Bound to Be a Groom (5 page)

She let him set the pace at first, but she was eager to experiment. She braced her small hands against his bare hips, then trailed them lower until one hand found the base of his cock. She circled it with delicate fingers that barely connected, squeezing once to get a sense of his resilience. He groaned again—a deliciously deep, primitive sound—so she squeezed him harder.

“Oh dear God . . .” His voice sounded almost angry, but she knew it for what it was. Raw pleasure. She worked his cock like she’d worked his fingers—like she worked Pia—at times giving him deep, hard suction and at other times taunting him with featherlight licks, edges of teeth, air.

“Anna . . .” It was a warning of sorts.

Breaking the suction, she said, “No, no. You must be patient. I have so much to learn.”

His thighs quivered, and he reached for the back of a nearby chair to keep himself standing.

“That’s right,” she directed. “Be a good lad and hold on for me . . .” She nodded her approval of his restraint, then dipped back to take him full and hard to the hilt. Her throat was already softer and more relaxed, able to take more of him without resistance. The power she felt at his desperate compliance was beyond anything she could have hoped for.

She found his sac with her other hand and fondled him there as well, learning the feel of the skin and the weight of him. She tried hard and soft pressure, tugging and lightly scratching until she knew what brought him the most pleasure. He liked it rough.

Delighted shivers rippled through her. If he reveled in her coarse treatment, she was thrilled to oblige.

She reached further around. Her hands were already slick with her own saliva and the salty, smooth cum that seemed to be seeping out of him with every pull of her greedy mouth. Their earthy scents and fluids were mixed together. Her nostrils flared with pleasure, and then she pushed her wet index finger against the pucker of his arse.

He cried out, a fierce animal sound that escaped from his beautiful lips before he could repress it.

She released his cock from her mouth, but she kept up the pressure at that intensely sensitive spot, taunting him as she spoke in a near-careless tone. “You like that?” She pushed against his tight hole. Her voice was a throaty purr from having the head of his cock so far down into her.

When he didn’t answer, she started to pull her hand away.

“Oh, God, yes! Don’t stop . . . please,” he begged.

The sight of him at this point of heedless, shameless entreaty thrust her into some glorious place of wanting to ride him hard, to push him to the absolute limits of what he could bear. Her body hummed in anticipation of the liberties she wanted to take with his desperate body.

“I like it when you say
please
.” She took him deep again, and his answering moan snapped through her body. With one hand at the base of his cock, she used the other to circle his tight arsehole with two slippery fingers, straining her eyes up to watch the way his face contorted and smoothed in lovely agony.

She wanted to penetrate him. She loved all the ways she could get inside Pia’s body—her mouth, her pussy, her arse—all the ways she could devour her and be devoured in return. She wanted to be inside Sebastian in the same way. To reach into him, to grab what she felt was—already, bizarrely—rightfully hers. And then watch him break apart in her hands and explode. She wanted to make that happen, to be the one who made him feel things that no one else had ever made him feel.

Pia always told Anna that she was such a generous lover, but the truth had nothing to do with generosity. Anna was greedy. And arrogant. She knew how to do this. It was as if she had been born for it. She had worried she only had this intuition, this ability to seduce, with a woman’s body, Pia’s body, because the reaction she could tease and strum from Pia’s eager, smooth flesh was nothing short of miraculous.

But Sebastian’s responsive enthusiasm was equally delicious. She didn’t know him, of course. She certainly didn’t love him the way she loved Pia, but the way she made his body dance and sway was quite divine. His pliancy was beautiful.

Without bothering to ask for permission, she circled his arsehole one last time, then pushed her slick fingers inside him right as she drew his cock deeper into her mouth and sucked and bobbed her head. She kept up that pushing and pulling, front and back, in and out, until she felt the hot gush of his release against the back of her throat and the clenching echo of his pulsing climax around her fingers in his arse.

She was cruel, relentlessly prolonging his sweet, convulsive repercussions. She sucked on him harder, swallowed every drop, and then she slowly licked him clean. She suspected he was sensitive, as she always was, as Pia always was, so she became gentler then, but still persistent. She licked him tenderly, circling the base of his softening cock with her tongue to lap up the saliva and semen there. And it was splendid. He was so satisfied, exuding a throbbing energy of pure, satiated bliss.

That she had provided, that she had given and taken from him.

She removed her finger from his arse even more carefully, petting his hip slowly with her free hand as she did. Praising him in some unspoken way.

When she had finished smoothing his shirt back into place and buttoning up his trousers, she finally worked up the courage to look him in the eye. “I think that was a decent start, don’t you?”

Sebastian stared into those fiery amber-brown eyes and realized his life had changed irrevocably. He was her slave. He dropped to his knees and gripped her cheeks with his rough palms. “Decent?” His laugh was almost maniacal. “It was the most indecent thing imaginable. You are filthy.”

Her eyes clouded, suddenly uncertain, and she looked to be waiting for his verdict. Which was even more laughable, since—in his mind—she was already judge, jury, and executioner over his eternally shackled soul.

When he kissed her, he tasted the particular essence that was Anna, and then a hint of himself on her lips, and then the sweet blend of the two of them together. He wanted all of her, everywhere—with her tongue sliding against his, like now; with her fingers delving inside him, like before. He wanted her to be coursing through his blood.

It took a few beats before he realized she wasn’t kissing him back. He forced himself to pull away, breathless.

“What is it, my sweet, wonderful Anna? Have I frightened you with my ardor?” He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Because that seems impossible. You are fearless, are you not?”

“I am not fearless.” She tried to look away, but he held her gaze.

“Well, then, whatever you are when you are swept away like you were just now, whatever that was, it is glorious and splendid and every spectacular word I can think of, and I am in awe.”

She blushed, but he could tell it was pride at her burgeoning control over him, rather than embarrassment. She was pleased. With herself. With him. The idea slid through him like hot oil through his veins: he would do anything to please her.

“Now lean back, if you will, and let me taste you—” He tried to position her on the velvet sofa as he lowered himself to his knees and attempted to lift her skirts.

She resisted immediately. “Oh. That won’t be necessary!” She wriggled away from him, her hands patting her disheveled hair and her back straightening as if she were a governess in the schoolroom.
Back to your studies, children.

Sebastian laughed and then rested his palms on either side of her on the sofa. “Aren’t you lovely when you’re high-handed. Please, may I?”

“I didn’t think most men enjoyed that sort of thing,” she hedged.

Sebastian burst out laughing again. “Do you mistake me for
most men
?”

She smiled and put her palm to his cheek. “You are quite endearing, but really, you don’t have to do that.”

He turned and kissed her palm, letting his eyes drift shut as his lips made contact. When he opened his eyes and spoke, his voice was low. “I know I don’t
have
to, darling. I
want
to. I’m desperate to please you.”

She looked at him for a few moments, a mix of anxiety and calculation flashing across her face. He didn’t care if she was cunning, as long as she let him devour her the way she had devoured him.

“What are you thinking?” he whispered. Her hand remained on his cheek. He stayed on his knees and tried to keep his hands still while he awaited her approval.

“I really shouldn’t,” she whispered in reply, but he saw her waver. “I mean, I don’t think it appeals to me.”

He had been reaching one hand slowly under her dress while she spoke. Now he looked at her with his best mischievous smile, and when his fingers touched the hot, wet mess between her legs, he said, “I think it appeals to you very much, my dear.” He began to move his fingers slowly up and down her seam. Her head tilted back, and she draped her forearm over her eyes. “Very much.”

She moaned, and her hips bucked to meet his hand.

“Please may I taste you?” he whispered even softer, in time with his stroking fingers.

“Oh dear God, forgive me. Yes.”

He moved quickly, lest she change her mind. He spread her legs wide and had her splayed out on the velvet sofa in seconds as he pushed aside the layers of her gown.

“How lovely . . .” he said on a contented exhale as he kissed his way up her inner thigh. He was riled by the scent of her moist heat, too impatient to take the time to remove her underclothes. He found the slit in her linen and tore it wide. She gasped at the sound of ripping fabric. Then she began to murmur her encouragement—directions really. When his tongue lashed out and circled her clit, her hips bucked again and she nearly wailed, muffling the sound against her forearm.

“Oh, dear. You are good, Sebastian . . . so good.”

His
. This woman was his. Meant for him. For him to spend his life pleasing. Being good for her. The sound of her breathy approval sent his already fast-beating heart into a mad race.

He pushed her thighs even wider and spread her farther apart for his admiration and attention. He licked and taunted until she was panting hoarsely, ordering him to finish her off.

Right before she came—her left hand tugging on his hair ferociously, driving him hard against her—her cries had been reduced to torn pieces of language, her voice nothing less than the primal sound of pure desire.

She shoved his face away from her sensitized flesh and pulled him up the length of her body as she shuddered and quaked, her neck thrown back in satisfied abandon as she held him close. A flush of color suffused her chest and neck, her cheeks. How he could have ever mistaken her for a pale, wispy thing, he had no idea. She was hard steel and fire. Even the way she lounged beneath and alongside his body, as if he were there merely to cushion her. Which he supposed he was.

After she had calmed and he could feel her straightening, putting her metaphorical disguise back in place as she adjusted her skirts, he asked, “So . . . who is Pia?”

She looked confused, then pretended she hadn’t heard or didn’t know or wasn’t going to answer. When he kept looking, waiting for a reply, she said, “An old friend.”

“Do you love her?”

She didn’t falter that time. She nodded once. “I do.”

Sebastian pulled her closer against him and let her weep into his handkerchief.

Stupid, stupid woman!
Anna must have cried out the only name she’d ever cried out in similar moments of self-forgetting and sensual oblivion. She wasn’t even sure. Why had she ever agreed to let Sebastian pleasure her in that way? That was never part of any plan.

She had betrayed Pia unforgivably. Her mind was awash with guilt, a churning mess of missing Pia and wanting to rail at the injustice of it all—that something as seemingly simple as living a quiet life with the person she loved had forced her so far into this treachery. Still, even as she tasted the bitter guilt of having broken the single promise Pia had ever asked her to make, the residual pleasure of her climax confused her. Satisfaction and guilt. Indulgence and regret. She felt as if she were suffocating under the weight of it. Pia would despise her if she ever found out.