The Bound Heart (7 page)

He maneuvered away looking to get control and her hands slipped. Without warning the wingback defeated him; he tripped back into it, and she stumbled on top of him.

His breathing was harsh.

The press of her drove every instinct into action. Action he was not going to take.

Jamie placed his hands over hers as she decisively held each side of his face. Held him in place as she moved her lips over his. Her wet tongue was a warm, silken slide as each soft swipe ripped away years of control. His insides quivered as she stabbed at him with that delicious muscle. It sent shocks down his center and hardened him beyond bearing, but he had borne a lot.

In a couple of well-used movements, he had her arms bent behind her back and her hands held there firmly in one of his.

Now that was better.

He liked this hold, always had. And with Olive, it felt even better, his heart beat at a crazy fast pace as he considered at her.

She strained against the confinement. A red haze washed at the corners of his vision as he fought the desire to act like the man he was. The man she didn’t deserve to be saddled with.

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? She deserved more, and he wanted her to have it.

“Stop!” He sounded harsh, his raised voice jarring when they were so close. Damn it. His will was eroding faster than snow melted in the full sun.

“No.” She pressed her chest against his.

He leaned his face away from hers an wanted to smile.

His demure girl was gone.

He wanted desperately to whip out a rope and tie this wild woman down. Have her wriggle and struggle to grab hold of him until he had her immobilized and rode her at his pace and at his say so until she screamed out his name in the blinding pleasure he would most certainly give her. And it would be that. A pleasure beyond what she had experienced despite his particular proclivities.

The body had a way of responding, intensifying when you engaged the mind at the same time.

You’re not going there.

No. No he wasn’t. His jaw tightened.

“Olive.” His voice was full of warning. He clamped her wrists together harder.

She stilled. Her breath puffing out, ragged and sweet.

Good, this had to stop.

Then she leaned into him and softened; melted against the hard lines of his body in a sensual bundle of feminine flesh.

Fuck.

Sweat beaded on his brow.

One more taste.

The need throbbed through him. He’d get her home, would make sure she never came back, but after one more taste.

Her feet shuffled on the floor.

Then she gave a violent push and dislodged the chair and them onto the floor, knocking the side table and empty tumblers to the ground.

She whimpered; it would be uncomfortable. He let go and immediately her hands tugged at his head and pulled him down.

He reached back and rolled the chair off them, slid his hand under her hips, and pulled her up against his groin. Ground into her as he opened his mouth on hers and pushed his tongue in.

Heat.

She was burning him up with it.

His body strained, his mind flashing every fantasy he’d had of her, one torrid image after another as his hips pressed in slow firm circles over her core.

She tasted like all the dreams he had ever locked up as she opened under him, as her mouth sucked at his with a hot, carnal suction that wrapped around his shaft with want.

He bit at her neck, unbuttoned her dress front then her chemise, and slid his hand in over her breast. Soft, heavy fullness pushed into his palm. An earthy clean scent that was just her, not a bottle, not an essence, no pretense of any kind, just her, wafted around him; stroked at him on the inside as he breathed her in.

Her hand slipped between them, wrapped around him, rubbing him through his trousers. He circled his hips orchestrating the pressure over her sex with the pressure and angle of his movements.

She made sounds in his mouth as he tasted and thrust with his tongue. Delicious sounds. Sounds that stroked and caressed him with her ardent encouragement.

In small reluctant increments the frenzy slowed.

He broke the kiss and slipped his hand from her dress.

This was the time to step back, he should have had thought to say he’d had another taste step back now. But they didn’t come. Instead she scanned about them.

Next to them lay the cushions from the wing back. He reared back on his haunches, grabbed the nearest one, pulled off the cord stitched around the edges, and then the same on the other one.

There was no stopping, no good intentions now. Just her, just this.

Jamie considered at her, the cords in his hands.

Glassy eyes gazed back at him, the lids droopy. Under them, her lips were shiny from his kiss.

“Tell me what Evie told you.” His breath was uneven.

If she knew, really knew, and wanted him, she could have him.

“Tell me, Olive.” His heart beat faster, his fists curled.

“She said you don’t do it in the usual place; you like it in the back… passageway.” The last word was whispered.

Heat blasted through him making him dizzy as pure lust curled between his leg and tugged up.

“Anything else?” His voice growled out as he leaned down over her.

He willed the forces that be, that she knew every depraved thing about him.

“I saw some of the pictures you make. I know you like to… do things…”

He leaned down close to her ear. Her panting breath fanning out over his cheek. Inside he was so tightly coiled; it was just his will holding him back from devouring her.

“Did you like those images I made, Olive?”

She nodded.

“Yes.” A whisper to match his own.

His gut started to tighten. The tips of her breasts pressed against him with every ragged breath she took.

His body was burning.

He had to ask, had to know.

“Did you touch yourself? Did you touch yourself and think of me?”

Seconds ticked by.

Her legs wriggled under him as he waited for her answer. Wonderful torturous and inflaming movements brushing against his thighs. Then her palms settled one on each of his thighs, scalding him through the fabric of his trousers.

He moved closer, the shell of her ear under his lips.

“Did you?” he kissed the lobe, tugged it into his mouth and gave it a small bite.

Her groan rumbled past him almost covering her answer. “Yes.”

Need blasted through him and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. The image of her fine fingers working between her legs, his name on her lips nearly undid him.

An indescribable satisfaction washed through him.

He pulled up and looked down at her.

Her hands slid up and down his thighs as she gazed back. He saw the echo of need in her face, yet also a flicker of something else.

Fear.

There were other ways out of Whitechapel than through him. He could find ways to help her. He could help her with her sewing business, make introductions, commission work himself.

Make sure life got better for her, better than the life he had to offer a woman who wanted a regular man.

She deserved to be loved, a man who was freer in himself, a man who would want to be close to her. Outside of the rope, he didn’t have a need for that. He had his rules to make sure he never had to deal with it either.

Jamie pulled himself back and sat again on his haunches.

His fingers curled and uncurled as he looked down at her.

What to do…

The only sounds was their breathing, irregular and labored, and the fire burning in the grate as if the world wasn’t being decided in front of it. The rest of the house was still so still it was as if it waited with bated breath.

She might like what he had to give. He’d played with human needs and fantasies for long enough to know that we all had darker desires, were open to try things considered at the edge.

Yet the fact remained that she deserved better.

He took a deep breath in.

She deserved better.

Let her go.

Olive gazed up at him. Skin glowing, freckles across a lovely nose. Her hair was half-loose, and her lips were red and swollen as she seared him with the desire that shone from her eyes.

The awkward brace pressed against his calf, a brace she wore because she wanted to.

Be a better man. A better man than all those who’d lined up outside his mum’s room. His Dad begging her to stop.

He should … but he wouldn’t.

“Give me your hands, Olive.”

It was hard for her to breathe. Jamie knelt between her legs; her skirt up around her waist, her breasts cold in the air and wet from his mouth.

But it was her heart, which made it hardest of all to breathe. It jumped and pounded in her chest as if it was twisting and curling into the knots he liked to tie. Excitement, panic, chest-breaking lust.

Each breath got shallower, tighter with need.

This is what she wanted with him. This hot aching need. The burn of his eyes as they moved over her body, the feel of his hands. Heat sunk down between her legs, deep into the core of her. Her nipples, her belly, her lips, they all pulsed in time with that, pounding beat.

“Hands, Olive.”

The deep and rich sound of his voice, laced with his own need pushed hers further.

She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything. Wanted the feel of his hips pressing down on her hips. The feel as he pushed himself deep into her.

But that wasn’t where he wanted her.

He wanted something she’d never done before. Something that excited and scared her at the same time. Those two emotions warred under her skin. The desire to run and leave him be, and the desire to see it through, to try the forbidden act he wanted.

Above her, his face was tight; his eyes burned with hunger but also something else, something deeper that made her chest tighten.

The arms she lifted to him were shaky as they rose above her. An odd, foggy feeling mixed with so much need.

His hands closed around hers, firm and warm as he tied the cord around her wrists. The small bits of cotton hanging from where he had ripped the cord from the cushion tickled her skin.

“I’m going to tie your hands over your head onto the sofa leg. Is that all right?”

He looked at her, his chest rising and falling in deep, movements. He was not the controlled Mr. Edwards she had seen for two years. He was not happy with her forcing the issue, but he was not changing the direction she had pushed them towards.

His eyebrows rose in question.

There was no disagreeing; they both knew that. But when she managed to move her head up and down in a slow affirmation, his eyes flared and subtly, his shoulders softened.

They both focused on the ties at her wrist.

The cord was golden and soft. Jamie worked deftly but in a focused, detailed way. A supple firm grip as the cord went around again, again, and again.

Their sudden burst of passion made her think he would tie her hard and fast, to push on to take what they both wanted. Yet this was the opposite. It was not overly slow, but it was done with focus and precision.

The coils were neat side by side and wrapped just off her wrists. Looped between the horizontal cords were two neat vertical circuits that kept the velvety cuff from widening and rolling out of shape on her arms.

Then he looped the second cord through the cuff he’d made and knotted it in an intricate knot. His finger slid slowly around the inside of the cuff.

His breathing became shallower as he came to the end and looked at his work, as he tugged to test the hold.

“Is it too tight?”

Her head shook no.

“Anything pinching?”

“No. No, it feels good.”

The edge of need was dropping away. In its place was a calming hum of awareness. It made her feel like her brace did. Secure, hugged. The soft clasp of the cords sent a message deep into her body that she was safe, that she was held.

She wanted that feeling all over her body. She wanted to know what it would feel like to be totally wrapped in rope. Rope that Jamie gently and careful placed on her.

She was aware of him, all the smallest touches. His breathing, the slighted change in his body.

Jamie raised her arms over her head and pushed them back.

He leaned over her guiding her arms to the sofa leg.

As he reached above her, his cotton shirt caressed her cheek and nose. The soft scent of him and those oriental sticks he burned were another layer wrapping round her in comfort.

Olive opened her mouth; her teeth nipped through the cotton of his shirt and found flesh.

He jerked fractionally, growled, but he hadn’t finished tying. She rolled her face over the soft cotton and nipped again this time harder.

His hand came down under her chin and around her neck firmly lifting her face up. He slid down and kissed her hard as his face came level with hers. The kiss, his tongue, the pressure of his chest with his solid weight on her washed the world away.

It was just him.

Jamie.

Only him.

The feel of him over her. His firm grip of her chin angled her, held her right where he wanted her. His tongue demanded, thrusting, pushing into her mouth. Tasting, sliding, and teasing, overwhelming her with his taste, his pushed her to let go, to give over to him.

He pulled back and leaned over her again to complete the tie.

“Hurry.” Her voice rasped in the space. It hardly sounded like her, all tight and crumpled.

He looked down at her, his face dark and full of promises.

“Hurry is it, Olive? Do you want me to jump in and race to the finish like all those over eager boys? Is that it? Do you think I’m that kind of man?”

She shook her head no, no of course not; but her chest tightened as she tugged at her hands and they had no give.

“Do you think I wouldn’t want to take my time? Hear you pant with want? Watch as your need grows.

Her chest and neck tightened. Her body hummed. She was tied; she was willing and she wanted what came next.

“I want more.” And she did, she wanted all of this and anything else he wanted to do. So far his kisses, his touch, and the cords around her wrists were perfect, were more exciting and closer to what she wanted than what any other man she had ever met had given her.

He growled in the back of his throat, pushed her legs wider with his, and ground down between her legs. The hard length of him between them, pushing right where she needed him as his hips pressed against her.

This was what she wanted.

This is what she had laid in bed dreaming about. The feel of him above her, the weight of him pressing her down. The hot burning need for him that just grew.

She wanted his hands.

His touch.

His body releasing.

Teeth nipped her lip bringing her attention up,

“Breathe with me Olive.”

And then his tongue slipped back into her mouth, stayed there, moving, tasting, dancing. She could hardly breathe as the kiss took over everything.

She wriggled under him, tugged at the ties. All the while, his tongue pushed in and out.

He drew a thundering breath as his tongue circled her lips then his lips covered hers, and he breathed into her. The air filled her, opened her up with a click, and every part of her came into alignment and relaxed. Her mouth and throat opened, and her chest arched up into him as the air filled her.

His hips ground into her and his lips softened. Air flowed from her and he lifted slightly then breathed her breath in. Taken her into him as she had done him. She dragged another breath in; it was mixed with air from his mouth as he exhaled.

His hips pressed against her.

He took in the air she released.

And his hips pushed forward again.

The movement of their hips following the rhythm of their breath, as if their bodies danced with each gasp, rocked with each lungful they shared.

He lifted, but her head followed him up and their kiss, their shared breathing stayed locked together.

Jamie pulled away. A whimper slipped out as the ropes stopped her following him.

His eyes moved to her breasts, a dark, needy gaze that licked at her flesh.

She pushed her chest out. Her breasts offered in wanton need.

His eyes flashed. Dark, hot pleasure rippled through her belly, down through her core and between her legs as he brought his mouth over her nipple. Sucked and tugged it in his mouth.

Gently, he rubbed the stubble of his chin over one nipple then the next. A soft scrapping, sensitizing, taunting, punishing, and pleasing.

A strange whimpering came up from her chest again. A sound full of the hunger, the burst of heat between her legs, the restless ache that made her legs move.

He rubbed his chin across her nipples again, so tender so alight with feeling. Then his mouth, licked sucked and drove her wild with need as each burning stroke of his tongue sent blasts of hot sensation rioting through her body. Through her breasts, her belly, between her legs, and deep into her core.

This
man,
this
Jamie was new.

A hunger radiated from him, a commanding strength that delivered the surest of strokes and softest of attentions.

His hand moved down, unbuttoned her skirt, unbuttoned her draws, and then slid into then. Her heart raced, her breath held waiting for that one touch.

His hand slid lower, fire over her belly and lower.

The one intimate press between her legs.

The doubt, the cold night, the ache in her leg as she walked, burned away in the bliss of his skin on hers.

His face lifted.

His finger slid over her sex. Her thighs curled open in welcome.

She went to touch him and her hands jerked against the rope. The corners of his eyes creased and his mouth curled in a part smile as he teased her with touches that slid over her damp folds and nothing more.

Her back arched and she undulated, pushed her hips into his hands as her arms strained against their restraints and achy hot need coiled through. The immobilization was frustrating, exciting, her need heightened. Nothing could have prepared her for how she felt. No fantasy, no self-pleasuring came close.

He smiled fully as he looked down at her, his fingers moving between her legs and yet not where she needed as the pressure built.

“Jamie…”

“You ready?” He grinned as he finally slipped his fingers into her and then out, in and then out, and then blast him, back to sliding through her swollen lips.

All she could manage was a growl.

He laughed and partially moved over her. The weight of him pressing her down. His consummate fingers playing her past bearing.

Now she knew what those looks from across the workshop held, knew what could do to her and here they were on the floor of his parlor, rushing.

“Come for me Olive.” He whispered before kissing her hard on her mouth then moved down.

His tongue flicked her nipple, sucked then bit and at the same time as his fingers squeezed the hard small peak between her legs; and just like that, one was connected to the other. Each stroke, each flick of his tongue worked at both locations. So simple and so devastatingly perfect.

Thinking was gone, she drew her legs open wider, arched her back up to his mouth as he set up a rhythm, suck, bite, and pinch. Suck, bite, and pinch.

Building, building, and then exploding her into a frenzy of fireflies as she screamed hard.

Her eyes screwed shut and all her muscles strained as those fire-creatures flew through every part of her that could feel, could pulse, buzz, and vibrate with pleasure.

All she could feel was the rope around her wrists, her breasts and the throbbing beat of her pulse in her sex.

The warmth of him lifted.

When she opened her eyes he was standing next to her, looking down as she tried to focus in the after wash of pleasure.

He no longer looked angry; his face was hard and closed down but there was no mistaking the desire that blazed out of his eyes.

Jamie reached down and unbuttoned his trousers.

His suspenders held them up even as the front fell open. For a moment the tip of him strained above his briefs as he unbuttoned the undershorts, and then she saw him as he wrapped his hand around himself.

The thick, long length of him looked too much for where he wanted to put it. Yet her body responded as the heat between her legs grew hotter and damper. But that wasn’t where he was going to slide into her. That was not what she was going to get.

The idea and the reality collided and her chest tightened. She tugged at the ties.

The anxiety must have shown in her face. He knew that she understood what he wanted. However, was he aware she had never done this before? She lay there, hands tied above her, breasts out, and her pantaloons open.

Tightness crept into her chest. Her heart beat too loud in her ears and her breathing became faster.

“My turn, Olive.”

Oh God, this was it.

He leaned down, his hand clamped around her legs. In a few unceremonious moves, he flipped her over. The carpet tickled a bare patch on her belly.

The tightness in her chest grew.

The carpet, which was totally forgotten before, now felt like the bristles of a brush.

“Lift.” He tucked one of those de-braided cushions under her hips leaving her bottom fractionally pointed upward.

He tugged her dress and petticoats higher, pulled her pantaloons down.

They pulled her legs shut got caught on her brace.

Jamie got up.

Behind her a drawer slid open, then closed and then he bent down next to her. In moments, the material was cut away and pulled off.

She wasn’t sure she could do this.

She heard the sound of something being placed on the side table.

“What are you doing?” her voice hitched.

“You know what I’m doing, Olive.”

He moved behind her.

Coolness circled her there, at that forbidden opening. He was rubbing something on her and then a finger pushed in, moved.

Her legs pulled out wider and her back arched as the first flickers of need, a dark need rippled through her.

The pillow held her hips, his hand, and those fingers deep inside her. He rocked and slid his fingers in and out, murmuring, “That’s right. Yes, just like that.”

All thoughts rocked away, as he worked his fingers in and out, a new sensation that rippled up her back and sank an ache in her core.

“Open wider.”

The image the one where he had his finger right where it was now was with her, flashed in her mind. This, this was so much better.

She pushed her legs further apart, her muscles strained, her arms pulled out in front of her. For a moment, she imagined what it looked like from above.