She maneuvered down his body until her thighs clasped his hips, his arousal swelling in front of her.
His hands settled on her waist. “Gods, Velia, I’ve been imagining this ever since you told me that story about—about how you ended up here.”
She giggled when she realized what he was referring to: the tale of how her parents had caught her tumbling a man. “Really? Me getting caught with another man is what you fantasize about?”
“Not the getting caught,” he clarified. “And certainly not the other man. But you atop me like this…” His hands slid lower, taking hold of her hips. “Riding me…”
Her breath hitched at the naked lust in his voice. She liked the thought of him imagining her, being the object of his fantasies. “I told you that in one of our first conversations. Have you been thinking of me all this time? Before we even kissed?” She wrapped a hand around his cock and gave him a languid stroke.
“Yes,” he hissed.
“And do you do this while you think of me?” She passed her hand over him once more, fingers playing along his length.
“Velia, please,” he groaned. “Don’t make me admit that.”
She arched an eyebrow. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve done the same. After our first kiss, forexample.”
He made another noise of desperation. “You can’t—can’t tell me those things while you have your hand wrapped around my cock.”
She decided to have pity on him—besides, her own body was still quivering with lust—and raised herself over him, notching him at her entrance. Slowly, she slid down, taking him inch by inch. “Oh, that’s good,” she moaned as she settled onto him.
His fingers clenched on her hips, digging into her flesh. His eyes were squeezed shut tight, face frozen in an expression of utter torment. She braced her hands on his chest and arched her back, taking him deeper. Primed as she was, every movement sent licks of heat through her. She had a feeling this would not last long for either of them.
His hands were gripping her so tightly she winced. She didn’t mind his greedy, possessive clasp, but after their first encounter, she knew he wouldn’t like it if he ended up bruising her again. “Ferox,” she murmured. “Your hands.”
He released her with a grunt. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be allowed to touch you at all.”
His words sparked an idea, devious and tempting. She glanced around, noting her dress on the floor within reach of the bed. Then, her eyes lit on a small metal hook driven into the wall above the bed, perhaps once used to hang a lamp. “Perhaps you shouldn’t.”
She anchored one hand on the bed and stretched her other arm down, until her fingertips brushed the fabric of her dress, just able to catch it without leaving him. She untangled the fabric sash from the folds of the dress. “Give me your hands.”
He looked at her with a suspicious gleam in his eyes, but complied. She wound the length of fabric around his wrists, securing it with a knot. Then, she leaned forward and drew his arms up, until the fabric caught on the hook over his head. The position left him sitting against the wall, arms stretched above. It presented an extremely appealing sight, with the powerful muscles of his arms taut and bunched, yet helpless.
He craned his head to stare at the hook dubiously. “You know that won’t hold me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Stop bragging. I know.” She had no doubt he was strong enough to rip the hook from the plaster wall if he chose, and even without brute force, only a little dexterity would be required to slip the fabric free of it. “But you’re going to let it hold you, because I want you to.”
She gripped his shoulders and sank back down onto him. He let out a hiss. His arms tensed, and she feared her little scheme was over already; she could envision the hook being pulled out of the wall as easily as one might pluck a flower from the ground.
But either it held, or Ferox mastered himself. The thought that he was allowing her to toy with him like this, that he’d accept restraint even when he was more than capable of freeing himself simply because she wanted it this way—it sent a fresh cascade of desire through her.
She moved atop him, rocking her hips back and forth in the way that brought her the greatest pleasure. “See how gentle this can be?” she whispered breathlessly.
The muscles of his stomach tensed, rippling. “It doesn’t feel gentle to me,” he ground out. “It feels like agony.”
“But you’re happy to suffer forme, aren’t you?”
He let out a defeated groan. The pleasure was mounting, and Velia needed more. Her hand slipped from his shoulder and slid between her legs.
His dark, hungry gaze tracked her movements. “I could help you with that if I had my hands free.”
She managed a chuckle despite the lust threatening to overwhelm her. “The way you look right now is helping me plenty.” She stroked herself in tight, firm circles, feeling her inner muscles twitch.
He growled as she clenched around him. “Velia, this is going to kill me.”
Her eyes fell shut, brow furrowing in concentration as she chased the pleasure hovering just out of reach. He shuddered beneath her. His breath grated through his teeth. The evidence of his barely controlled desire finally undid her. The climax burst upon her, and her body bowed and arched atop him as she wrested every bit of pleasure she could from it.
When it released its grip on her, she collapsed forward, catching herself against his upright torso, his chest warm and unyielding. He bent his head to kiss the top of hers, lips brushing her hair.
