Amanda wiggled her bottom, thinking to take a more active part in his gratification. She’d seduced him, after all. It surely should be her responsibility. But his fingers dug into the skin above her knees, his grip firm, unyielding. Her legs were tucked to her abdomen and as confined as her arms. She couldn’t see, couldn’t move, and a man she trusted was enjoying her body. Her center flooded with warmth. She had no power, no duty. And no fear. It was an intoxicating combination.
The pressure at her knees slackened, and Julius took advantage of the widening of her legs. His next stroke was lower, the ridge of his shaft running right through her folds. A whimper escaped her lips.
He gripped her thighs so tightly she knew she’d bruise. “You’re so damn soft. Softer than the finest silk.” He pulled back and drove inexorably forward.
And he was so hard. She felt every excruciating inch of his length slip through her lower lips, rub against that hard bundle of nerves. Her core begged to be filled. Her clitoris clamored for equal attention. She didn’t know which sensation pleased her more, where she wanted his focus. She arched her back as much as possible. “Please.”
“Patience,” he said. There was a smile in his voice, a smile she didn’t appreciate. If he was going to kill her with wanting, the least the man could do was not laugh at her in the process. She squeezed her thighs together, anything to alleviate the pressure, and was rewarded with a low growl. She clamped down harder.
“Vixen.” He thrust faster, and Amanda almost cried with relief. His bollocks slapped against her bottom, and her desire climbed higher. Wrapping one arm around her knees, Julius slid his free hand up her side and cupped her breast. He pinched the tip, hard, and the sharp nip of pain transformed into a craving so intense it stole her breath.
His thrusts became shallow, frenzied. The plush crown of his shaft nudged her clitoris, over and over, and Amanda could climb no higher. She broke for the second time that night, tremors wracking her body.
A long groan tore from Julius’s throat, and something hot and wet splashed across her stomach.
They breathed together, their pants the only sound in the room.
A low, “Fuck”, broke the silence. The mattress shifted, raised, and Amanda was alone. She was starting to wonder whether she should call out when a damp cloth scraped across her belly. She flinched.
“My apologies.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing along the line of the blindfold as he cleaned her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” The towel disappeared, and he gripped her hands, lowering them to her stomach. His fingers tangled with the knots at her wrists.
“Are you all right? Are you sore?” His voice was harsh, almost angry.
When her hands were free, she pushed at the blindfold, confused. The light from the fire, so dim before, made her squint. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t I be?”
He reached for her face but dropped his hand before touching her. “The bindings. If you’re not accustomed to them, sometimes it can hurt.”
“Oh.” She rolled her shoulders and flexed her fingers. “No, no pain.” Only amazing pleasure. A startling freedom. And now awkwardness. He’d given her what she wanted, in a fashion, and he had enjoyed himself, as well. So why did they both avert their gazes?
She rolled off the bed and plucked her night rail from the floor, slipping into it. She shrugged into her wrapper and cinched the belt. “I’d better go. Reggie will be missing me.”
“Of course.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the russet locks. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, but that was the only sign on him of what they’d just done. His pantaloons had been quickly reassembled, making her believe he must have only shoved them down his hips in order to free himself. He even still wore his boots.
She’d been completely bare and spread before him, and he hadn’t even removed his boots. Her cheeks heated, and she grabbed the collar of her night rail. She sidled around Julius. He made no move to stop her.
She opened his door and heard him mutter, “I’m going to burn in hell.”
Him and her both.
She fled to her room.
Chapter Six
The shot to the jaw ripped his head back. Julius’s vision darkened around the edges, and he fought to stay conscious. Movement came at him from the left, and he threw his hands up in time to block the next roundhouse. The boxing ring disappeared, and Julius had only one thought. Survival. Stepping close, he threw body shot after body shot into his enemy’s gut until the man dropped to one knee.
He grabbed his opponent’s ears, preparing to introduce the man’s nose to his knee. A shout from the sidelines stopped him.
“Julius!”
Turning his head, Julius blinked through the sweat in his eyes. Maximillian Atwood, Baron of Sutton raised a hand in greeting from the outskirts of the ring. A tall, burly man with an unruly black beard, Sutton was a far cry from the refined elegance of his fellow aristocrats. Next to him, and as different as the sun to the moon, their friend, John Chaucer, Earl of Summerset, sniffed the air and frowned. Whereas Sutton’s clothes were made of a dark rough wool, Summerset adorned himself in brightly colored silks and satins. His blond hair was neatly trimmed with the locks artfully coiled about his brow. Both men, however, were unswerving in their loyalty.
Recalling where he was, in a friendly sparring match at Gentleman Jack’s, Julius dropped his opponent’s head and stumbled from the ring. He gratefully took the mug of water Summerset handed him.
“I don’t know why you insist on coming here,” Summerset said, pressing a puce silk handkerchief to his nose. “The stench alone would stop any sane man at the doors.”
Sutton rubbed his jaw, his fingers tangling in his beard. “You just don’t want to work up a sweat in your silk pantaloons. That, and you can’t wear your heeled boots into the ring.”
“I like working up a sweat just fine,” Summerset said. “Only I’m smart enough to do it in a more enjoyable manner.”
