A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)

A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3) Page 28

“Yes, of course,” she assured him, squeezing his fingers. “It isn’t that at all.”

“And you know …” he said, sliding his hand up to circle her wrist. “After today, you must know—I would give my life before I let you come to harm.”

“Yes,” she whispered, her mouth going dry. “Yes, I know.” She pictured him rushing straight for those panicked horses, risking death to save her. The memory quickened her pulse, until it throbbed against the pressure of his fingertips. And the way he stared at her now—so intently, so possessively … She’d never been so aroused in her life.

Her heartbeat only pounded more furiously as he wrapped the cravat about her wrist, winding it tight. What did he mean to do?

“I do trust you,” she assured him quickly. “With my life, with my body.”

“Hm. Yes, but not with your heart.”

Bel had no answer to that. She had no more words in her head. She stared at the long swath of linen as he knotted it securely around her wrist.

“You will,” he said, hoarsely. “I swear it. You are my wife, and I mean to have all of you. I shall win you one piece at a time, if I must. Give me your other hand.”

She could not refuse him. She could not have refused him anything at this moment. Her desire only grew as he bound her wrists together, slowly winding the smooth fabric over her galloping pulse, then cinching it tight. Between her legs, she softened and ached.

“Lie down,” he told her. “Flat on your back.”

She obeyed him willingly, allowing him to position her body as he wished. He arranged her diagonally on the bed, then lifted her arms, stretching her bound wrists over her head. She felt a series of sharp tugs as he tied the loose end of the cravat to the upper left bedpost.

“Is it painful at all?” he asked, testing the knot.

She shook her head.

“I would never hurt you.”

“I know.”

Bel could not pretend to understand why her husband was lashing her wrists to the bedpost, nor why her body quivered with excitement as he did so. But what ever his intended purpose, she knew he would not hurt her. Of that, she had no doubt.

He placed a pillow beneath her head, and she looked down at her body, still clad in her sensible, light-blue traveling habit. With her arms positioned thus, her breasts thrust upward, straining her buttons of her high-necked chemisette.

Toby’s fingers went to the row of overworked buttons, freeing them with a series of swift, deft flicks of his fingers. Once all were undone, he pushed the sides of the garment aside to reveal her stays and light summer shift. He undid the small closures of her skirt and tugged the garment down over her hips, knees, stockinged feet.

“There now,” he murmured. “Isn’t that more comfortable?”

Comfortable? Was he teasing her again? She was tied to a bedpost. And any relief that normally accompanied the shedding of clothing was more than offset by the sweet tension coiling in her belly. Her breath rolled in her chest, shallow and quick, lifting her bosom in rhythmic waves.

He slid one hand up her thigh to untie her garter, then slowly rolled the stocking down her right leg. His fingertips brushed her sensitive inner thigh, caressed the vulnerable hollow of her knee, then swept down to the tingling arch of her foot. She shuddered with pleasure, twisting on the bed.

He grasped her ankle firmly. “Now, Isabel. Can I trust you to remain still? Or must I use your stockings to bind your legs?”

“I…” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard. “I will be still.”

“Good girl. Spread your legs a bit wider, then.” His voice was dark and brusque—a tone she’d come to know well, from their nightly encounters. A tone she’d come to welcome, even adore. It thrilled her, to hear the impatient need in his voice. To know that he’d passed the threshold of tender solicitude and gone over to raw, masculine want. And it gave her so much pleasure, to obey his terse directives. When he spoke to her thus, he absolved her of the burden of choice. She could not feel conflicted over her own feelings of desire, not with her husband demanding her willing compliance. It was simply her duty to please him, and to accept the pleasure he offered her, and she delighted in doing precisely as he bid.

Only later—only afterward, did shame and regret creep out from the shadows. He removed her other stocking, putting her through the same slow, sweet torture as he drew the fine silk down her left leg and eased it over her foot. Sliding his hands back up to her waist, he undid the ties of her petticoat and whisked it down and away. He would not look her in the eye, but concentrated on his task as he placed his hands around her ribcage and rolled her slightly onto her side.

As his fingers yanked at the laces of her stays, a rush of air entered her lungs. Bel went dizzy with euphoria. The cravat chafed her wrists as she wriggled to help him remove the corset entirely. She was intoxicated with the delicious irony of it—how he was binding her and freeing her at the same time.

And now she lay naked, except for her simple, unadorned shift. The thin muslin was damp with her perspiration and clung to her skin, growing increasingly translucent. Toby repositioned her on her back and knelt between her outstretched legs, just inches from the place where she throbbed and ached for him. She could clearly see the outline of his arousal, so large and male, pressing against the fall of his trousers. Her body bowed as her hips arched toward him in an instinctive invitation. She was desperate for him to possess her body, to take his pleasure from her.

But that wasn’t what he had in mind.

“No,” he said gruffly, smoothing his palms over her waist and pulling her chemise tight against her breasts. Her nipples hardened with the tantalizing friction. “Not yet. I have bound you, Isabel—not for my own pleasure, but for yours. And I shall not release you until you have reached your peak—”

“Toby—”

“Three times.”

Three times? He couldn’t be serious. She wrestled her bindings and drew one knee up, planting her foot on the mattress. “But—”

He grasped her thigh and pushed her leg back down, gently but firmly. “I thought you promised to remain still. Must I retrieve the stockings?”

“No.” Yes. “No,” she said again, willing her body to relax. “But Toby, don’t you want—”

“Oh, I want,” he said, his voice regaining a bit of that devilish charm. “Believe me, I want.”

Framing her between his arms, he leaned forward and drew her nipple into his mouth, licking and teasing it through the muslin of her shift. Her hips jerked upward as the pleasure lanced through her, and her mound brushed against his erection. He moaned around her nipple, then gave it a gentle bite. “Be still,” he murmured.

Bel obeyed him, as best she could. She lay perfectly, miserably still as he leisurely suckled one breast, then the other. All the while, a terrible need built in the cleft of her legs. She felt her flesh swelling there, growing moist and ready. So ready.

She was far past ready and well into desperate when at last his hand slid down the length of her body, lingering over her breast, her hip, her thigh, and finally gathering to a fist around the hem of her shift. He drew the fabric up over her waist, then eased his palm up the slope of her inner thigh. As he approached her center, Bel panted with anticipation.

So close. Closer. Closer still, but just not quite—

There.

His hand cupped her sex, and Bel couldn’t lie still. She rocked against the heel of his hand—

once, twice. And then she came, in a bright explosion of bliss and relief. With a throaty chuckle, Toby raised his head from her breast. “My, that was fast. Almost too fast. I shall have to take care, or this will all be over too soon.”

It couldn’t be over soon enough for Bel. The climax had merely blunted the edge of her desire. She still ached for him, but now she felt a strange sense of remorse … and guilt, that he was denying himself because of her.

“Toby, please,” she said, lifting her head with great effort. “Release me now.”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “No, my darling. I know this is the moment where you long to pop out of bed and pen charity leaflets, or roll bandages for the dispensary. But I shan’t let you. I’ll not allow you to do penance for something that isn’t wrong. The desire between us—it is nothing but what God intended for a husband and a wife.”

Sitting back on his haunches, he drew her shift up and up, until her breasts were bared and the thin muslin bunched under her arms. “Look how beautiful you are,” he said, lightly stroking his hands over her nude, trembling body. “You are everything perfect and right.”

Bel looked down at her full, rounded figure, illuminated by unforgiving sunlight. Lucidity pierced the fog of her brain. Heavens, it was only the middle of the day, and he had her tied nude to the bedpost… She hoped he’d been serious when he’d told her all the servants had been dismissed for the afternoon.

“So lovely,” he murmured, gently spreading her legs.

Dear Lord. Must he examine her there? She closed her eyes, shivering with pleasure as his fingers explored her tender, sensitized flesh. Her bound hands curled into fists. “Toby, please stop.”

His hand stilled, and he looked up. “Why? Am I hurting you?”

“No, but you’re making me uncomfortable.”

“By touching you?”

“By looking at me.”

“Why should you be uncomfortable? I’m simply admiring my beautiful wife.” Dropping his eyes again, he resumed stroking her, tenderly parting the folds of her sex. Bel squirmed. “Couldn’t you admire a different part of me?”

“I admire every part of you.” He withdrew his hand. He crawled up her body on hands and knees, surrounding her. Covering her, like a blanket. “I admire this glorious dark hair …” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “This stern, serious brow…” His lips brushed the place between her eyebrows. “This exquisite nose … these luscious lips… the adorable turn of your chin …” He trailed soft, sensual kisses from her nose, to her mouth, to her jaw. She wished she could thread her fingers into his hair, pull his mouth back up to hers for a deep, lingering kiss. But her hands remained bound above her, and Toby continued along his downward path.

“The delicious curve of this neck …”

He kissed his way down her center, pausing to rest his chin on her breastbone, plump her breasts with his hands, and give her a cheeky grin. “And I think you know how much I admire the view of this happy valley.”

His mouth dipped lower. “Your navel tastes of apricots,” he murmured, tickling her with his tongue.

“It does not.”

“How would you know?” he teased. “And here …” He settled between her thighs and lowered his mouth to her core. “Here, you taste of paradise.”

Bel whimpered with pleasure as his lips and tongue caressed her most intimate place. She’d grown more accustomed to this form of… attention, since their wedding night. He brought her to climax this way nearly every time they made love—and clever devil that he was, he’d learned how to bring her there quickly.

He’d also learned—clever devil that he was—how to take his time.

He teased her mercilessly with his mouth and hands, until she was molten with desire. As he slid a finger inside her, she bit her lip so hard it bled.

“Cry out,” he told her. “Don’t fight it. I live for those passionate noises you make.”

“Toby.”

“Ah, that was almost it. The one from earlier, you know—when I carried you across the river?

Let’s try once again.” He pressed another finger into her.

“Toby!” she scolded, her voice tweaking.