An Introduction to Pleasure (25 page)

But he didn’t. She opened her eyes as he glided his mouth down lower, nibbling and kissing behind her knee, against her calf, even along her bare foot. Every touch was electric against her skin, sending jolts of pleasure through her entire body. She ached like she’d never ached before. She longed for him to touch her in new ways, to take her body and claim it.

But instead he sat up on his knees, still fully dressed and stared down at her. She leaned toward him, almost against her will, until her arms strained at the binds and her wrists ached from the velvet cutting into her flesh. It took everything in her to remain silent, submissive, but she did it so that he wouldn’t take away whatever release she had already earned.

Slowly he lifted his hands and tugged his shirt open. He tossed it on the floor and went to work on his breeches. She stared as his flesh was revealed and realized she’d never really watched the entire show of his undressing. They were always touching, or she was distracted by his kiss. But now she could watch him get naked for her.

And it was amazing. To see that body revealed inch by inch and know it was hers, at least for a while, was a heady thing. He shoved the breeches toward the bottom of the bed and she stared, unwavering, at his penis. It was hard already from his teasing, thrusting against his belly in perfect readiness for her flesh. She lifted her hips toward him in a mute request for him.

He laughed and crawled forward on his knees until he was positioned right between her legs. He cupped her backside and lifted her until her hips rested on his thighs, then speared her with his cock in one long, languid thrust.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood, fighting to keep herself from crying out at the ultimate pleasure of this heated joining. He pulled back, dragging his cock through her heated channel with maddening and utterly satisfying slowness. She felt all of his length so keenly, and she wanted more and more. She wanted him fast and hard, until she couldn’t control the thrust of her own hips, until their sweat and their orgasms merged into one like their bodies were merged at present.

Of course that was not the path he took. He held tight to her elevated hips and continued his slow and steady thrusts, building her by inches, rather than by bounds, toward release. When she tried to lift toward him, to force the pace, he held her firm and merely shook his head with a
tsk, tsk
sound in his throat.

“Submit to me,” he whispered. “Surrender fully.”

She fisted her hands in their bindings. This was her last chance to protect herself, her heart.

She didn’t take it. With a shiver, she released all the tension in her body and gave herself over to him. Her body. Her soul. And her love. Her love for him washed over her just as her orgasm did, sweeping her through a pleasure so powerful that it overwhelmed and threatened to destroy her.

And she didn’t care. She would rather burn in the fire of her love than to drown without him. Even though this would soon end. Even though he would never,
could
never love her in return. This moment was enough.

He must have felt the surrender and the orgasm that rattled through her because his thrusts grew harder as he guided her through the pleasure.

“Now, Lysandra,” he said through clenched teeth. “Let go. Let me hear everything you’ve held back.”

She cried out, louder than ever after keeping quiet for the entire evening. Her body shook from the power of release both bodily and vocally. And when her orgasm was over, she went limp against the pillows, her arms dangling above her in her bonds as Andrew poured his seed deep within her with a cry so loud that it seemed to shake the very room around them.

Andrew rubbed the slight red marks that indicated where the bonds had bitten into Lysandra’s skin. She smiled as he kissed each wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “My intention wasn’t to hurt.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him through a hooded stare. “I hurt myself,” she whispered, and for a moment it seemed like she wasn’t only talking about her wrists. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He pressed her hand against his bare chest and rested his head on the pillow with a contented sigh.

“Why would a man of your kind of power want more control?” Lysandra asked as she smoothed her palm over his chest over and over.

He glanced down at her. “What do you mean?”

She leaned her chin on the top of her hand and said, “I mean that you spend all day running estates, taking your seat in the House of Lords, dictating to servants and tenants, whatever else it is you do…”

He chuckled but allowed her to continue.

“It seems to me that you might not
want
to then continue that utter and complete control in the bedroom with a lover.”

“An interesting question,” he said, pondering what his answer would be. “Perhaps it is
because
people see men of power as being so in control that we exert it. After all, yes, I spend a great deal of time and energy dictating the way things should happen. And in many cases, it is an exercise in futility. At least when we demand control in a bedroom, it ends with pleasure and not angry words or frustration.”

Lysandra seemed to consider that for a moment.

“But wouldn’t it be just as much a relief to give over your control to a woman? To let her please you and not have to dictate the terms?”

Andrew wrinkled is brow as he looked at her. Was she suggesting…

She lifted herself slightly and took his wrist. She kissed the inside of it gently and then lifted it toward the bindings that still dangled from the bed. Her gaze held his with every moment and only flitted away when she slipped his hand through the loop and tightened the first binding with a tug.

Andrew stiffened. The idea of surrendering was…odd. Not entirely unpleasant when he thought of how utterly in control Lysandra would be. And wasn’t this just as much a part of her training? What if a future lover wanted her to take control? Andrew would be remiss if he never allowed her to try.

He was silent as she moved his opposite hand to the binding and tied him down. He lay there, thinking about how he felt: Out of control. At her mercy. Utterly aroused.

She smiled as she glanced down at his cock slowly easing back to attention.

“How do I put this…” she murmured as she moved to kneel and placed a hand on each thigh. “Come before I give you permission and I shall leave you here all night long and force you to watch me pleasure myself until you are ready to burst.”

Andrew’s eyes went wide at her unexpected forcefulness.

“Lysandra, you little minx,” he laughed.

She didn’t join in and it was in that moment he realized she was utterly serious. His cock throbbed even harder at the idea that she would be so…so
bold
.

With a smile of pure wickedness, she pressed her nails against his thighs and gently dragged them downward. Not hard enough to hurt or to mar his flesh, but a sizzle of erotic heat followed in their wake as Andrew’s hips lifted.

She looked at him in wonder. “Did I do that?”

He gritted his teeth. Her innocence mingled with her wickedness was something that could make a man burst on its own.

“That and much more,” he said, his voice strained. “As you can see, I’m already ready for you once more. It’s like I’m a randy schoolboy with his first lover.”

Her smile turned soft and shy. “Because of me. Truly?”

He laughed. “How else can I show you that is true except to tell you to finish what you’ve started. If you are going to steal my control, Miss Keates, please do it.”

She looked at him for a long, charged moment and then leaned down to cup his cheeks. She kissed him, pouring every ounce of passion into his body, like she could revive him in some way. Truth be told, she
was
reviving him, bringing him back to life with every touch, every kiss. It might be against his will, but it was happening nonetheless.

She pulled back and smiled as she straddled his lap. His cock nudged her entrance, and she sighed as she reached between them to position him properly. She leaned back as he slid home in her sheath and shivered from head to toe.

He wanted so badly to reach for her. To guide her strokes, to lick and kiss her while she fucked him to oblivion. His tied hands prevented that and kept her in control. To his surprise, he rather liked it. All he could do was feel in this moment. So he leaned back and enjoyed just that.

Lysandra leaned back, pressing her hands on either side of his legs as she stroked over him again and again. Her head dipped back as she groaned and moaned with pleasure. Her throat constricted as she neared climax, the fine veins there becoming far more noticeable as she edged toward release.

And then he felt her pulse around him as she thrashed out pleasure with long, heavy thrusts of her hips. She dragged the sensation over his cock until he could take no more of the magnificent torture. He came a second time with a grunt of pleasure and smiled as she fell against his chest.

She reached up without looking at him and released his wrists so that he could wrap his arms around her. Their bodies were still molded together, their breathing slowing to one shared breath. In the semi-darkness of the chamber, he held her. Something had shifted since their arrival in the country. Something that changed everything.

But he wasn’t going to think about that. Not now.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lysandra sighed as she pushed away her plate from a well-earned late breakfast. She had spent three days of utter bliss with Andrew, giving and receiving such pleasures that her body seemed to constantly hum with desire and release.

Best of all, and perhaps most dangerously of all as well, was that unlike in London, where Andrew had put up walls all around himself, here he was open with her. They spent nights talking about any manner of books, music, diversions of all kinds. No topic was taboo, save one.

She didn’t even try to ask questions about Andrew’s past anymore. Hester’s words about Rebecca and an unborn child hung between them during their happiest moments, silently mocking Lysandra with her questions and fears.

But she held them back. For him. Because he had asked her to do so. And since she had admitted to herself that she loved him the first night they arrived, she had come to accept that fact. She loved him and this was what he needed.

Now if only she could ignore how much that hurt.

A young maid swept into the room to clear her plates away. She smiled up at the girl.

“Thank you…Polly, isn’t it?”

The girl blushed with pleasure at her recognition. “Yes, miss. You have a good memory for the servants. We’ve all commented on it.”

The blush that stained the girl’s cheeks was now mirrored on Lysandra’s at the compliment.

“I once worked at a house, though not so great as this,” she admitted, for she had decided not to hide or be embarrassed by who she was or who she had been. Andrew’s opinion of her was all that mattered at any rate.

The girl lifted both eyebrows in surprise. “Then you do know.”

Lysandra laughed despite her discomfort. “Oh yes.
I
know.”

The young woman set the tray she was holding aside and edged closer, apparently encouraged by Lysandra’s friendliness or perhaps that fact that she had no rank and had once served just like this girl.

“Miss,” she said, looking over her shoulder with a guilty glance. “I-I wanted to say something to you. Something we all say belowstairs, but no one has told you.”

Lysandra stiffened. She wasn’t certain she
wanted
to know what the servants were saying about her passionate, and often
loud
, love affair with their master.

“Yes?” she asked on the barest of whispers.

“I grew up here, you see, in this estate. My mama is one of the senior maids. When I came of age, Lord Callis hired me so that I wouldn’t have to leave her side or my home.”

Lysandra nodded. That kindness seemed exactly like something Andrew would do. But what it had to do with her, she had no idea.

“What I’m saying is that I’ve known him since before…and after the—
the tragedy
.”
The girl blinked as if simply saying those words made tears sting her eyes. “And he seems happier now, with you here, than he has in an age.”

Lysandra bit her lip. She had been nervous at the idea of servant gossip because she was certain it would be about her affair with Andrew. Or her history. Or her clothing. Or a dozen other things she’d heard servants pick apart like vultures as soon as the doors were closed.

This
she had not been expecting.

“Oh, I see,” she whispered.

The girl nodded, swiped at the tears that had now begun to roll down her cheeks, and continued, “We were all so worried about him after Lady Callis’s death. Especially when he tried to—”

The door to the dining room opened and Berges burst in. His face was red and his eyes dark with something very close to anger.

“Polly, cease your wagging tongue,” he snapped out in a dark, no-nonsense tone that made even Lysandra flinch like she’d done something wrong.

The girl sucked in her breath through her teeth, grabbed her forgotten tray and rushed from the room with a clatter of plates and silverware.