Bound by Bliss (26 page)

And then he turned back to her, his hands at the fastenings of his trousers.

Even in her relaxed state she swallowed, hard, as his fingers flicked the buttons and the trousers fell to his feet—and she saw everything she had ever wanted.

Chapter Seventeen

She was more than he had ever wanted. Her beauty. Her passion. Her joy.

When he’d felt her come apart beneath him, felt her wonder, he’d almost lost it himself. Now he could contain himself no more. It was all he could do not to come as an untried lad simply from looking at the beauty that was Bliss. He dropped his trousers with undo haste, glad that he was not wearing boots this night. It was far easier to slip from his shoes and push his stockings down, stepping from the pile of clothing and toward his princess.

He stood for a moment and simply stared. Her breathing was slowing and the flush was slowly fading from her cheeks. He could see the edge of sleep moving into her eyes, even as she gazed at him in wonder. Her eyes centered on his cock and for a moment widened. He felt himself grow and swell, against all possibility, at that gaze.

He watched her throat gather and swallow as she stared.

His hand dropped to his sex and his fingers wrapped around it. He allowed himself one small stroke as he let his eyes drift lower on her body. Her thighs still lay spread, her pink folds glistening with spent desire, her every secret open to him. He longed to bury himself there, to lift her knees about his shoulders and thrust in, to feel her slick heat close about him.

Another stroke.

She’d burn about his prick as she had about his face, her heat flaming even as it soothed.

He pressed tight at the base, just above his sack.

He’d held off this long; he could hold off a few seconds longer. Taking a step forward, he kept his gaze on her. Her eyes were looking less sleepy by the moment. He stroked himself again, long and slow. Her gaze followed his every movement.

She rolled onto her side and continued to stare. Not a word was said, but he could feel her interest and consideration, her desire.

Another stroke. And then another.

This was killing him, but there was no way…he would rather die.

A small tongue darted out, licking swollen lips.

His Bliss might have found satisfaction, but she was still eager for more—and he would not disappoint her.

Coming to the bed, he stood for a moment a few feet from her face and let her watch his slow measured movements. His body strummed with the need to speed things along, to increase the pace, the friction, but he held back, the look in her eyes his reward.

“May I feel?” Her question was soft and breathy. The only soft thing in the whole room.

Reaching out he took her hand and placed it upon his shaft, continuing to hold it. Carefully he helped her set the rhythm, let her feel the pace that he desired. Gritting his teeth, he fought the need to come. Her touch was beyond anything he had ever imagined, warm and soft, but filled with that same life-giving joy that encompassed all that she did.

Her eyes were focused and intense, her lower lip once again being chewed. God, the thoughts he had about that lower lip. Her gaze darted from his hand up to his face and back. He could feel her desire to do this just right.

“There is no way you could make a mistake,” he said, low and husky. “All I need is your hand upon me and I am happy.”

“But surely there is better and even better? I know when you touch me it feels like heaven, and then you shift and it is beyond heaven. I want to put you into that place.”

“I would say I am already there, but the truth is I am fighting with all my might not to reach that point too quickly. I want this to last.”

“And how can you be so soft and yet so hard? I feel like you are so stiff you could break through anything set before you, and yet I have never felt anything so silken and yet plush. I know ‘plush’ sounds a strange choice, but it is what my fingers feel.”

“I have no answer for that.” He gripped her fingers tight, slowing her motion.

He pulled in a gasp of air. “Give me a moment to come to my senses.”

Her fingers tightened beneath his and she fought to continue moving. “What if I don’t want you to come to your senses? I rather like you like this.”

“Be still.” He forced her hand to quiet.

“You do like those words.” He could hear the pout in her voice.

“I imagine that you will be hearing them often, disobedient thing that you are.”

She giggled low in her throat. “Perhaps you do begin to know me.”

“I’ve always known you, Bliss. Sometimes I think I understand you better than you understand yourself.”

Her face grew still. He had expected that she would just let his words brush over her, but clearly she was taking them to heart. “That should not be hard. I sometimes think that I don’t know myself at all.”

Gods above! She was opening up to him now. He was seconds from coming, doing all he could to contain himself, and she was ready to talk. He started to step back, to try and gather his senses, but Bliss refused to release her grip. For a moment, he pictured a game of tug-of-war with his cock as the rope. It was not a thought to be relished and helped him to cool himself some.

“What do you not know about yourself, my Bliss?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the small hand that had again begun to slide his length.

For a moment he thought she would answer fully; her lips softened and he could see deep thought reflected in her eyes. “I don’t…” And just as quickly the shutters slipped down. “I don’t know what to do next. What I want next?” Her lips moved into a slow easy smile and if he had not seen her look of a moment before he would have believed that she had no thoughts but of pleasure.

He would wait. He would be patient. If he could survive these last few minutes of holding himself back, he could survive anything she placed before him. “You can just keep doing what you are doing and I will help you set the pace. Should I fetch a cloth? I am not sure you are ready to be covered when I come.”

“I rather enjoyed watching that with Green and Black.” Her eyes were darkening and growing more intense, her fingers tensing and relaxing about him.

He closed his eyes and just gave in to it. The warmth of skin. The friction of the gentle glide. He placed his hand about hers and changed the intensity, speeding it, pressing it. He was close, so close. He could see sparks behind his lids, feel his balls lift and tighten, feel the pressure build. He bit down on his inner cheek. Not yet. Not yet. So close. It was so hard, but so good. He wanted to stay in this moment in this second as long as he could. He felt his control slip, knew as his hips began to move in the timeless fashion, felt the clench. It was happening. It was…

Warmth. Moisture. The flick of a tongue.

His eyes opened in shock, even as he felt himself move beyond all return. Bliss at the edge of the bed, her mouth open, surrounding him. How? Why? Even as the questions formed, thought fled.

His fingers reached down and tangled in her hair, pulling her forward as he plunged into her, slamming hard.

God. So good.

He needed to be gentle.

Saints above. So good.

Heaven.

She didn’t know what she was doing.

Bliss. Name and action.

God.

Gentle.

Too late.

He pulled back and thrust again, lost beyond even single-word thought. He felt the burst, exquisite sensation filling him. Couldn’t hold back. Slammed forward again. And again. God. Heaven. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss.

On and on it went, his hips locking and thrusting. Too much. God. Too much.

Bliss. Bliss.

His pelvis pushed forward, locked, every muscle straining, nothing existing except the warmth of her mouth, the heaven of her lips.

He felt the full spurt, knew he filled her, knew he should pull back, knew…

She sucked deep and the tension filled him again. It was impossible. There was no more, but…

“Bliss.” The cry filled the room.

His fingers pressed her tight, his hips pressing forward with all that he was and…

All was black. All was white. All was Bliss.

And it was over.

His body sagged. His eyes closed. He needed to apologize, to beg her forgiveness, to explain…He didn’t know what but something. He’d never thrust with such force into eager lips before, never pushed again and again, granting no mercy. And with Bliss, with sweet untried Bliss.

He opened his eyes slowly, dreading what he would see.

And saw her grin. It spread across her face filling both cheeks, wider than he’d ever seen.

“I did that rather well, didn’t I?” She smiled.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he began.

“Sorry for what? I did do it right, didn’t I? Or was I supposed to pull back? I know Green did, but I wanted to taste you, to truly feel what happened to you, to be part of it. Was that wrong? Should I have done it differently?” Her grin began to slip.

“No, you were perfect.” The fingers that still lay tangled in hair brushed down to cup her cheek. He sat beside her on the bed. “It is merely that I was more forceful, more out of control than I liked. I would not like to risk truly hurting you.”

“But I made you that way, that out of control? It was because of me you felt that way?”

A cautious yes.

“Then how can I complain?”

“I did not say that you complained, merely that I should have been gentler.”

She pulled away from him, moving to sit, pushing her skirts down until she was completely covered. “Why should you have been gentler? Am I not capable of deciding what I like? I liked that. I relished it. I want to do it again, but with more time to play first, to run my tongue about your length, to feel the changes of your cock within my mouth, to…”

“Enough,” he commanded. “I am as spent as I’ve ever been and you have me growing hard again.”

“I do?” She leaned forward, eager to see.

He was going to have to work on command. Placing a hand upon her chest, he pushed her back upon the pillows—and prepared to push her in other ways. “You don’t like it when others make decisions for you, do you?”

“Does anybody?” She pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Perhaps not, but I see fires light in your eyes whenever you feel pushed. I am not sure that is quite so usual.”

She rested her chin upon her knees. “I don’t know. I think I’ve been responsible for myself for so long that I know no other way. Maybe I can blame it on Swanston.” The faintest hint of a smile. “After my mother’s death we all pretty much did what we wanted, but then he’d come back from school and try to add some order to the situation. I always resented that since I would be managing just fine. I’d have the cook cooking and the maids cleaning, but when he came home he would change how everything was done. When I am given orders, not choices, I always feel that I am being told the way I would do it is not good enough.”

His breath caught as her words penetrated. He was used to controlling everything and everyone about him. He’d inherited the title as a child and from that point forward his word had been near law. The elderly uncle who’d acted as his guardian had rarely bothered to visit the estate and when he had he’d only nodded at Duldon’s efforts. He tried to imagine what it would have been like to be Bliss, young and in the midst of trying to care for her wild family only to have Swanston return in all his glorious competence to take over. He’d heard Swanston’s stories of that time period and doubted he’d even noticed his sister’s efforts. “You’ve always been good enough for me, more than good enough, Bliss.”

“Not always.”

Her words made him feel more vulnerable than sitting beside her naked as she remained fully dressed, not that that had bothered him much beyond a desire to get her out of her clothes. “I am not sure what you mean.”

She was quiet, her face turned down to her knees so that he could not see her face and her words were muffled. “When I was seventeen I wasn’t enough.”

He pushed himself fully onto the bed and sat beside her. His head tilted back into the pillows. When she’d been seventeen, he’d been twenty-five. It had been a wonderful year. The year he’d truly discovered who he was and what he’d wanted in life. A year he’d worked hard and played just as hard. And Bliss—he did remember Bliss that year. He remembered seeing her at a ball and being overcome by her perfect young beauty. She’d made him feel seventeen again himself, randy and ready to pop his breeches in public. What he didn’t remember was turning her away in any fashion, or implying that she was not enough. She’d always been enough. “I must admit that I am still not sure to what you refer.”

Bliss turned her face from him. It was not enough that he could not see it, she must actually face away. “You don’t remember.”

Her words ate at him. He could feel her belief in her lack of importance in them. She did not question, she merely flatly stated. “I don’t know if I remember if you won’t tell me what this is about.”

“Clearly it was not important to you.”

She was killing him. “How can I know if you won’t tell me what it is?”

She said nothing, although her shoulders heaved a little.

Don’t let her cry. Sex and play could bring out a strange cacophony of emotions, but he was not prepared for her tears, not now—not when something crucial was flying about and he could not quite catch it. “Please tell me, Bliss.”

A gasp of air, a straightening of shoulders, and she lifted her head. She did not turn to him, but he could see the gentle curve of one cheek. Her hair was escaping its pins and beginning to curl in a riot about her face. “It is no longer important. I was young and have probably put too much importance on something very small and insignificant. It made no true difference in my life and I have moved past it. I have come to understand that wishing does not make the world the way I wish it. I learned that with my mother and I learned it again with you.”

She
had
been young, and he must admit that he could not believe he would not remember if it truly had been important. No, that was discounting her. “Please tell me, Bliss. If it is unimportant what can it hurt to tell me? And if it is important surely then I need to know.”