“Yes, sir.” She had wanted him for a long time—longer than she had ever wanted to admit. She rolled her hips, trying to encourage him to stroke there again. Once or twice, she had explored her own body, wishing to know what lay there, but she had never touched herself in a way that resembled this. As though every brush of his fingers gave birth to a new bloom of heat and pleasure. Her nipples hardened, her breasts so aching and heavy and desperate to be touched once more.
There were so many things she wanted, many of them beyond articulation. How could she ever explain that she just wantedmore? That her body demanded it, and she did not know precisely what that entailed, only that he could give it to her.
“Peace, wife,” he said, slapping the tender skin of her inner thighs. The sting transformed into more pleasure that made her ache so acutely, she might betray her word and make a sound. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip.
“You smell delicious,” he murmured, his voice husky, rumbling from his chest in a way that only made her desire wilder. Then his words sunk in. If she had not bound herself to silence, she would have asked what he meant. As it was, she could only assume and guess.
His fingers slid across her slick folds once more, and she bit back a gasp, arching her spine. Every touch felt so exquisite, the dearest kind of torture, and yet she sought more. This wouldneverbe enough; she knew that in her bones.
“Impatient?” He laughed softly, and this time, using his thumb, drew a circle that made her breath halt in her lungs. “I know the feeling, my dear. To crave the sensation that you think may be coming, to know that you are capable of so much. Are you a passionate lady, Eleanor?”
“I—” She hardly knew how to answer. “I don’t know.”
“Then we will find out together.” He brought his other hand to her, toying a little lower, his finger dipping out of her, pleasurespiking each time it did. “You are certainly very responsive. I think it will not take much to bring you to your climax.”
“My… climax?”
“Keep your hands on the strap.”
She tightened her grip, sweat slick on her palms. “Is this my punishment?”
He delivered another stinging slap, and she moaned low, under her breath. “Silence,” he commanded. “Or I will give you no pleasure at all.”
Surely he would not bethatcruel. But she buttoned her lip, because some part of her knew that he could indeed be that cruel. In fact, she rather suspected that hewantedto be that cruel. For her to writhe in his arms, then to deny her the thing she anticipated most of all.
She could feel her heartbeat in every extremity.
“Yes, I think it would take very little.” He drew that single finger in and out of her, and she lost track of time. All that mattered to her was the feel of that finger, the slick heat of her desire, and the tightening pleasure in her lower stomach. The knowledge that there was more to come—and heavens above, she wanted it. Sheneededit.
“Sebastian,” she gasped.
He made a sound low in the back of his throat, as though hearing his name from her tongue was almost as unbearable for him as the feel of his fingers was for her.
As though he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
An impossibility, she knew. He was a handsome man in his prime—a Duke, no less—and he no doubt had his fair share of experience. As for her, she had nothing but what he chose to give her, and she was discovering so much about herself.
“Eleanor,” he grated, pronouncing her name as though it was a curse even as he lingered on the vowels, caressing them with his tongue. Another flash of heat ran through her, and she rolled her hips against his hand. “What do you want?”
“I—” How could she know what she wanted? How could she articulate it? His other finger resumed its pressure on her folds, precisely where she needed him the most. “Please.”
“Tell me.”
“Please.”
“What would you like?”
She felt so close now, as though she might fracture and fall apart in his arms, as though she was reaching the very edge of a cliff and would tip off and fall, fall, fall. She had lost herself; the only thing left in the world was the press of his clever fingers, and herburning, aching need for him. Forthis, and so much more thanthis.
“You are so responsive,” he whispered under his breath. “I had not meant to—” He cursed, the word ugly between them yet somehow igniting her still further. “I should stop,” he muttered, and the words sounded as though they were meant for him rather than her.
Yet he did not stop. He did not slow his caresses, and instead brought his mouth to her neck, kissing, then licking, then biting, the sting of pain quickly turning to heat.
She moaned, forgetting for a moment to be silent in the throes of pleasure. She felt like a string pulled taut, ready to snap. The heat gathered between her legs, building and building, until she wondered if it were possible to die from pleasure.
“You feel divine.” He removed his fingers, bringing them to her lips. “Lick them clean, my girl. That is what you feel for me. That is evidence of your desire.”
Blindly, the feeling of being close fading and frustrating her, she opened her mouth, and he inserted his fingers, wet with her arousal. The flavor was musky and almost sweet, unusual but not unpleasant, and he let out a low groan.
