Never Lie To A Lady Part 27

Nash's head went back, his face a mask of exquisite agony. Over and over she stroked him. Tormented him. Until he began to shake ever so slightly, the tendons of his neck straining. His eyes opened then, and his hands captured hers. "Enough, wench," he growled, pus.h.i.+ng them high above her head. "You are here to do my bidding, are you not?"

Lightly, she laughed. "But I love to torture you."

With an almost disdainful grunt, he reached for something just beyond her shoulder. She felt rather than saw the cool silk draw taut around her wrist. Something like panic caused her to jerk, but he drew the silk tight with another sound of satisfaction. Her panic turned to something else.

"Stefan?" she whispered uncertainly.

"If there's any torture to be done tonight, my love," he rasped, "the doing of it will be mine."

He had her other wrist now, bound tight to the first. Experimentally, she tugged on them, but the silken tie held fast. Still holding them high above her head, he bent down, nuzzling at her breast, then drawing it lovingly back inside his mouth. Xanthia moaned, her body arching involuntarily. In response, Nash drew the silk tie tighter still, as if to show her who was in command.

When she began to writhe uncontrollably beneath him, however, Nash rose to a kneeling position and looked down at her naked body, a wicked light in his eyes. "Sit up, love," he softly commanded. "Let's have you on your lovely knees, hmm?"

Willingly, she did so. To her shock, he rose higher onto his knees, stretching their arms well above her head. She could easily have slipped the knot, but inexplicably, she did not. Instead, she looked up to see he was looping the silk tie around the highest slat in the wooden canopy. She felt enthralled. Oddly aroused.

"Stefan?" she said again.

He pulled the knot fast and drew her arms taut. Xanthia's breath ratcheted up a notch. She felt stretched out. Fully exposed. Again, she tested the knot with a little jerk. It gave but slightly, and yet it was not uncomfortable. Still, she was trapped on her knees. Naked. In the middle of Nash's ma.s.sive bed.

Nash slipped one finger into the thatch of curls between her thighs. "Now you are truly in my power, my dear," he murmured, indolently drawing the finger through her curls, up her belly, over her navel, and all the way up between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Yes," she said weakly, watching his hand. "I do seem to be your prisoner."

He leaned into her, and opened his mouth over hers for a kiss which was invasive and possessing. "Do you wish to be released from your prison, sweet?" he rasped, when his mouth left hers.

"No," she said swiftly. "Not...not yet."

He laughed deep in his chest. "You find this intriguing?"

Xanthia felt her face heat. "I...I do not know."

He let his lips play down her neck. "You are a deeply sensual woman, Zee," he murmured. "You are curious, I think. I saw it in your eyes once before."

"Yes...perhaps," she admitted.

"There is nothing wrong with erotic play," he said rea.s.suringly. "Not if both partners wish it. And there is certainly nothing wrong with your curiosity."

Xanthia's breath was coming rapidly. "And do you wish...to play?"

"I wish only to please you," he answered. "The simplest act of lovemaking would please me, so long as you are my partner."

"W-Would it?"

"I think you know it would." His teeth grazed her throat. "But I think, my dear, that you need a strong man in your bed," he whispered seductively. "I think that you want to be-shall we say, subjugated just a bit?"

"Yes." The word escaped on a sigh before she could s.n.a.t.c.h it back.

He bent his head and lightly licked the hard, pink bud of her nipple. "Do you know why, Zee, you want that?" he murmured.

"N-No." But she did want it, and his words fired her blood like fine cognac.

He slipped one finger into her curls again, deeper this time. "It is because strong women need strong men," he whispered, easing his finger back and forth in the silken heat between her legs. "You yearn for a man who can control you, who knows what you crave-and can give it to you."

"Is that what you mean to do?" Her voice came out soft and thready. "Give me...what I crave?"

"If you will let me," he answered honestly. "Will you?"

Xanthia looked up at the knotted silk. "Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Anything."

He pinched lightly at her nipple. "Say please, my love."

"Please." She breathed the word into the gloom.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Good." She felt his teeth nibble at her other breast, and her eyes flew open. "But what...what are you going to do? Are you-are you going to...to do anything wicked?"

"Wicked?" he murmured. "Oh, I hope so."

"No, I mean...I mean like the things you told me about," she whispered. "Are you going to...to punish me?"

His hands slid round to lift and spread her b.u.t.tocks. "Oh, that depends, my dear," he murmured. "Have you been a naughty girl?"

Xanthia closed her eyes and nodded. "I think very naughty thoughts," she confessed breathlessly. "Ever since I met you, Stefan, I...I keep imagining wicked things. Wanting things. Things no lady ought to want."

Suddenly, she felt the sting of his hand across her backside. "Oh!" she cried, jumping But Nash's hand was already ma.s.saging her b.u.t.tock, easing away the burn. "There, perhaps that will remind you to be good," he murmured, rubbing her with both hands now. "Will it, my love?"

They stood on their knees, bodies pressed together, with his c.o.c.k twitching impatiently against her inner thigh. A strange thrill had run through her at the instant his palm struck her flesh. She felt all quivery inside. Antic.i.p.atory. Curious. She licked her lips uncertainly. "I think...I think perhaps I have been more naughty than you realize."

He pressed the heat of his body to hers, his hands skimming restlessly down her back. "Have you now, my sweet?" he murmured. "Perhaps I ought to untie you, and just bend you over the pillows for a proper paddling?"

"No," she said swiftly.

"No-?" The word was rich with curiosity.

"I like this," she whispered. "I like you standing over me. But I have been just a little bad. Like tonight. At dinner."

He gave her a curious half smile. "At dinner?"

Xanthia closed her eyes again. "I kept watching you and...and remembering that first night," she confessed, her voice dreamy. "How we met. How we kissed. I kept thinking of your hand between my-well, of your hand...pleasuring me in the darkness-whilst all the others danced, never knowing what we were doing together. And I kept remembering how...how powerful your c.o.c.k felt when it brushed my body. How hard it felt beneath your trousers."

"Oh, that was very naughty indeed," he admitted. "I think the best way to punish you is to torment you until you beg."

"Oh," she whispered, trembling against him. "Oh, G.o.d."

He was kissing her now, light, gentle kisses all along her cheek, and circling the swell of her b.u.t.tock with a gentle, certain touch. She lifted her face from his shoulder, and this time, she looked him directly in the eyes.

"I like this," she said again. "Your being...the one in control."

Something in his gaze softened, and he bent his head to kiss her gently. "Oh, my love," he whispered. "You must get so very tired sometimes. Tired of being strong and in command. Tired of having no one with whom to be...just yourself."

"You understand," she whispered dreamily.

"Yes," he murmured. "I do." Then his hands came up to cradle her face as he slanted his lips over hers in a kiss of exquisite tenderness. It was a caress of sensual promise, and of something else, too. Grat.i.tude, perhaps? But it was no less erotic for it. The kiss deepened, became something more. A bond. A promise. She felt her body melt and join to his. A rich sensual heat swirled about them, and it was just them. The two of them, sharing a oneness no one could understand.

They came apart gasping, holding one another's gaze as if wondering what they had wrought. At least she was wondering. It was the most bizarre thing imaginable: to be tied in such a way that one could not move; to be totally at the mercy of another-and to want it. He sat back on his heels and let his gaze trail over her nakedness again.

Do you trust me? he had whispered.

And that was the essence of it, was it not? As lovers, did they have trust? She looked at him, taking in the powerful, bulging thighs, and the broad shoulders, which were limned with light from the flickering hearth. At the thick, straight, too-long hair and harsh black brows. At the almost intimidating size of his erection. A strong man. Oh, yes. He was certainly that.

Nash reached past her and picked up his gla.s.s of port. Still watching her, he drank with relish, then banded one arm about her waist and kissed her deeply. Xanthia was amazed when her mouth flooded with the rich taste of wine. The sweet, heavy liquid swirled sensuously in her mouth as his tongue thrust deep. She swallowed, and it was a heady, purely erotic experience.

He drew back, his eyes burning with intensity. "Good G.o.d, you are the most sensual creature I have ever known," he rasped. To her shock, he lifted the gla.s.s and let just a little of the port drip down the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her nipples puckered into impossibly tight buds as the port ran lower, down her belly, and farther still, teasing at her skin as it ran.

At the very last instant, Nash bent his head, thrust his tongue into her curls, and licked. Xanthia s.h.i.+vered at the sudden intrusion, and he made a soft sound of rea.s.surance. Again, he stroked, sliding deeper. And then the wet warmth of his tongue trailed up her belly. Delved into her navel. Stroked along her breastbone, lapping up every trace of the rich, red wine.

Trapped on her knees, her arms tied high, Xanthia could do nothing but tremble with the pleasure of it. Nash brushed his lips along her jaw. "Do you wish me to stop, my love?"

"Nooo," she whispered. "Don't stop. Please. Go...back."

He chuckled deep in his chest. "Go back where, love?"

Xanthia swallowed hard. "Back...down. Please."

He stroked two fingers deep into her folds, just grazing her c.l.i.toris. "Back...here?"

Eyes closed, she nodded.

"Tell me where," he murmured. "Be a good girl, and tell me just what you want."

"Taste me," she whispered, her words barely audible. "Use your tongue-and-and your fingers. Touch me. Oh, please, Stefan. Touch me. You know how to do it. How I want it."

For a moment, he hesitated, tormenting her instead with his hand. He watched her face-she knew it, though she did not open her eyes. The sound of her desire was wet and erotic. The scent of raw l.u.s.t was everywhere. Xanthia wondered how he maintained such restraint when she ached with the need to explode.

And then he bent lower, the soft, curling hair of his chest teasing at her thigh. When his tongue slid deep, she cried out, her eyes flying open. Xanthia could not move. The rope held her fast to his hot, ravening mouth. She was gasping. His finger slipped into her wet sheath, and on a sudden instinct, her every muscle seemed to contract. Nash played his tongue delicately, working her to the point of madness, until she was gasping, then fighting to suppress a cry of release. The waves of pleasure washed over her, making her jerk at the silken rope, which drew her body taut.

"Oh, let me down," she whimpered as the heat of his body pressed against her, surrounded her. He was kissing her again-her throat, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her collarbones. It was not enough. "Oh, Stefan. Please. Let me down. I want it-ah!"

The thrust was hard. Gloriously hard. Deep and sudden. He had lifted her with one arm about her waist and impaled her on the hot length of his c.o.c.k. He lifted her again, with a masculine grunt of satisfaction, and let her body slide down his own as he pushed himself deep inside her. He was so unyieldingly large, and she so slender, he held her weight easily and caught her nipple in his mouth as she descended. For a long, impossible moment, he held her there, bound by his arms and by the silk tie knotted about the canopy, a prisoner to his l.u.s.t.

"Again," she whimpered. "Stefan, again."

Nash let his hands slide down her back, all the way down, until he cupped her b.u.t.tocks in his palms. Then he obliged her, lifting her just a few perfect inches as he spread her wide to take his thrust. "Ah-!" she cried. "Oh, G.o.d. So perfect."

"Perfect," he echoed. "Yes, love. You are perfect."

Xanthia let her head fall back. Felt him suckle her again. Felt him lift and drive deep again. And again. Their bodies grew damp as they slid and thrust. It was such a sensuously decadent sound, the sound of their flesh moving over one another. The sound of exquisite, perfect pleasure.

Their motions grew feverish. Urgent. Xanthia ached for him. A sob tore through her, deep and tremulous. A coal sheered off in the hearth, sending sparks into the air. She could hear his name, softly chanted in the gloom. Her voice. Her need. Again he lifted her. Opened her. Took her deeply. Over and over, until Xanthia was sobbing in earnest. Sobbing into his mouth, crying out his name. The waves of shuddering pa.s.sion rolled over her. Against her length, his body shook with such primal strength the bed and canopy trembled with the force of it.

Xanthia returned to the present, still shaking. Nash's head was tucked into the turn of her neck, and there was a warm wetness on her shoulder. She turned her head and kissed him, but for a time, he did not respond. When at last he lifted his face from her neck she saw his eyes were glistening.

"I am lost, Zee," he whispered. "Oh, G.o.d. I am in so deep. I..."

"What?" She held his gaze intently. "Tell me. Trust me."

"I love you." He barely spoke the words. "The awful, gut-wrenching, head-over-heels kind of love-may G.o.d help us both."

She did not look away. "You are not the only one," she finally said. "You are not the only one in this bed who is...well, just a little frightened, I daresay."

He reached high and deftly freed the knotted silk. Xanthia's arms fell, and the silk slithered off her wrists. Wordlessly, he bore her down into the feathery softness of the bed. He set his lips to the warm turn of her neck and drew in her scent. It was as if they had mutually agreed not to speak of it; as if whatever it was that had sprung up between them was as yet too nascent. Too tender.

"Are you warm enough now, my love?" he murmured.

"Yes." She breathed the word on a sign of exquisite pleasure. "Wonderfully so."

He smiled softly. "You once said to me-it was the very night we met, in fact-that you hadn't been warm in an age," he said. "I thought-yes, in that very moment-how much I should like to make it my life's mission to change that."

My life's mission...

Xanthia went very still beneath him. But Nash had resumed nuzzling her neck. He did not seem to be as deeply serious as he had been a few moments earlier. She relaxed and let her hands caress the taut, muscular swells of his b.u.t.tocks.

"You have accomplished your mission, sir," she said lightly. "Now kindly do not move. I shall go to sleep now, in utter warmth and comfort, and I shall try very hard not to snore."

"Dear me," he said. "Do you snore?"

She giggled. "Not usually," she admitted. "But you are squis.h.i.+ng me-albeit in a perfectly delicious way."

He rolled to one side, and trailed his fingertip down her cheek. "Do you like it here, Zee?" he asked. "Do you like Hamps.h.i.+re? Brierwood?"

"It is a beautiful place," she said, wondering at the question. "And the estate itself-well, is there another so fine in all of England? I have not seen it."

He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. "I wish it were just the two of us here, Zee," he whispered. "We have so much to learn about one another. I dislike having all these people around us."

"They are your guests and your family, and they are all lovely," she said. "And as to the servants, I fear this house is too large for you to send them all on holiday."

"Then there is but one solution." He looked up at her mischievously. "We must run away."

She laughed. "Where, pray, would we go?"

"To the Isles of Scilly," he said.

"That sounds lovely," she said. "But...no, too near. They might find us there."

"Morocco, perhaps?" he proposed. "Or Crete?"