Chapter Ten #2
He licked and sucked and she thrashed her head, the lust overtaking her mind. He knew just how to call out the strongest reactions and seemed intent on doing exactly that. Already sweat beaded her brow, her skin covered in gooseflesh that only added to the turmoil.
When he scraped his teeth against her hardened flesh, a shriek escaped the gag.
He repeated the motion. White fire scorched through her, her fingers clenching.
Her hips lifted, her sex aching and wet and wanting to be filled.
Damn him, he still wore his clothing. Which meant he had no intention of giving her release anytime soon.
The notion sent her desire to a new level, and she thought she might burst into flame, leaving her nothing but cinders in its wake.
She took a deep breath, desperate to steady her spinning senses.
The sight of his dark head against her pale flesh as he moved to her other breast sent another sharp pang of need through her core.
He lavished her other nipple with the same exquisite attention.
Gillian collapsed weak on the bed, resigning herself to the inevitable hours ahead.
As soon as the thought rose, she found an acceptance of the situation, tinged with excitement.
Why not take advantage of his talents? He knew well how to draw out her pleasure; he'd thoroughly taught her that in the last few days.
She could, and would, enjoy this, much as he did, without guilt.
After all, he'd left her with no choice.
He held all the power and control. Yet, she knew ultimately he would give her pleasure, even if she had to wait for it to happen at his whim.
At the same time, the realization also brought another thought. He couldn't win if she liked what he did. He would not outwit her.
Still, a residual dread skittered along her spine, borne of the fear he would truly drive her mad this time.
He pulled away and the glimmer in his eyes warned of his diabolical intent. To her surprise, he rose and went once again to the wardrobe. What did he seek now? Fear and excitement warred within her, neither gaining a solid foothold which left her feeling as though she floated.
When he turned back to her, she choked on a strangled cry. Nay! She shook her head, trying to shrink into the mattress.
"I gathered these from the mews."
He twirled the hawk feathers in his fingers and approached the bed.
"You are mad!" Her words were distorted, but his smile revealed he'd understood.
"Mad? Mayhap. But ere long, I think you will be as well."
He glided the tip of the feather along her cheek.
Fire exploded in its wake and she turned away.
But the motion only allowed him to drag the quill down her neck and to her ear.
The sensation drew a chuckle, despite her effort to conceal it.
When he drew the feather along her outstretched arm, she tugged mightily.
Jesu! The torment left her exhilarated and trembling.
And fearful where the feather's journey might end.
"So, wife, did you ever think your hawks could bring you pleasure of another kind?"
He dipped the feather into the hollow under her arm. She writhed and gave a little shriek at the ticklish feelings. God's bones, he would kill her, but damned if she didn't want him to continue.
He did, and she lowered her gaze to his hand as he dragged the feather toward her breast. She bit against the cloth silencing her, holding her breath as she waited, letting it out when he stroked the underside of her breast. She couldn't look away, mesmerized by the tawny feather circling her skin.
Her nipples hardened, aching for a touch, any touch, but he avoided them, content to circle around them and tease her by moving closer, then away.
He stopped and sat beside her. She wanted to scream for him to continue. Instead, she closed her eyes, breathing heavily.
"I fear you enjoy this too much."
Her eyes snapped open and she frantically shook her head. Her jumbled protests didn't hold enough conviction to convince herself, let alone him.
He gave her a wicked grin and a wink and once more drew the feather to her body. It took every bit of her determination not to urge him to hurry.
The tip landed on her nipple this time, stroking across and around it. A whine escaped, her back bowing, seeking more. He repeated the actions on her other breast and she squeezed her eyes shut to bear the exquisite torture.
The feather moved away from her breasts, down her belly. Her initial suspicions confirmed, she braced herself. Damn the man for taking his time, letting the quill meander across her skin, trailing frustration and delight. Her gasps rose in pitch revealing more than she wanted.
He moved again, settling once more between her widespread legs. The vulnerable position left her uneasy and eager at the same time. How did he stir such conflicting thoughts, so she didn't even care what he might do?
The feather skimmed her thighs, and her muscles strained. She couldn't even flail her legs, he held her so securely.
"Gillian."
Her name, uttered on a husked and shaky breath, drew her from the riot in her head. She opened her eyes and met his penetrating stare. She understood his silent question but made no attempt to give him any sort of response, lifting her chin in a dare.
"As I thought." His voice, husked with passion, seemed a caress of its own. "Stubborn wench."
He smiled, a devilish grin that left her quivering and wondering if she'd been too reckless in challenging him this time. For a few moments more, he held her gaze as his hand settled on her sex, spreading her open. She panted and tried to twist away, to no avail.
At the first stroke of the feather along her pussy, she nearly swooned.
The hint of touch teased and excited. He did it again, now moving in a steady motion along her slickened flesh.
He paused, to exchange the wet feather for another, and continued teasing her flesh.
Again and again, until the third time he switched feathers.
She sucked in a deep breath, waiting to see how he would further torment her over-sensitized sex.
The tip of the feather brushed lightly across her clit, circling and stroking, giving just a taste of what she knew he could make her feel. Each gentle stroke felt delightful, but they weren't nearly enough, and the heat roared through her.
Gillian's head tossed in a vain effort to withstand the tantalizing tease. But Royce seemed to know just where to move the feather to bring out the most intense sensations. Her entire body tensed, tight as a bowstring, her hips rising to meet the diabolical kiss of the feather.
On and on he went, until madness sank into her thoughts. Razor-sharp need consumed her, bitter, sweet and so delicious. The feather continued to dance on her flesh, until she could bear no more.
"My lord, you're killing me!" She prayed he understood her mangled plea.
***
Though he didn't understand her words, the pleading in her voice sank into Royce's lust-dazed senses.
He leaned back, studying his wife. The suspicion she enjoyed this too much rose swift and sure.
He couldn't be positive if her words were a plea for him to stop or continue.
He reached behind her and untied the cloth jammed between her teeth.
Might he now get the confession he desperately wanted, much as he didn't want to hear it?
Hearing her admit her affair with another man might push his rage past the point of any control.
But she remained stubbornly silent. So be it.
His heart raced at the thought of continuing.
He turned his attention to her sex. Swollen and red, the soft flesh pulsed, her hips undulating and offering herself to him.
He ached to bury himself within her, but would not do that yet.
Damn her, she would beg him and tell him the truth. He would have that at all costs.
He ran his fingers along her pussy and the low moan that escaped her jolted into his cock. He kept at the teasing motions and sensed when to stop. When he did, she whined, but no words came forth. Just those enticing whimpers and moans that made his cock throb.
He shook his head, giving her time for her body to come back from the edge of release. How he read her so well, he still didn't understand, but he half-hoped she would continue being stubborn. The delight in tormenting her had become a pleasure he had no intentions of surrendering.
Time to change tactics. When her squirming settled, he leaned back. A quick flick of his hand had his palm slamming into her sex. Her eyes widened, her entire body stiffening in shock with the sudden sting. Her rough cry reverberated within him, his dick now painfully hard.
He drew back and did it again. This time, her shout sounded more like a pleased moan.
She arched her back, lifting her pussy to him, as if asking for another.
Knowing she took pleasure in the strike left his head spinning.
Instead of repeating the blow, he resumed his soft and teasing strokes of her moist folds.
Now her cries took on a desperate pitch. He was close to getting what he wanted.
He stopped touching her and leaned back, savoring the way her lids fluttered open. Her gaze remained hazy and unclear. Pain or lust? A combination of both? Mayhap.
"Why?"
The whispered word gave him pause. He found himself desperate to take her now, bury himself deep within her body. Nay! Not this time. An image of her guard reminded him of why he had taken this course of action. He would have the truth from her.
"Because I can. You will tell me what I wish, nay, what I need to know. By now, you should know I trust no one completely. You especially, have given me reason to suspect you of many things. Adultery I will not tolerate."