minutes? Hours? I can hardly tell – there’s a light knock. I look up with a start. News at last? I hope it’s nothing bad. I can’t take any more shocks tonight.
It’s Darnley. He slips into the room and stands in the shadow by the door, letting it close quietly behind him. As I take him in I hold my breath. He’s wearing a short robe in black velour, tied at the waist. He looks lean and muscular. On his chest I catch a gleam from the small wolf’s-head logo embossed in silver. In the shadows he looks stunning, the hollows in his cheeks etched in the dim light from the lamp, emphasising the jutting, predatory cheekbones, the tough line of his jaw and the cruel possibilities of his long mouth.
He looks like he’s trying to make up his mind about me and fast losing patience because he’s still undecided. ‘Are you OK? You’ve been awake for hours. It’s late.’ He walks slowly across the room, his easy grace at odds with his troubled expression. ‘Can’t sleep?’
He runs a finger lightly over the taut knuckles clasped around my knees. ‘You’re cold. How long have you been sitting like this?’
He holds my gaze as he sits down beside me on the edge of the bed, prises my hands away and folds them into his. His warm clasp revives me enough to shift towards him and stretch out my stiff, cramped legs.
‘Did my lamp wake you?’ I shiver as feeling prickles back into my calf muscles in a shower of pins and needles.
His frown deepens and he folds his arms around me and pulls me close, his gaze stern. ‘Not exactly. The thought of you sitting in here with the light on is putting me off. What makes you sleep, Ella? What is it you need?’
I lean forward and breathe in his glorious aroma, heady and feral, and as I lift my eyes to his I see that he knows. He knows all about what I want.
At the same time a tiny part of me notices he’s still fingering the bones on my wrist, his touch gentle, warm, like he’s measuring, probing. It’s oddly arousing, just that faint, persistent touch. I’d no idea that part of me, just at the inner base of my hand, at the thinnest part of my arm, could be so sensitive.
Or maybe it’s because whenever he touches me there he seems unnaturally still.
The rest of me suffuses with deliberate, blatant lust. My breath quickens as my breasts graze the soft fabric of his robe through the thin satin stretched taut by their weight as I lean forward.
A flicker of awareness crosses his face. He can tell. The faint tilt of one eyebrow shows his reaction as clearly as if I’d said it out loud. ‘Really? Is that all?’
I reply with the faintest brush of my lips along the edge of his jaw. He sits very still for a moment as I move round to touch them to his earlobes, his neck and then the delicious hollow at the base of his throat. It’s a kind of homage but I’m powerless to invest it with any meaning. I’m simply reacting to the sensual force field that’s building around us.
‘Can I ask you a favour?’ His smile is friendly, his expression veiled.
My eyes widen briefly and then I kiss him again, scared he’ll ask me to stop and this might be my last chance.
‘Can I tie you up?’
He might be asking me to pass him a tissue. I sit up, wondering if I’ve heard him right. His expression’s calm. He’s waiting for an answer. I’ve heard about this. I’ve even heard it’s fun. But nobody’s ever asked me to do it.
My pulse shoots into overdrive, pounding in my ears and almost drowning out my instant, unthinking reply. ‘Yes.’
In minutes his velour sash is looped under the corners of the mattress and first one and then the other slim, quivering wrist is slip-tied to one of the loose ends. When he pulls on my ankles to drag me down the bed a little way, my arms are stretched wide over my head. Without the sash to confine it his robe swings open as he works, his movements brisk and efficient as he spreads my legs wide to get me into position.
I gaze entranced at the sight of his rippling skin, gleaming in the low light from the lamp as he bends over me to fix me into place for whatever enormity he’s planning.
The thought that he’s done this before – and, judging from the efficient way he’s tying me up, often – sends arousal rocketing through me in sheets of flame.
Now the power of his spell is overwhelming and I’m falling fast. I cling to reality by blurting out one more question, my voice shaky. It’s not from panic but real curiosity. It’s also a feeble bid to assert myself against the floodtide of his energy, its force so great it threatens any minute to sweep me away. ‘Why? Why are you doing this?’
He pauses as he kneels over me, his powerful thighs warm at either side of my face, the crotch of his boxers already thrillingly filled and bulging and very close to my mouth. I can smell the heady aroma of mingled spice and earth that pervades his body heat.
He shrugs off his robe and hurls it across the room where it flaps over a low chair like a defeated vampire. ‘Because I want you to keep still.’ His eyes glitter as he leans over me, his jutting erection making his intention plain.
He grabs my ankles and hauls me down the bed a little further, forces a pillow under my hips and then pushes my thighs apart until they ache. He leans back on his haunches to admire me for a moment before he swoops down to kiss me on the lips, his tongue insistent and probing, forcing gently into my mouth and then lingering, massaging mine in a gentle greeting – or is it staking a claim? – before pulling away.
He looks deep into my eyes and for a second I see a glimmer of heat. ‘And because I like it.’
He pulls away and moves back down my body to where I’m splayed wide, open to his inspection and now throbbing painfully, powerless and aroused to the point of numbness. ‘Are you always as swollen as this?’ He peers at me intently and begins to probe me gently with his fingers, easing into me with the sure touch of an expert.
I gasp at his touch, my thighs jerking back together in a reflex utterly beyond my control, but his response is swift and painful.
He slaps me hard on my inner thigh. ‘Keep still or I’ll tie your ankles too.’
Now I’m staring at him in shock, my neck aching from the effort of holding up my head to see what he’ll do next. I’m starting to tremble and it’s making me jumpy.
He probes again, his fingers intimate and wildly provoking. He watches me closely as he does it. ‘Hey, easy. Lie back. I’m not going to hurt you, Ella. I just want to try something.’
What kind of thing? I stare back at him, helpless in his gaze as he probes me again, his eyes fierce but his touch gentle as a whisper, as if to prove he can do nice as well as nasty. And all at once I want both, and fast. I grin at the enormity of my surrender, my lips parted to drag in air. ‘Yes.’
It’s all he needs. Triumph flickers in his eyes as he lowers his head and begins to feast.
His tongue could launch ships or start wars. I’ve never been so tormented, so teased or so relished in all my life. He sweeps its long, strong tip all along one side of my wide, splayed dip, skims the apex and then runs it down the other side, sending bolts of arousal shooting through me. Then he does it again. And again. And infinitely slowly he works his way into my folds, testing and tasting deep into my petals, parting each layer with patience and careful skill as if each hidden
