A small sound of distress escaped her lips. She wanted to be as comforted as possible her first time giving herself to a man. And this was a first. Nothing about her previous encounters could be considered giving.
He placed a finger on her lips. “If you like to feel confined, I can help you with that.” His fingers danced across her neck before he rested his palm at the base of her throat. He loosely circled his fingers around her neck, and Amanda released a breath. The weight was warm, comforting.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
She almost laughed. The man had saved her from hanging. Treated her with respect even though she was disgraced. Whatever she had left of trust was his to possess.
“Yes.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I trust you.”
“Then don’t move.” Bending, he picked his cravat off the floor and folded it into a long strip. “Lift your head,” he told her. Placing the silk on her eyes, he tied it behind her, shutting out the world.
He brushed his lips over her ear. “Is it as dark as you like?”
She nodded. Being blindfolded did bring her a measure of comfort. Like she was a frightened horse, needing to be unseeing of danger. The comparison wasn’t a happy one, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
With clumsy fingers, she reached for him. Hot flesh met her touch. Hot and hard. She ran her hands over the ridges of his stomach and went higher, stroking his chest. His hair was soft and downy and reminded her of Reggie’s belly. Something she was sure was better left unspoken. She liked touching him, but was he enjoying her fumblings?
She frowned. Was she doing this right? He wasn’t making any noise. No happy sighs, no grunts of pleasure. She didn’t realize she’d have to plot each of her next moves. She’d expected to just spread her legs and let him have his way. Perhaps if she reached lower.
Julius encircled her wrists and lifted her hands. He placed a kiss on each palm. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
The mattress rose. She listened intently, but heard nothing. The door didn’t open. No soft footsteps.
She smoothed her palms on the sheet. The waiting was killing her. Finally, a soft rustle met her ears, and she tried to decipher the sound. Fabric against fabric?
The sheet slid down her body to pool at her feet. Her heart pounded. Her mouth dried out. What was he doing? Not knowing whether she should lift the blindfold or not, she clutched the sheets instead. He’d asked for her trust. She would give it to him.
Something soft brushed her ankles, and her body jerked.
“Easy.” Julius’s voice was husky. The tension in her muscles loosened at the sound. She had a feeling Julius could talk her into most anything with that voice. He dragged something up her leg. It glided smooth as silk but had a weight to it. Her skin came alive wherever it touched.
“Give me your hands, sweetness.” His palm followed the path the other object had taken, running up and down her thigh. “I want to make you feel secure.”
Unsure, she held her hands up, not knowing what to expect.
She didn’t expect her wrists to be tied, a rope encircling her hands and tugging them together in one quick snap.
“Are you all right?” he asked. He rested his palm on her belly, the heat from it soothing the butterflies dancing in her stomach.
“I think so.”
“Are you certain? Having your hands bound doesn’t bring you any unpleasant memories?”
“I’m … I’m certain.” Her hands had rarely been bound in prison. Only when she was being transported to and from the Old Bailey. Or on her final trip, to the Tyburn Tree. That memory did send a shiver down her spine and she pushed it from her mind. Those recollections didn’t belong here in bed with Julius. She focused on what she was feeling. The pressure at her wrists was light, but sure, and there was no bite to the cord. Truly, with a feather mattress beneath her and Julius above her, holding her hands, she was quite comfortable.
She tried to imagine what Julius saw. Did the sight of her, naked and bound, rouse his desire? She hoped the firelight was kind to her form. But with her eyes blindfolded, her worry over whether her appearance was pleasing or not was greatly reduced. What she couldn’t see, she couldn’t worry about.
“Good.” He wound the cord tighter about her wrists, the pressure pulling her elbows close. The material felt like thick cuff bracelets. “Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good. If you ever want to stop.”
She nodded.
With a tug at her wrists, he raised her arms up over her head. The mattress dipped, and she sensed him leaning over her. She licked her lips. He was close. Close enough that if she raised her head—
“Pull at your wrists,” he ordered. She tried to lower her arms, but they didn’t leave their perch from the pillow behind her.
“What? Am I tied—”
“To the headboard.” He slid his fingertips around the edges of the bindings. “Not too tight?”
