in her eyes.
For all that she’d done for her husband, she didn’t know if she’d solved anything. Why had he forsaken her and his vows to begin with? The intense pleasures didn’t wash away the intense hurt and deep doubt.
She pulled the velvet cord, calling for her maid. Within a few minutes she’d ordered a bath to be brought up in an hour and a small, private luncheon for them in two hours.
When she returned to his rooms, his sleepy gaze followed her. He looked like one of the boys as he fought to keep his eyes open but they wouldn’t obey.
She pressed her knee to the bed before crawling in beside him. At last, a slight smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
“I’d put my arms around you if I could move.”
She snuggled closer. Within a few minutes, he slept, the soft hiss of deep breathing soothing her, reminding her why it was so good to have a companion and lover and friend in bed beside her.
Clarissa freed his hands and legs. She had more for him, but the final act would require his approval and cooperation. And the truth.
Chapter Twelve
Stiff, disheveled and nowhere near sated, Michael woke with a warm body beside him and an intense desire to go at his wife with all the vigor of an eighteen-year-old. What he’d done against Clarissa might be difficult for her to forgive, but it had accomplished one goal to perfection. His cock bobbed and lurched at the mere thought of lifting her robe and probing between her legs with every weapon at his disposal.
He stretched and then groaned.
When he realized he was free, he gently rolled away from Clarissa and slowly sat up on the bed, waiting out the dizziness and weakness that plagued him for the moment. He rubbed at his wrists. Every muscle in his body felt ill-used, as if he’d been put on a rack and beaten to within an inch of his life. The rich, intense orgasm that resulted was worth every trifling soreness and unbelievable stiffness.
While trapped in the bindings, he’d made several threats of sexual domination. At the moment, he didn’t have the strength to see them through. Only his erection seemed indefatigable.
Michael glanced over his shoulder at his still-sleeping wife. She and the bedcovers had fought the good fight. He couldn’t determine a winner.
How Clarissa had metamorphosed from the proper countess into a wicked ladybird and back into this wife all in the span of a few short weeks was beyond comprehension.
Truth be told, he was grateful.
He’d been near ruining the best thing that had ever happened to him. And the love he’d been about to throw away had been the love that had saved him. Clarissa had been everything he could ask for in a wife—a confidant, a trusted companion, an unselfish lover, a loving and strict mother, a faithful friend.
Deep love and a renewed burst of energy pumped through his veins. He stood, naked and cold, reaching toward the ceiling. When he could move with a little grace, he strode to the washstand and splashed water on his face and body, then used the towel to dry off.
Clarissa moaned across the room, the arousing sound shooting through him.
Since they’d risen this morning, she’d been tormenting him sexually and he’d known she hadn’t taken any time to achieve her own pleasure. Rather than waste time shaving, he walked to the end of the bed. She’d rolled, one leg bare to her thigh where her robe rode up with incredible appeal. He crawled on the bed, tugging the covers this way and that to reveal more heavenly flesh.
When he nudged one leg wide, the scent of her arousal was strong. What should he have expected after her hours of play with him? He still smelled like a rose garden while she exuded earthy desires.
Over the years, her most ardent refusals of intimacy were conquered with his mouth while his tongue searched between her legs. Once she’d had a few orgasms, she was putty in his hands. He’d ask for her pardon, tell her he wouldn’t be long and then he’d rush headlong into orgasm after a few satisfying thrusts.
In fact, that very thing sounded decidedly appropriate now.
Finding her ankles, he gripped, pushing her legs high and wide. The white robe slid with sensual abandon, pooling at her stomach.
He lowered his mouth to the sexual honey, ready to feast. When his mouth encased her sweet nub, he sucked and tongued her, causing Clarissa to tense. He felt the reaction in her legs as she sought both escape and ease.
Ease he could provide.
He lapped at the silken, pink lips, now swollen and sensitive. Clarissa hummed with each lick, her legs relaxed, spreading wider as her body craved more of what he did to her.
When he swiped his tongue at the entrance of her sweet pussy, he felt her hand slip into the hair on his head, her subtle pressure requesting, begging for more. He worked her in earnest then, allowing the sound of wet lapping and gentle sucking along with his own anticipatory groans to fill the room. Clarissa rocked into him, faster and faster.
At the pinnacle, she arched and stiffened, her legs squeezing his shoulders until she shuddered and convulsed in one large spasm. Her hips jerked as several smaller quakes rocked her, until finally, she ebbed in gentle waves of the receding tide.
He crawled on top of her, his cock searching with natural ease for the soft, dark warmth of her cunt.
Her eyes peeked through somnolent lids and she smiled.
“Pardon me, Lady Dunnaway. This won’t take long.”
“Michael? Do you trust me?”
He watched as she reached for the dildo and the glass container of rose oil. The sweet scent permeated the air as she prepared the slender phallus. She gazed into his eyes and entwined her legs with his. She slid one hand down his bare back and clasped one of his ass cheeks.
In his mind, he rebelled at the implications of what she’d suggested with her singular statement, but sexual tension like he’d never known reached to every nerve of his body. The organ between his legs stretched and expanded, his balls tightened.
The cool slide of the glass down his ass nearly caused a climax. He held his breath. He hung his head and tried to breathe to relieve the lightheadedness coursing through his brain.
No, no, no
, shouted in his brain, but he couldn’t say the words to stop her. Or the impending intrusion.
The tip touched his asshole and he clenched reflexively. He panted in uneven, short breaths. His eyes had shut as he waited.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. She probed gently.
The muscles of his ass rejected the thick invasion, tightening, preventing further entrance. His arms bunched and then he swore a long string of invectives in French.
Clarissa tugged at his cheek, opening him further and then shoved past the flexing sphincter.
He gasped. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” She pushed and the pressure built seemingly in proportion to the size of his cock. His hands grasped her knees, shoving them high and opening her wide.
His mind whirled until there were no thoughts, only pleasure like he’d never imagined.
Until he shoved his cock into her and his world exploded.
He thrust. He thrust in wild, deep automatic contractions in answer to the pleasure coursing through his body. He heard the sounds coming from his mouth. Deep, primal. Louder with each thrust.
Clarissa clung to him, her legs wrapped around his. He tried not to think about what she’d shoved inside his body, but the pleasure required his complete submission.
Every withdrawal from her body precipitated an immediate and burning intrusion into his.
He plunged to an all-encompassing depth and proceeded to execute a few cursory surges before his own orgasm grew too urgent to control. When she extracted the dildo at the peak of his pleasure, he nearly went insane with lust, sure he could fuck without end for the next year. His body jerked. He spilled with a final loud groan, wondering the whole time how in the hell he could have been so idiotic to give up the lush paradise between his wife’s legs.
* * * * *
The bath was celestial and had the added benefit of being strategically located in his wife’s bedroom. She volunteered to shave him, which he allowed with the appropriate grousing of a put-upon husband.
He tried not to dwell on the insane pleasure she’d given him or the manner in which he’d received the particular gratification. He thought it would be several days before he could even mention the fact she’d buggered him good. At that point, he thought he might be sufficiently prepared to ask for a second ass-fuck at her hands, only he was imagining her mouth on his cock the next time he let the dildo near him again.
“Would you walk to the folly with me this afternoon?” he asked while watching her shed the white robe. Her breasts, still firm and shapely, tempted him enough that he swore under his breath. He felt like a newlywed, horny and puerile, ready to shag at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t such a bad state to be in, but how long could it last?