Chapter Twenty-One
Although Emily did nothing the remainder of the journey but tease Oliver almost past his endurance, he insisted they eat a small luncheon before going up to the room he had hired for them.
“Believe me, we’ll need to keep our strength up,” he said, procuring them a table and platter of cold meats and cheeses. “And you should have some ale.”
She wrinkled her nose suspiciously. “Why?”
“Call it a rite of passage.”
“Will I like it?”
He grinned. “Almost assuredly not.”
To her credit, eyes blazing on his, she raised her tankard to her mouth and took a large swallow. Then she coughed, placing it back on the table so firmly that the liquid spilt across the sticky wood. “That’s vile.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said, taking another gulp.
“Do you truly enjoy drinking that?”
“Enjoy is a strong word,” he said. “I suppose it’s all part of an inn’s charm, drinking something that more resembles piss than anything close to human consumption.”
She looked at him appraisingly. “You are more vulgar when in a place like this.”
He winked at her. “Naturally. A man ought to fit in with his surroundings.”
“What about when you’re with your peers in a drawing room? Are you more refined then?”
“I rarely find myself in respectable drawing rooms.”
“How about disrespectable ones?”
“What do you think I was doing in London all that time?” When she looked at him, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and horror, he nudged her knee with his foot. “I mostly spent my time in places such as this. Coffee houses. Gentlemen’s clubs, that sort of thing.”
“Ah,” she said. “You were a degenerate.”
“Has it taken you this long to come to that conclusion? For shame.”
“You can only have yourself to blame.”
“Are you suggesting I have behaved like a gentleman during the entirety of our acquaintance?”
Colour ran up her neck to her cheeks. She was positively delectable when she blushed. “Well,” she said. “Not the entirety of our acquaintance.”
“Mm, can you recall a specific time in particular I was less than gentlemanly?”
“Oliver,” she hissed.
“No one can hear us,” he said, settling back into his chair. “Eat up, then we can retire upstairs.” At the poorly concealed irritation on her face, his grin widened. “Cheer up, darling. Once you have me in your bed, I’m sure you can punish me all you like.”
Her eyes held a thousand promises, and all of them made his blood heat. “Oh don’t you worry,” she said, the words faintly threatening. “I will.”
If Oliver had thought that having kissed Emily several times, he might ever not lose his mind when she kissed him, he would have been very wrong.
Of course, some of that could be attributed to the fact he had been aroused for so long.
When she met his tongue with hers, he wanted to groan in relief.
This was almost too much, and yet he would never have enough.
When did lust become obsession? And how long before he crossed from one to the other?
He suspected he might already have made the leap.
“Where do you want me?” he asked against her mouth. “And how?”
She pushed at his shoulders, forcing him back to the bedposts. “Stand there,” she instructed. “Take off your clothes.”
Well this he delighted in. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her cheeks pinked at his immediate subservience.
Aware that she was watching him, and with every intention of provoking her interest, he removed his cravat and carefully placed it to one side.
Then he unbuttoned his coat, fumbling with the buttons somewhat thanks to his one inoperable hand.
After undoing that and his waistcoat, shrugging it from himself a little awkwardly, he contrived to tug his shirt over his head.
All that remained were his breeches.
She watched, chest rising and falling, her eyes tracing across every line of his body.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked, oddly desperate for her answer, her validation. It didn’t matter how he had been received before; he wanted her to approve.
“I do,” she said, her gaze flicking back to his and softening a fraction. “Do you need help with your trousers?”
Of course he wanted help, but she had asked him to undress himself. “I can do it.”
“Go on then.”
“As you command, my lady.” He unlaced them, then drew them down his legs, letting his erection spring free.
She was still fully dressed, though he could see the slight outline of her nipples behind the material of her dress, and the awareness of his vulnerability made desire pulse through him.
His cock twitched. She tracked the movement.
“Well?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “What next, my lady? Do you wish for me to be on the bed so you can ride me again?”
“No.” She sat on the edge of the bed, drawing her skirts up and removing her shoes. Then she rolled down her stockings and glanced back at him, mischief and intent in her eyes. He thought then that he might be lost. Forever was a long time, and yet he suspected he had already given it to her.
No—she had taken it when he was not looking. And by God, he had not been a man until she had made him into one.
She knotted the stockings together and approached, taking his one good arm and drawing it behind his back.
From there, she tied his wrist to the bedpost. Then she took a blanket from the bed—a rather ragged, worn thing—and wrapped it around his upper chest, tying it in a knot behind the bedpost, holding him upright.
From there, she surveyed him, lips pursed, and he strained to be closer.
“Emily,” he said.
“Can you break free?”
“If I tried, I expect I could. Do you wish me to try?”
“No.” Her frown lightened, and she smiled. “I think this is precisely where I want you.”
“Helpless before you?” He swallowed as she removed a pillow from the bed and placed it on the floor by his feet. Surely she wasn’t about to—
“Yes,” she said. “That. Now.” She rested one hand against his thigh, and he sucked in a breath.
The anticipation made him feel as though he was walking on air, as though he might be struck down to earth by lightning any second, but heaven above it was worth it.
“I have not done this for a while. Give me instructions if I don’t please you.
” She cast him a long look from below, the angle making her eyelashes look as though they almost reached her brows, and he thought it would be a miracle if he survived this.
“But this is not all I intend. You may not finish.”
Now that would be the greater miracle.
“I will try,” he said.
“Do not try.” Her fingers squeezed his thigh. “Succeed.”
He had barely a moment to prepare himself before her lips slid down on him and all thoughts emptied from his brain.
Against his will, his hips bucked, wanting more of that sweet heat, but she pressed that hand into his thigh in a silent command.
He gathered himself enough to obey. Her mouth was heaven—hot and wet, her tongue caressing him as she slid slowly up and down.
The slightest accidental graze of her teeth sent shivers through him.
Heat barrelled down his spine, and he stiffened, his hand curling into a fist behind him.
If he really wanted, he could escape. She had not tied her knots tightly—either she did not know how, or she wanted to leave him this small freedom. The ability to disregard her wishes.
Perhaps that was the greater show of control.
She cupped his balls, squeezing softly, and he made a sound partway between a whine and an anguished groan.
“Slow,” he gasped. “This is—” His head fell back against the post. She was turning him systematically inside out, and he could do nothing about it. He wanted to do nothing; this was the singular greatest pleasure he had experienced thus far.
His knees trembled. She glanced up at him from where she knelt, that delectable mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Slow?” she echoed, and licked the sensitive skin right at the top. “Are you certain?”
“If you wish me to keep my word to you, then yes.” His knees buckled as she treated him to another long lick, as though he were a delicacy she was only just experiencing. He cursed, low and under his breath, and when she chuckled, he cursed again, louder. “Have mercy on me.”
“Mercy.” She rested both her hands on his thighs and looked up at him, a vision of such sensuality that he groaned aloud again. “I don’t think I will. Remember your promise, Oliver.”
When she lowered her mouth on him again, he knew it was a challenge.
He was almost certain he would fail.
What man could succeed in the face of such provocation? He wanted her too badly, and the hot slide of her tongue was a pleasure so great, he thought it might stop his heart.
“Please,” he said, the words slipping free. “Please, Emily. Slow, slow. Go slowly now.” He shuddered as she brought him to the edge, then paused, testing his restraint. Gritting his teeth, he held back with every ounce of his being.
“Hm?” She pressed a kiss to his hipbone. “What did you say?”
“Please, Emily.” It was as though he had been on the edge for so long, he had forgotten how it felt not to be seconds away from spilling everywhere. “Please, darling. Have mercy on me. Let me taste you. Let me touch you. Please, go slowly.”
A smile spread across her lips. “I like it when you beg.” She took him in her hand. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” When she pumped her hand, he near whimpered.
“Perhaps,” he said, tugging at the restraints just enough that he felt as though he was trapped there.
His entire body trembled with the force of sensation—the pressure in his wrist where he was bound, the press of the blankets wrapped around his chest, holding him in place.
The solidity of the bed behind him. At least it was not a flimsy thing; he had faith it would catch him if his knees gave out.
“I am so—” A gasp shuddered out of him as she paused again, right on the brink, sensing from his body language when he would pass the point of no return and stopping just before it. She was an adept student, and he was more than happy to be the means by which she experimented.
Again and again, she denied him just before his peak, until he felt as though she had melted him into a puddle of wax. Eventually, she raised her head.
“Now,” she said, “it’s your turn.”