For one unsettling moment, she felt as if she were solely connected to him, just there, just like that. Her knees went weak and almost boneless from the sheer insensate pleasure of it.
He took it all and she was helpless to stop him, utterly without control, totally in his power to give her that with his succulent carnal kisses.
There, and there, and there…
There was something too decadent, too erotic, and too dark about all those deep tongue-tied kisses.
As if he thought they could make her want him.
No, she could never never want him. But she could learn to live with and yearn for those unspeakable sensations he evoked in her.
She could learn to spread her legs for him whenever he commanded her.
She could learn to be the best whore and wife in the whole of St. Faubonne Parish.
But want him? Love him? No.
Her nerve endings quivered and her body quickened as his tongue caught the edge of her shimmering pleasure.
…
Her body jolted as he touched some sacred secret part of her she did not know existed
…
and she slid downward into that dark erotic place and tumbled headlong into a waterfall of silver that broke ever so gently over his tongue.
He held her hips tightly as he pushed against her, pulling every nuance of sensation from her body before he let her pull away.
And pull she did. As if she couldn't get away from him fast enough. What more could be said?
That
That this was her first brush with carnal pleasure? So likely.
That now she would offer herself willingly? Not hardly.
He made a disgusted sound and eased away from her tempting flesh. It was all he could do to keep himself from plunging into her.
She was there for the taking, her bottom tilted at exactly the angle to accommodate his roaring man flesh.
All he had to do…
'Take me,' she whispered, hoping against hope as she sensed his agonized indecision and eyed his towering erection.
'I think not, my fawn. I think the taste of you will sate me and prepare me for another day,' he murmured, clenching his hands into fists to keep from running them all over her rounded buttocks.
Instead, he forced himself to climb over her and off of the bed.
'Such a pretty sight, my fawn, in the aftermath of your pleasure.'
'Is that what it was?' she muttered, unable to keep the thread of sarcasm out of her voice.
'I see,' he said stonily, his body flinching at the thought she might have experienced this already, with Lenoir. He hadn't even considered thatthat Lenoir might have tutored her in
So there was still much for her to learnand for him, he could see that now. A man could take nothing for granted, especially when his penis was aching for release and leading him around by the nose.
'What do you see?' she demanded, alerted instantly by that tone in his voice. That tone meant his displeasure. And that he would prolong the inevitable.
She shuddered. She didn't know why she kept taunting him like that. It would only take that one moment of acquiescence to give him what he said he wanted. An actress could do it. A whore.
Surely she, even in her innocence…
Her breath caught.
She felt as if he were reading everything in her eyes. 'What do you see?' she asked again, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.
'A scared little fawn,' he said, his voice deceptively soft. 'A fawn who is still hiding from her fate.'
She made a sound. She wondered how far she could push him. She wondered if she wanted to try. 'And you're a man denying his. Look at you. You'd rather walk around with that pole sticking out than stick it into me. So either you're a coward, you don't want to for some reason, or maybemaybe your heart and mind are on someone else, too…'
She faltered at the expression in his eyes.
He could feel himself turning stone cold.
Until she learned that lesson, there wasn't a thing in the world she could do to tempt him.
And he'd keep his unruly penis at bay as well; and she would never know what that restraint cost him.
Her body betrayed her. During the night, as she restlessly tossed and turned, she felt herself stretching toward the phantom lover who had pulled such pleasure from her body.
How could she forgive him for all he had done?
She moaned and rolled over again. She could write a litany of what he'd
She choked back a groan.
She sat bolt upright, her body covered with a fine sheen of sweatfrom the unremitting thick sultry heat, or from her thoughts, desires, dreams?
She didn't want to know, didn't want to think. The collar, the straps, irritated her skin, as she supposed they were meant to do, to remind her of who owned her, and to whom she was beholden.
