Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Leith
Jesus fucking Christ, the woman’s a masterpiece.
Her bottom and legs are striped with bright pink marks from my belt.
I know I’m stronger than her, could easily overpower her, and with that knowledge, I didn’t whip her but gave her a taste of discipline.
I’m not sure I could punish harshly if she earned it.
The spanking I gave her had the exact effect I hoped it would.
Brought a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye, latent desire written on her features. Her breasts are fuller, nipples hardened, and I know if I touched her between the legs, she’d be soaking wet.
I watch her walk to where the bags lie waiting, and with trembling hands, remove a pair of lacy white knickers with a matching bra.
She looks at me, holds them up with eyes wide open, and shakes her head.
“You don’t like those?”
She looks at them as if they’re snakes ready to bite and shakes her head.
“Put them on.”
When she bites her lip with hesitation, I lift my belt in my hand, fully prepared to bend her over the arm of the couch and make sure she does what she’s told.
But she notes my move and quickly bends, stepping into the knickers.
She’s gorgeous and willowy, as graceful as a dove, and when she slides the knickers up her legs, I stifle a groan, jealous of her very own fingers touching her skin.
“They’re perfect,” I tell her, nodding to encourage her to continue to try things on.
The room feels warm, my trousers tight as I watch her shimmy on a pair of tight leggings that hug every curve.
She bites her lip while she lifts her arms and tugs on a soft, slim-fitting sweater in a blue a shade darker than her eyes.
It hits her hips and she lifts her eyes to me. I swallow hard.
“Aye, lass, you look fucking amazing.”
She smiles almost bashfully, as if she isn’t used to accepting compliments from anyone.
"Go on," I tell her. “Let's see some more. I see a wee bit of a stack there, don’t I?”
She looks with wide eyes to the pile of boxes and bags as if she’s just remembered they were there, and again hesitates, but when her eyes come back to me, I nod to her.
I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or ashamed, or so out of her element she hardly knows where to begin. But I’ll walk her through it.
The woman fascinates me. I’ve never met a woman like her before.
Even if she could talk, something tells me she’d be shy and reserved about it.
She’s an observer, not one to call attention to herself, and when the time comes for her to say something, she’s deliberate and careful with how she chooses her words. I have so very many questions for her.
Was she always like this, or did she lose her ability to speak because of trauma? If she once had the gift of speech, was she classy and reserved even then?
But soon, my questions come to a stuttering halt, since she’s edging off her leggings and top and folding them neatly on the table as she goes. She points to her bra and lifts questioning brows to me. She wants to know if I need to see the others.
Jesus, I love how she defers to me without question. I love that she trusts me with this, asking me permission for what happens next.
“No, lass, you may leave those on as you dress.” I swallow as she turns away to choose another outfit. “For now.”
Her eyes fly back to mine, wide with fear or surprise. She blinks, and I wonder what she wants to ask me.
For now?
Do those words bother her? Is she afraid of what I’ll do to her?
She’s smart if she is, for she doesn’t know me from a fucking stranger, doesn’t know who I am or what I’m capable of. I nod at the clothing.
“Go on, Cairstina. Or do you intend on keeping me waiting?” My hand rests on my folded belt. I watch as her gaze shifts to where my hand lies. Her fingers come to her throat, and she shivers visibly. She shakes her head.
No.
She quickly turns back to the folded clothing and removes a pair of trousers and a soft pink top. She quickly dresses again, and I give her an approving nod.
“Aye. Those are lovely.” They’ll do for everyday, no doubt.
Next, she picks up a pretty dress, long-sleeved and heavy for the cold winter. She holds it up to me, brows raised questioningly.
I nod. “Aye, lass. That one. You’d wear it with one of those pairs of boots.”
She frowns, and I wonder why.
“Cairstina, text me what you’re thinking.”
She looks up at me quickly, then scans the room until she finds her mobile. A moment later, the text comes through.
I’m not sure I’d ever need something like this. How long are you keeping me?
I answer quickly.
As long as I need to.
She frowns, scowling at the phone, then texts back.
Why would I tell on you? The mean men that came tried to hurt my friend.
I think before I reply. I don’t think she’d tell on us, no, but I’m not sure I want her going back home. I like her here with me, but if I tell her that she’ll run away.
I said I’d keep you as long as I need to. Are you questioning me?
Her head snaps up and she holds my gaze.
“Don’t question me, lass.” I tap the belt wordlessly beside me. She looks down, then back to me, and I swear her eyes are heated with a blend of anger and arousal that mirrors my own.
Her eyes meet mine once more, this time bold and challenging as she slips off the dress and lets it pool on the floor. Whereas before she was neat and ordered about things, folding the clothes as she took them off, her behavior this time is radically different.
Her gaze is somewhere between demure and defiant, curious one moment and passionate the next, a world of thoughts and emotions embedded in her eyes that holds me hostage. She doesn’t need to be able to speak. Her eyes do the talking for her.
She steps out of the sweater dress, then reaches for the clasp at her back.
She unfastens her bra, and the silky fabric pops off her body and slinks to the floor.
Next come her knickers. I swallow as her thumbs hook into the edge of her knickers, the lace wound around her fingers like she’s about to perform magic.
If she could speak, she’d say an incantation, I’m that taken with her movements.
I’m on my feet before I realize what I’m doing, stalking over to where she stands rooted in bold challenge.
She doesn’t flinch or step back. She doesn’t even blink but stares at me, her naked body like a beacon in the night, calling for me to pull my ship ashore.
Will I crash upon the rocks? Has she bewitched me?
When I reach her, she stands with fists clenched by her side, and I’m suddenly insistent on making the anger in her eyes fade so I have my pretty, submissive captive once more.
I gather her in my arms, and she fits here so perfectly, folding into me like I’m her resting place.
Her arms encircle my neck as mine wrap around her back, and I pull her to me without hesitation.
I close my eyes, lost to sensation. Heated panting.
Soft breaths. The scent dew-kissed daisies touched with summer’s sweetness.
Her soft, silky, naked skin beneath my fingers.
I realize with a sudden shock that her shoulders shake a little. I pull back, and blink in surprise to see her cheeks damp with tears.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, astounded that an embrace could bring about such a visceral reaction from her.
She shakes her head, and when she closes her eyes, two more tears roll down her cheeks. Oh, if she could speak, what would she say?
I reach for her mobile and shove it into her hand.
“Tell me why you cry.”
She sniffs as she quickly types.
No one’s ever held me like that before.
I don’t expect the way she impacts me. It’s like I’ve been given a gift I never expected, a rare treasure worth more than anything I’ve ever sought or won.
I’m the first man she’s kissed.
The first that’s held her.
I’ll be her first everything.
I shake my head, and wrap one arm around her while I brush my fingers through her hair. “You’ve been mistreated.”
She doesn’t respond, of course, not even a nod or a text this time.
I hold her to me, inhaling her fragrance and feeling her soft breathing on my neck.
“You’ve been abused, even.”
Again, no response. Does she fear the same here?
I want to carry her to my bedroom, lay her down on my bed, and make love to her until I’ve drawn every possible emotion from her, until she looks to me to give her everything.
I want her to feel connected and safe. Owned.
I don’t want her worrying about who will hurt her.
I want her to know that I’m the one who will protect her.
“Come here,” I say, drawing her nearer. I run my hand over her shoulder, down her back, to her heated arse, still striped with my belt. Her breathing hitches, and she moves a little closer, so her legs are pressed up to mine.
I slide my hand down her chest, palming her breasts and cupping her belly before I place the heel of my palm between her legs. Her pelvis jerks, and she holds me tighter.
This woman’s never experienced the heat of passion or the afterglow of making love. She’s never experienced any of that.
I’ll fix that.
I bend and capture her mouth with mine. She kisses me back, and I lose myself to her. So soft, so sensual, so evocative. I slide my tongue into her mouth, a gentle exploration, as I let my fingers do an exploration of their own.
She nearly collapses against me, her hips jerking as I stroke her, and her pussy spasms as my tongue meets hers.
Her arms tighten around my neck, and I increase the tempo of my fondling, her tongue sending frissons of arousal and awareness through me.
I circle harder, faster, until she’s writhing and her hips jerk against my hand.
I ease her climax out of her gently, until she sags against my shoulder, her arms draped around my shoulders as if I just rescued her from drowning.
I want to do so much more to her. So much fucking more to her.
“It’s time to go downstairs in a while, but you need some rest first, I think.”