Page 72 of A Figure of Love

“What?” she demanded, her eyes, so drowsy with passion only an instant earlier, widened in shock as he held her in a cruel grip. Gareth paused to admire the musculature in her arms, which was that of a woman who worked with her hands, connected to the lush, ripe body of a woman made for pleasure.

“Stop struggling,” he ordered.

She stopped, her lips parted, her breathing shallow and ragged.

He drew her hands higher without any resistance, stretching her until she stood on her toes. He drank in her taut, vulnerable form, the high position of her arms raising her breasts until the stiff peaks pointed up. He walked her back the short distance to the door.

“I am going to release you, Mrs. Lombard. You may either take my dressing gown and wrap it around yourself and return to your room, or you may grasp the door frame with your hands and do exactly what I tell you. Those are your choices.”

He let go of her hands, expecting them to drop. Instead, they remained where they were, clasped together.

He watched her throat move, as if it was a struggle to find the words and push them all the way out.

“I want to stay.”

Gareth’s jaws clenched and his body hardened as unbearable anticipation thundered through him. His brain shrieked at him to take her, plunge into her, quench the fierce need he had for her. But he took himself as firmly in hand as he’d just held her.

“Take the doorframe with your hands.”

She did so, and he nodded. “Keep your position.” His hand went to the tape of his tented drawers, her eyes following. He released the string and pushed down the fine lawn, stepping out of the cloth and then picking the garment off the floor. He took his time folding it before placing it on a chair, a leisurely activity that was only to test his control over her, since Chalmers would merely stuff them in a laundry bag when he found them.

He approached her but did not let their bodies touch. Her eyes were riveted to his erection, which pulsed and slickened under her stare. He moved close enough that the sensitive crown rested against the skin of her midriff. A satisfying noise came from deep in her throat and she shivered and closed her eyes, her head tipping back.

“Look at me.”

She swallowed convulsively but opened her eyes.

He flexed his hips, the action lightly rubbing his cock against her soft belly. Gareth thrilled at the sight of her pounding pulse and hard nipples—signs of desire for him she could not feign. She might be using him, but at least she wanted this—his body, and what it could do to her—as badly as he did.

“I want to bury myself deep inside you.” He ground his length against her, making her gasp while he whispered in her ear, “But I think you know that, don’t you?” He stepped away, until their bodies were no longer touching and raised his hands, palm out, barely grazing the erect tips of her breasts, caressing them with light, circular motions.

She jerked and bucked against him, her back arching, the impressive muscles of her arms like the taut strings of a bow as she clutched the wooden door frame above her head and strained toward him.

Gareth would have liked to bind her wrists and then tie her arms to restrain her, but he did not have the patience for such games tonight, nor did he have Venetia’s impressive array of equipment. He decided he liked this even better: making her voluntarily provide her own bondage. He stroked her sides with feather touches, her body shaking, her eyes hot and wanting, the pulse at the base of her neck racing.

He took his time, avoiding her small, pebbled nipples and tracing the sensual curve of a hip, the soft, velvet swell of her stomach, and the quivering flesh of her thighs. A small, angry, growl came from deep inside her body.

Gareth could have told her the teasing was worse for him. His body hurt with desire but she was a banquet and he had only this one chance to savor every part of her.

He flicked her breast with his tongue, making her jump. And then the other, and back to the first, alternating and sucking now, pulling and nipping her tender flesh. She writhed beneath him, chasing his mouth with her body when he moved away.

He stopped as abruptly as he’d started. “Arms above your head, Mrs. Lombard.”

Gareth memorized her look of stunned disbelief and stored it carefully in his mind, like a greedy squirrel storing nuts for the lean times to come.

Her hands slid back up the frame.

“Higher,” he said, when she stopped, nodding when her elbows were straight. “Good. Keep them there.” He dropped to his haunches, the sudden motion again causing her to jump. When he looked up, he saw her head had come away from the wall, her hands had sagged.

This time he had only to raise his eyebrows and her arms straightened. But her eyes stayed fixed on him.

Reveling in his power he leaned forward and tongued the golden down that dusted the gentle swell of her belly. She gave a sharp gasp, which he ignored, his tongue circling the shallow depression of her navel before dipping into her.

“Oh.”

Gareth smiled against her velvety skin, probing the sensitive dimple while his hands slid from her hips to her ankles, tracing the delicious shape of her legs. Up, and then back down. Up and down. Until he circled each of her delicate ankles with his hands and gently pulled.

Her feet slid apart without resistance and he lowered into a more comfortable crouch. This time, when he stroked up her legs, he stopped at the apex of her thighs. Her hips trembled beneath his hands as his thumbs moved toward her mound. Gareth wrenched his gaze away long enough to make sure she was still obeying. Her eyes held a mixture of raw desire and curiosity that told him she’d never had a man’s mouth on this part of her body before.