Restraint (3 page)

No woman he had ever seduced had affected him this way. Perhaps it was because he was getting older. Perhaps it was because it had been a damned long time since he’d fucked a woman.

He reached down and absentmindedly stroked the wooly gray head of his sole companion, his Irish wolfhound, Paddy.

He had been content these last three years here on his estate.

Content—but not joyous.

Estelle’s death had ripped any hope for happiness out of his heart. He feared those feelings. He feared finding happiness again. And most of all, he feared losing it again.

He took a gulp of the brandy, his thoughts turning to Catherine again. There had been a spark with her…

No, he wouldn’t think about that. He wouldn’t entertain the idea that another person could give him pleasure.

It had just been too long since he’d fucked a woman. But he wouldn’t fuck this one.

He would not.

He was her teacher. Nothing more.

* * * * *

Catherine awakened to the pleasant twittering of birds. A sweet-smelling summer breeze caressed her body and she assumed the window had been opened. The eiderdown had been removed and she was tied once more, wrists and ankles opened wide, her eyesight still hindered by the damnable blindfold. Her insides tightened in expectation—in anticipation.

“Good morning, Catherine.”

A thrill trembled through her veins. Thomas.

“Good morning,” she purred, unable to quell the smile that claimed her lips. “What lesson shall we learn today?”

Her heart leapt.

Desire swept through her limbs.

A little laugh came from deep in his throat. “My little student is eager to get started. I thought we should begin where I should have begun yesterday—before your enticing body distracted me. I’m woefully out of practice, Catherine. You’ll have to forgive me.”

She laughed, somehow incapable of imagining this man being out of practice. “You’re forgiven,” she said sweetly.

The bed sank as he sat on it. “I am going to spend the entire morning teaching you to kiss.”

A surge of disappointment welled through Catherine. She had never before been kissed.
Not on the mouth anyway
, she thought with a wry grin. It couldn’t possibly be as satisfying as the way he had kissed her yesterday.

She felt him stretch out beside her and then cool silk caressed her skin. A silk banyan? Silk pajamas? But again, she was disappointed. She wanted to feel his skin against hers.

She had been right. He was tall. One of his long legs slipped over hers, his knee between her knees, his hard, thick, silk-encased thigh draped over hers.

Tender fingers swept her hair off her face and trailed down to trace the line of her jaw, her chin. Catherine’s breath stopped in her chest. She tried to swallow but she couldn’t. And as he lowered his mouth to hers, her heart pounded so hard she could hear her pulse in her ears.

His lips merely grazed hers. Catherine wanted more. She lifted her chin and parted her lips. His shallow, fast breaths feathered her face. Was he as affected by this as she was? She only hoped so.

And then his mouth was on hers, raining expert kisses, biting, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth, sucking. She had never imagined a kiss could be so powerful!

But there was more. Much more.

His mouth opened and his tongue delved between her lips, searching, teasing. Cool fingers encircled her throat. He was trembling.

Timidly, Catherine touched her tongue to his and then responded with reckless abandon, fencing, mating, kissing him as if she had kissed dozens of men. This was no ordinary kiss. This sensation sent waves of desire spiraling straight to her loins. She arched, wishing, hoping his fingers would find that special place and send her once more to that perfect oblivion.

But he did not. He only kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead. She turned her head to grant him greater access when he kissed her ear, nibbling her earlobe, his breath hot, tickling her. She arched underneath him and sighed audibly when he rained kisses down the curve of her neck. She had never dreamed she would be so sensitive there. And although this was more wonderful than she had ever imagined it could be, she wanted more.

“Touch me, Thomas,” she pleaded, her voice but a whisper.

“No.”

“Please!”

His tongue laved the length of her collarbone, leaving it hot and wet. “No.”

Damn him. She had lowered herself to begging and still he refused. Damn him!

His mouth found hers again, his heavy body moving over hers, on top of her.

Oh God. There was no mistaking the hard, hard shaft that pressed into her softness, impeded by silk. She lifted and arched, wildly wanting him inside her. But instead he moved slowly and languidly, his lips expertly teaching hers to respond.

She wanted to be free of these damned bonds. She wanted to hold him, to wrap her arms and legs around him and never let go. She wanted to feel that hard part of him moving in and out of her the way his tongue was moving in and out of her mouth.

A soft, guttural moan tore from his throat and he uttered her name against her lips over and over. As he kissing her with utter thoroughness, he ground his hips into hers.

Her clitoris throbbed faster and faster until suddenly, she was on the precipice once more. She lifted her head off the pillow and met his tongue with her own, fighting him, thrusting her hips upward. She wriggled frantically against the hard shaft teasing between her legs. She had to make it happen or she would die.

And then it did happen. Sheer ecstasy emanated from her sex and her mouth, merging somewhere deep inside her being. She gave in to it, coming and coming until she was exhausted and fell back limp on the bed.

Sometime after the spasms had abated she realized Thomas was beside her, clinging to her with his face buried in the curve of her neck. Had he experienced it too?

Catherine then understood that she wanted to give him the same pleasure he had given her. She wanted it for him more than anything and she was determined she would do it, somehow, someway—despite these bonds and this damned blindfold.

Thomas breathed in the faint scent of lavender which permeated Catherine’s black hair. She was bewitching. And damn it to hell, he’d come again at just the thought of sliding inside her tight, virgin pussy.

Innocence.

What was she? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?

So fucking innocent…

All the other women he’d tutored had been somewhat experienced. That had been his prerequisite. However, after he’d met Estelle, all of that ended. All of it. The women. The sex—except with Estelle. He hadn’t wanted any other women. He’d never dreamed he would ever want anyone but Estelle.

He ached inside.

It had been a long, long time but he had not regretted giving it up. Not at all. Loving Estelle had erased his desire to tame and tease other men’s wives.

But now it was back with a vengeance—a desire so strong he doubted he could keep his promise to Wallingford.

He had come so close, so fucking close to ripping off his pajama bottoms and thrusting his aching, throbbing cock into Catherine’s
cunny
—virgin or not.

He had never met a woman who made him lose every ounce of iron control he possessed. Not ever.

Not even Estelle.

She shifted underneath him, bringing him out of his reverie.

Catherine yanked against the ties which held her wrists. She wanted to hold Thomas, to stroke his hair, to run her palms over his flesh. “Damn this,” she said, tears stinging her blindfolded eyes. “Untie me.”

“I cannot,” he whispered against the curve of her neck.

Her heart sank. “Please…”

“Not yet. Be patient. Let me give you pleasure, Catherine.”

She had never been so frustrated. She wanted to see him and touch him. “But I want to…to…” She could not find the courage to say the words.

His body lifted off hers, leaving her suddenly cold. “Thomas, wait! Show me how to…how to please you.”

He brushed a kiss across her lips. “All in good time, darling.”

Catherine’s stomach tightened at his term of endearment. No one had ever called her darling. Not even her parents. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” he said and chastely kissed her forehead above the blindfold. “But for now, I am going to leave you with the maid.”

She sank back into the featherbed, relieved that Thomas would not be attending to her every need. It hardly seemed decent.

“Her name is Lydia. She will bring your breakfast and draw a bath for you. She will untie you and remove the blindfold, but only until I return. All I ask is that you do not try to escape.”

Escape? She suddenly realized she had not even considered it.

“Do you promise, Catherine?”

She nodded. “I promise.”

Thomas chuckled. “And if you’re bad, I’ll know about it. You
will
be punished,” he threatened with a playful slap to the side of her buttock.

A strange thrill rushed through Catherine’s limbs at the idea of him
punishing
her. Without a doubt, it would certainly be as exhilarating as everything else they had done.

“I’ll be back to continue our lessons.”

“I’m counting on it,” she purred.

Soon after Thomas left, Catherine heard the sound of soft-soled shoes approaching. Deft, brusque hands began untying her wrists. It wasn’t like Thomas’ touch at all and Catherine found herself anticipating his return.

The same precipitous hands swept the blindfold off her face and Catherine blinked against the deluge of bright light that assaulted her eyes.

This is what she had wanted—to be untied with the blindfold removed—so why was there this aching hollowness in her newfound freedom?

Her eyes adjusted to the light and immediately she took in the sumptuous hand-carved furnishings, the burgundy velvet drapes, the rumpled white cotton bedclothes stained with pearly cream.

Her come.

His come.

Her stomach tightened at the thought of it. A hot blush welled throughout her body and she glanced at Lydia, who was moving silently into another room that adjoined the bedroom.

She slid off the bed, looking for a robe, anything with which to cover herself. But there was nothing. Not a stitch of clothing. Part of her was relieved. She was learning to enjoy the feel of the fresh, warm morning air on her naked flesh.

The sash had been thrown up so she padded across the Oriental rug and gazed out onto rolling green fields which stretched to a thick, dense forest. Where was this place? How had she come to be here? Had Robert brought her here? Or had Thomas?

She glanced back over her shoulder at the closed door. He was out there somewhere. All she had to do was open the door and go find him. Just one look…

That was all she wanted—just to see him.

Frustrated, she reminded herself she was naked and she had no idea who else was on the other side of that door. Did he have dozens of girls tied to dozens of beds? A jealous current rippled through her veins. Was she, she hoped, the only one?

“Your bath is ready, milady.” Lydia’s voice abruptly brought her out of her reverie.

Catherine looked into her eyes. She was short, rather plain and dressed in a black uniform. Hopefully, she would be a wealth of information. Catherine was no stranger to gossiping servants—or how to obtain information from them. She smiled at Lydia as she walked past her into the bathing chamber.

A gasp nearly escaped her lips when she beheld the heaven-sent room. She had never seen so large a tub and it was filled to capacity with steaming, lavender-scented water. Cakes of all kinds of luxurious soaps rested in an Italian porcelain dish. Thick, thirsty towels awaited her, stacked neatly on delicate wrought iron shelves. This was amazing.

Catherine took care of business on the chamber pot and then slipped into the hot water. She closed her eyes as Lydia began to wash her hair, wishing it was Thomas who bathed her instead.

Two days ago she had never dreamed she would be inclined to such wanton behavior, to such feelings she knew arose from the darkest depths of her being. It was an entirely new experience. One she would be reluctant to leave behind.

She swallowed. “Lydia?”

“Yes, miss?”

“Tell me about Thomas. What is his last name? Where is this place?”

“The master done forbid me to tell you, miss.”

Catherine tried to quell her obvious disappointment. There must be something she could find out.

“Can you tell me if there are any other girls here? Girls like me?”

“There are no others, miss.”

A twinge of excitement coursed through her limbs. “What does he…what does he look like?”

Lydia suppressed a giggle. “You can rest assured that he’s quite the looker, Lady Catherine.”

A smile claimed Catherine’s lips as an image of a classically handsome man rose in her mind. “What color is his hair?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“What about his eyes, then?”

“Sorry.”

Catherine blew out a sigh. Lydia had not proved to be the fount of information she had hoped.

After her bath, she stood quietly while Lydia dried her and then combed out her long hair after dusting her with scented talcum powder. Catherine had never felt so pampered. She felt so alive and so, so special. She never wanted to leave this place.

“Your breakfast is ready as well, milady.”

Catherine sank onto the corner of the bed as Lydia lifted the highly polished silver dome off her breakfast tray. A delicate china plate was laden with pastries, butter, sweet pear preserves and, Catherine noted with a smile, one Swiss chocolate bonbon. She ate it first, closing her eyes as she savored the rich flavor, recalling how Thomas had fed her chocolates the night before.

She finished and rinsed her fingers in the silver finger bowl Lydia proffered.

“I must tie you once more, miss.”

Catherine’s insides tightened and she felt herself already becoming wet, anticipating her lover’s return. What would he do next? She could only imagine.

She willingly lay down on the bed, shocked at how readily she offered her wrists and ankles up to be bound once more. Lydia hastily fastened the black silk sashes, securing them with an abrupt tug.