Chapter Twenty-Two
When the storm of her anger had passed, she realized she was curled within the length of Qavox’s forearm.
It was hard, and warm, like the slate hearth under a winter’s fire.
She could feel the coiled strength of it beneath her own soft flesh.
She lay still, reveling in this new sensation of being utterly helpless, yet totally protected from the outside world.
“Don’t think anymore, Princess,” he whispered, the reverberations echoing and reechoing through her body. “Plenty of time for that tomorrow . . .”
—The Dragon and the Blue Star by Analise Crewe
Dex led Ana into her bedchamber and extinguished the candles the servants had lit on the bedside tables.
“Here are the rules. Tonight is about you discovering the pleasure your body is capable of. I’ll do nothing you don’t explicitly consent to.
If I give you an order that you don’t wish to comply with, simply refuse.
I will honor your wishes. Though I believe you’ll find you want to obey.
You may not touch me unless given express permission. ”
“I can’t touch you?”
“Not yet. Another rule: we never spend the night together.” He couldn’t risk it. When he had nightmares about the war, he thrashed about, sometimes even waking in a cold sweat, his fists bruised from punching the headboard. He never wanted to hurt her.
“So many rules.”
“It’s the way it must be. Now stand there, by the fire, and let me look at you.”
She walked to the fireplace and stared at him defiantly. “Is this precisely the right spot?”
“Stand with your hands at your side and your feet slightly apart.”
She was a vision of sensuality. The wine had given her cheeks a healthy glow.
Her freckles stood out like the kiss of bee pollen on a rose.
The gown rippled like sea foam over her body.
He sipped from a tumbler of brandy as he viewed her from every angle, knowing that the heat of his gaze would increase her anticipation.
He walked toward her, stopping an arm’s length away. He caught the end of the silk sash tied about her waist between his thumb and forefinger, stroking the soft silk. Her gaze dropped, watching the movement, her mouth unconsciously parting.
“Now I’m going to untie your sash and use it to secure your wrists to remind you that you can’t touch me.
I won’t bind you too tightly. You’ll be able to slip free should you so choose.
But I don’t think you will. There’s a freedom that comes with surrendering control.
If you’re good, and you allow me to tie you, and you don’t attempt to touch me, I’ll reward you. ”
When her wrists were tied behind her back, he left one of his hands on the silk bow, taking a lingering satisfaction in the way the position thrust her breasts forward.
Her breathing was shallow and erratic, her pupils dilated. She was under his spell.
“God, you’re beautiful, Ana,” he whispered in her ear.
He tugged on the silk tie and her wrists lifted farther.
“I’m going to devour you. I’m going to make you scream my name.
You’re going to lose yourself and demand to touch me and then I’ll have to take you over my knee and spank you for such naughty behavior. ”
“S-spank me?” she said breathily.
He ran his free hand over the contours of her lush bottom. “Yes. You need discipline in the worst way.” He showed her what he meant by slapping one bum cheek lightly.
“Oh,” she cried softly.
Keeping hold of her wrist tie, he cupped her bottom, bringing her flush against his erection. She glanced down at where their bodies met, wriggling softly against him, her thighs parting.
“Do you feel that? That’s what you’ve done to me.
I was hard all through dinner watching you eat, watching you drink that wine.
I was thinking about ravishing you. I wanted to tousle that careful coiffure.
” He removed the silk bandeau holding up her hair and waves of red gold tumbled over her shoulders.
“I imagined ripping your gown.” He caught the silk in both hands and ripped it easily, exposing her small, perfect breasts. “Most of all I wanted to taste you.”
He lowered his head and sucked on each of her nipples in turn, flicking them with his tongue until they were hard peaks and she was panting, her head thrown back, knees buckling.
In one swift movement he caught her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Removing her gown, he made short work of her petticoats, stays, and shift, leaving only her white stockings and pale green garters.
He placed her bound wrists over her head. She kept her thighs clenched tightly.
“Open your legs,” he commanded.
The way he ordered her about gave her the frissons. Up and down her spine. Between her shoulder blades. Inside her belly. Between her thighs.
He’d told her that he spoke freely in the bedchamber, but she hadn’t truly believed him, hadn’t imagined this steady stream of commands and praise. She’d complied thus far, but really . . . exposing herself on top of the bedcovers . . . it was too much.
She kept her thighs closed. “Mightn’t I go beneath the sheets?”
“I want to see you. It’s half the pleasure for me. Looking at you, watching you obey my commands. Open your thighs, Ana. Show yourself to me.”
She closed her eyes tightly, as if that would make her feel less exposed, and inched her thighs apart.
“Good. Now wider.” She heard his breathing grow heavier, sensuality lowering his voice to a husky growl. “Wider.
“Fuck. Ana.”
Those filthy words he used. She hadn’t expected that. The low growl in his throat as his fingers traced the line of her inner thighs. She peeped through her eyelashes and he was staring intently at her body. He brushed his thumb over a place that made her hips buck.
“Easy, Ana. I’m not going to hurt you. Quite the opposite.” She closed her eyes again, collapsing against the pillows.
She felt the bed move as he lowered his weight onto it, felt his huge hands slide underneath her bottom to lift her for his .
. . what was that wet sensation? She opened her eyes.
His head was between her thighs. He was .
. . licking her. Good God. It was so unexpected and at first it felt so strange that she cried out.
He stilled, lifting his head. “You don’t like it? ”
“It’s so strange. I don’t know if I like it or not.”
“Relax into it. Try not to think too hard. I’ll stop if you don’t like it, but give it a chance.”
“All right,” she said shakily. She lay back and he resumed his position. He applied a gentle, soft pressure with his tongue in the same way he’d kissed her lips in the library. After a few moments it began to feel good. Then it began to feel exquisite.
She shifted her hips, wanting him to move a fraction to the right. He complied, listening to her body’s demands. “Oh . . . yes, there.”
Dex was silent once more, this time because his mouth was occupied with the business of bringing her bliss. A melting, pleasurable sensation began undulating inside her.
For the first time in her life Ana couldn’t find words to describe what was happening. She didn’t even want to imagine an alternate version of this moment. Her imagination completely shut down. She was a body, made of hair, skin, bones, sinew, blood. A body filled with one objective: pleasure.
Her abdomen shook and her inner thigh muscles clenched.
Her face flushed with heat and her breasts felt heavy and sensitive.
He took little breaks every now and then, stopping for a moment.
When she lifted her hips, he resumed. In that way she knew that she controlled his movements.
Even though her wrists were tied over her head, she was in control.
“I think . . . I think I’m going to . . .”
His tongue moved faster, just in the right location, and her focus was on the place beneath his tongue that pulsed with need. Only a few moments more . . . there . . .
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, yes.”
When the pleasure had ebbed and he’d moved up her body to rest next to her, lazily tracing circles on her belly with his fingers, she released a long sigh. “That was starry,” she said. “Tiny little white stars, sparkling through my body.”
He untied her wrists, moving her hands to her belly. “The next one will be like the sun, burning through you swiftly.”
He slid down her body, intent on his mission to make her his.
“Wait—”
“You don’t want another climax?”
“I want to see you. You still have your clothing on.”
“Easily remedied.” He jumped off the bed and shrugged out of his coat.
He unknotted his cravat with one brutal tug that for some reason made the waves of pleasure resume in her belly.
She noticed that he kept the scarred side of his face turned away from her while he undressed.
His profile was all powerful lines drawn with a bold hand.
His dark chestnut hair was wavy, and it gleamed in the firelight.
His eyes were the cold color of frost on steel.
He removed his shirt and stood with his arms at his sides.
“Are all of those bulging muscles from bareknuckle boxing?”
“Among other rugged pursuits. I like to chop my own firewood. Build my own carriages.”
When he stepped out of his trousers and smallclothes, she gaped at what had been revealed. Thick thighs, as big around as tree trunks, and between them . . . “Um . . . I think I’ve changed my mind about the consummation. I don’t want to marry you, after all.”
“It’s a little late for that.” He stood proudly, hands on his narrow hips, thick thighs and long limbs planted on the carpet, his enormous, erect male member pointed directly at her.
“This will never work.”
His lips quirked. “It will work. Trust me. But not yet. I don’t think you’ve achieved the heights that you’re capable of.”
He lay down on the bed next to her. “Roll over so that you are face down.”
Every time she obeyed one of his commands, Dex experienced a bone-deep thrill. His bride was so beautiful. She trusted him enough to roll over and bury her face in the pillow, her body quivering slightly.
He’d reward that trust, that sweet compliance.
He moved into position over her, parting her legs slightly to allow his cock to slot into place inside the soft, smooth heat of her thighs.
She tensed beneath him.
“I’m not going to take you, yet. This is a position that will give you pleasure.”
She made a soft sound, a moan, of protest? But this was his night, his rules. He wouldn’t take her, not yet. She turned her head to the side, her curly red hair like fire licking the white pillowcase.
He slid between her thighs and when he found the wetness lubricating his way he groaned, kissing her cheek, the back of her neck, while he moved slowly, angling upward to stroke over her core.
She understood the aim soon enough, moving with him, finding her pleasure.
Damn. It was all he could do to hold himself in check. He longed to bury his cock in her to the hilt but not before she orgasmed again. Not until she cried out his name and begged him to take her.
“Please.” She rubbed against him, angling her hips up so that he nearly slipped inside her.
“Not yet.” He held her wrists against the bed, controlling their movements. She whimpered, but complied, going still under him. He let go of one of her wrists and moved his hand beneath her, using his fingers and his cock to pleasure her.
She began to shudder, her breathing coming in gasps. She was close now.
“Come for me, Ana. I know you can do it.”
“I . . . can’t,” she moaned.
“You can. Don’t try so hard. Let yourself float into it.”
“Oh . . . Dex. That feels so good.”
The sound of her voice speaking his name made his heart stop for a few beats.
Finally, he felt her body tense and then loosen as she moaned her release. He continued stroking her with whisper-soft movements, drawing the final little twitches and gasps from her until she lay still, panting. “You’re my good girl,” he whispered in her ear.
He rolled her over, notching himself into position.
She stiffened, her whole body tensing.
“It may hurt,” he said. “I’ll go slowly.” He eased into her a mere inch.
She gasped, cried out with pain.
He stopped, holding himself in check.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her voice sounding strained.
He stared into her eyes. They were wide, frightened.
“Just get it over with.”
He rolled off of her. Those weren’t the words he wanted to hear.
Take me, Dex. I’m yours.
Those were the right words. And he could wait to consummate this marriage until he heard them.
“Is something wrong?” she asked softly.
“It’s late. You’ve had your lessons in pleasure for the evening. I’ll leave you now.”
He grabbed his clothes and boots and left her there.
His bed was cold. Ana-less.
Sleep, when it finally came, was filled with dreams of flame-licked hair, pleasure-hazed green eyes, and his name spoken on a breathy moan.