Bound by Bliss (18 page)

She blushed redder than a beet, but kept her eyes on him. “I don’t see why I should have to get naked. I am not sure that I would be at all comfortable that way. Based on what I have seen, I could quite easily put my mouth on you and only lower the flap of your trousers.”

That brought his cock to full attention. The thought of those soft full lips wrapped about his shaft was delicious, but also painful. There was clearly no relief coming as they stood in the garden at her father’s house. Swanston would skin him alive for even having the thought, not that he was worried about his friend. If he had Bliss’s lips wrapped around him he doubted he’d care if his skin were in shreds about him. For a moment he let his mind wander, imagined her on her knees before him, her breasts bare, the nipples swollen with the need for his touch, her lips damp and eager.

“I can see that I am correct,” Bliss said, the hint of a smirk playing about her lips.

“Technically yes, but I promise you that when you set your lips upon me you will not have a scrap of clothing upon you.” Although perhaps he’d use a scarf to tie her wrists behind her. It was a visual he’d always liked.

“So if I were to offer to do so now, you would say no?” She leaned toward him and licked her lower lip.

For being as innocent as she was, she certainly was learning fast—and putting that knowledge to work every chance that she got. He stepped back from her. “I do not think that would be a good idea here, at your father’s house.”

“Why not?” Her eyes dropped below his waist. “You certainly look as if you have need.”

He stepped back farther. When had he become the pursued, instead of the pursuer? “I know that you like to watch, but I thought you said you had no interest in being watched yourself.” He glanced over her shoulder at the many windows lining the side of the house.

“The servants are all at their noonday meal and my father is not home. Nobody would see.”

She would tempt a saint to sin, but he was not so weak. Stepping forward he took hold of her arm and pulled her between a small tree and the exterior wall of the garden. The view from the house would be at least partially obscured. Without giving her a chance to say anything he pushed her against the trunk of the tree and brought his lips down upon hers in a punishing kiss, giving no quarter. This was about his pleasure, not hers, although he could feel her rise on toes to meet him, her lips opening beneath his own. He thrust his hips forward, grinding against her, granting himself the limited relief the contact brought.

He devoured her, allowing no gentleness. If she were going to tempt the tiger, she would learn the consequences. She squirmed beneath him, but not in any effort to get away. He could feel her chest rising against him, her breath hard and fast. Her hands wrapped about him, moving to tangle in his hair and then to stray down his back, caressing his hard muscles and then…

He grabbed her wrists in one hand, and then, pulling her arms tight, lifted them above her head and held them against the trunk of the tree. She squirmed, trying to gain the freedom to move, but he held her tight, pressing his mouth even more against hers, his tongue filling her.

With his free hand he found the edge of her bodice and slipped in. With no play he found a nipple and taking it between thumb and forefinger pressed it tight, before giving it a sharp twist. Her body jerked in response and he could feel her moan against his lips. He squeezed tighter, feeling her jerk as the spike of pain speared through her. She moved against him more urgently, the taste of pain heightening her need. Her lips pressed back against his, her tongue moving rapidly as it sought its own dominance in their dance of passion.

He could feel her desire grow, feel her body tighten as she approached that point, her hips stretching forward to rub against him even as he ground forward. His own body’s response grew ever more impatient, his eager cock finding the crux of her thighs and seeking to tear through clothing to find its home. He closed his eyes, allowed feeling to flow through him, experienced that moment of almost pleasure—and then pulled back, dropping her hands and stepping away, his fingers slipping unwilling from her bodice.

She leaned against the tree, dazed, her eyes large and dark, the blue of her irises almost hidden behind the huge pupils. Her tongue darted out, dampening lips that were swollen and puffy, punished. One breast still rose slightly above the demure neckline, the white flesh begging for further touch.

She blinked.

And blinked again.

He could see her wits slowly return to her.

She reached out for him. He stepped back.

Another blink.

She moved toward him—and he moved away.

“Why?” she asked, her tongue flicking out again to wet her mouth.

“You needed to understand.”

She shook her head slightly. “To understand what? I thought I was understanding quite well.”

“You need to understand that I will make the decisions about when and where we indulge. It is for me to control and for you to follow.” He stated it simply as fact.

“And what if I wish to lead? Remember I like to have some control.” Her eyes dropped again to the tent of his trousers, measuring the enlarged shaft within.

“Then I will have to teach you differently. There are moments that you will most definitely not be in control and this is one of them.”

“Because you are a man?” Her voice rang with coming argument.

“No, because I am who I am. I have known women who sought to lead, women who always wanted control. Your friend the Countess was one such. I have no interest in such play. When you are with me you will do as I say.”

“You clearly don’t know me very well,” she challenged.

“I know you very well, Bliss.” He took a step toward her and, reaching out, placed a hand about her chin so that he could tilt it upward. He examined her face, focusing on the bruised lips and dark eyes, on the unsatisfied desire that marked her face. “I promised you I might find the need to punish you. You can consider this your first punishment. I will see you at the Milburnes’ soirée this evening. Perhaps then you will be in a more agreeable mood.” He dropped his hand from her face and turned away to walk without another word into the house.

—

Bliss pulled in her belly, trying to relieve the pressure of the ball gown’s fabric. The daffodil silk dress was not tight, but every brush of the fabric was maddening. She felt as if her whole body was burning and nothing she could do would cool it. Even breathing heightened her desire.

What had Duldon done to her? She hadn’t understood his words about punishment when he left. If anything she thought that he’d indulged her with the heavy kisses and rub of bodies. It was only after he’d gone that she’d realized how much her body still cried for his, how much she needed him. She’d tried to pinch her own breasts, tried to find that magic point of pain and pleasure that brought relief, but she’d only ended up more frustrated. And that spot between her legs, it ached for his touch. It wept with need for him.

She’d refused to let her maid help with her chemise for fear that she’d see just how damp Bliss’s thighs were.

Blast him to hell. She hurt and he’d done this to her.

Pressing her thighs tight, she tried to concentrate on anything but how she felt.

She’d tried dancing. She’d tried strolling. Nothing helped.

And there he stood, across the dance floor, acting as if nothing was wrong. He should be twitching with the same ache that she felt. He should be jumping with misery. She’d seen the state he was in when he left, seen how his cock strained for release. He should be prancing as he walked, not striding as if he owned the world.

Blast him to hell, she repeated the thought.

If he thought she’d come to him and beg for his help, promise to obey his commands, he was very, very wrong.

She would rather die than give in. If only she didn’t feel like she actually might die.

She turned away from him. If she didn’t think of him perhaps her body would cool, perhaps she’d feel like herself again.

Lemonade. She’d get a cool glass of lemonade. This early in the evening there might even be chunks of ice floating in it. Perhaps she’d fish one out and run it over her heated skin—run it over his damp skin, watch his skin quiver and jump beneath the cold, watch…

No. No. No. Think about something else, anything else.

She turned again, heading to the refreshments, and stopped.

The Binkshaws stood before her. Not touching, but with an invisible cord holding them together. Why had she never noticed how Mr. Binkshaw’s gaze followed his wife, seen how his eyes caressed her ass as she turned away, seen the slight smile that marked both their faces when their eyes met? The truth surrounded her. She’d never bothered to actually look at them beyond the obvious. They were middle-aged, not unattractive, but not noteworthy. She’d taken them for ordinary when they were anything but. Her gaze circled the ballroom. How many others had she never bothered to notice? How many exciting lives were out there, slipping beneath her glance?

They were important questions if she was to seek a husband. Her eyes went to Lord Peter, who stood talking to Miss Amy Samson at the side of the floor. He’d never been unappealing but he’d never captured her attention. Had she missed something? He’d always been a good conversationalist, but she’d never bothered to pay him much mind. If she really focused on him, gave him a chance to open up to her, what would she find?

And what of Lord Banks? He’d certainly demonstrated that he had some very interesting qualities. She wasn’t altogether sure that she wanted a husband who indulged in someone else’s library, but given her recent desires in the gardens perhaps that was actually a good thing. Of course, she’d want a husband who indulged only with her and Lord Banks was staring at some woman who was distinctly not Julianna. And did she want a husband who stared at a woman’s breasts like that across a dance floor? She tried to imagine being the focus of such a gaze and decided that no, she did not like it, not in a crowded room. Duldon had made it very clear that he liked her breasts, that he noticed them each time he saw her, but she’d never felt like he was screaming the fact. No, she didn’t think Lord Banks would do, although she would try talking to him again. She was determined to consider all possibilities.

Lord Temple crossed into her field of vision, Sarah Swilp upon his arm. As he passed, he turned and stared at her, his eyes eating into her. Again she had the thought that he knew something about her that she did not know that he knew. He’d given her that feeling all afternoon, little comments that seemed to mean something she could not understand. It was most disconcerting, but then perhaps it was a sign that she should get to know him better. He clearly was interested in getting to know her and perhaps more. Some of his comments had been most suggestive. Maybe he would be a good choice to try kissing, although in this case she meant only kissing. She’d tried to avoid Temple for years because of those snake hands. Maybe that had been a mistake. If she wanted to experiment with a man other than Duldon touching her, he might be the place to start. His wandering hands had definitely made his interest clear. And his lips were not snaky. He might very well be a good kisser.

“I don’t like what you are thinking,” Duldon whispered from behind.

How in the blazes had he managed to get behind her? Last she’d seen him, he’d been across the room from her. Blast and double blast. “My thoughts are my own.”

“Not when you look at another man with that consideration in your eyes, they are not.”

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Ignore the chafing of her nipples against her bodice. Ignore the quivers that being near him caused, the wondering of when he would touch her again. Ignore the look in his eyes as they glanced at her breast and then away. Oh yes, he liked them.

Stop it. Stop thinking this way. “I believe that I told you last night that I did not take orders from you.”

“Perhaps not yet, but soon.” His lips curled up.

She glared at him. “Not soon. Not ever. That is why I do not wish to marry you. I keep telling you that I wish some control in my life, my own choices.”

“We will see. I am rather sure you will enjoy following my direction.”

She ignored the ache between her legs that his words heightened. She was not a woman who enjoyed being subservient. She was not. “I wish you would go away. You were going to help me find a husband, but all you seem to do is hinder me.”

“I believe we just have different ideas on how I should help you. You did admit that I helped with making you think about the qualities you wished in a husband.”

“True, but now you do nothing but hinder.”

“It was you who said you did not think that kissing was a truly important factor.”

“I did not say that. I only said that it was not the only factor. I do think it is important that I understand the physical aspects of man and woman more. You are the one who has shown me that I may want to do more than to lie flat on my back in the bedroom.”

His soft chuckle surrounded her. “Yes, I cannot imagine you lying there quiet and still—unless, of course, you were bound to the bed.”

Heat suffused her. She’d never even dreamed of such a thing and suddenly she knew that was all she would think of this evening. “We should not be talking in such a manner. It is not proper.”

“What is not proper is what went through your mind at my words. Do you think I do not notice when your breathing grows rapid and your eyes grow wide? You very much like the idea of being bound to my bed.”

“I cannot believe we are talking of this here.” She glanced about to see if anyone was listening. Lord Temple had moved closer than she liked, but did not appear to be paying them mind. “You seem to think that I like everything. I am not at all sure you are right.” Actually she was very much afraid that he might be, but it would be a long time before she would ever admit to such feelings. “And lastly, even if you were right and I did find such an idea intriguing, what makes you think it would be your bed I would be bound to?”

He leaned closer so that his voice was little more than a whisper. “You can be very sure, my dear, that it will be my bed that you are bound to. I might kill any other man who had such thoughts about you—much less put them into action.” For some reason his eyes darted to Lord Temple.