Restraint

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Restraint ISBN 9781419915840 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Restraint Copyright © 2008 Debra Glass Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski. Photography and cover art by Les Byerley. Electronic book Publication June 2008 With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/) This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

RESTRAINT

Debra Glass

Debra Glass

Chapter One

Claymore Estate, Essex England, 1848 “I’m not in the business of seducing women anymore,” Thomas Collins, the Earl of Claymore, said before casually taking a sip of his brandy. He tasted the residual liquor on his lips as he stared at the amber liquid in his glass. His attitude of indifference, however, was a ruse. He was intrigued. Intensely intrigued. Shifting in his caramel leather chair, he lifted his gaze to the man who sat across from him—the man who wanted him to seduce his fiancée. Thomas had never liked the Duke of Wallingford. In fact, he despised him, but he was hardly surprised Wallingford would ask such a favor of him. Years ago—has it been twenty already?—Thomas had possessed a reputation for tutoring frigid wives and shy mistresses in the art of sex. He’d been sought out by the most elite members of the ton. However, he’d never seduced virgins. And all that had been before Estelle. He took a gulp of the brandy this time, oblivious to the scorching trail it left down his throat. The pang of remembering Estelle was much worse. Memories of her bright smile and her flowing strawberry blonde hair rose in him and settled uncomfortably in his heart. He tamped down the emotions. He would not dwell on her death. Not now. The pain was still as raw as it had been three years ago when he’d interred her in the Claymore mausoleum. “I don’t trust anyone else to do it, old man.” The duke’s thin lips twisted into a leering grin. Thomas pinned him with a stare. “I do not, nor have I ever, tutored virgins. And I am not about to start.” 4

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“I’m only asking you to teach her. In fact, I don’t even want you to fuck her. I want to save that little morsel for myself.” He cleared his throat. “I’m too old for it. And far too out of practice.” He had never thought he would say those words. Not when Estelle was alive, anyway. But at fortyeight, he figured he’d lost the powers of seduction for which he had been so famous at twenty-eight. “Catherine won’t know the difference. Come on, Collins, I can’t even get her to kiss me.” Thomas blew out a sigh. “What did you have in mind?” He wanted to kick himself. Hard. He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining the idea. But hell, he hadn’t had a woman in three years and the duke didn’t want him to actually fuck her… It wouldn’t be as if he were betraying Estelle’s memory—not if he didn’t fuck her. “I just want her to learn to respond. To learn how to please me without question.” Thomas arched an eyebrow. “Then take a mistress.” The duke laughed. “You apparently have not seen my Catherine.” Visions of a lovely young woman naked and willing in his bed danced through his head. His cock stirred in his breeches. It had been a long time. “Suppose I can’t not fuck her?” The duke laughed. “Bugger her in the arse if you want. All I ask is that you leave the maidenhead for me.” Thomas rankled, somehow disliking the duke more than he already did. The idea that a man would give his fiancée up to another man—to give him license to bugger her in the arse—was appalling. He would never have asked anyone to do that to Estelle. He hadn’t needed to. Still, there was a part of him that wanted to relive those days when he was known as a lady’s man, a rakehell, a master of seduction. Part of him wondered if he still had it 5

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in him. Another part of him needed to get past the emotions that still roiled within him when he thought of Estelle. He stared at the residue of amber liquid in his glass. “Very well. I’ll do it.”

***** Lady Catherine Spencer writhed helplessly against the silken ties that bound her wrists. Her heart raced. Where was she? All she knew was that she was blindfolded and naked, spread-eagle, her wrists and ankles tied presumably to the posts of the bed she lay upon. A chill swept over her bare flesh. She shuddered. Her memory was a blur and she fought to remember where she had been last. She vaguely recalled drinking something her fiancé has prepared for her. Had she been drugged? And how long had she been here, tied like this? Her head swam. She suddenly heard a creaking sound and twisted her head toward the noise. Footsteps sounded, padding softly across a carpeted floor. Her heart thundered. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want of me?” Her voice sounded hysterical—and rightfully so. Horrible images of rape and murder reared in her thoughts. Her breathing quickened. Her pulse rioted. “Do not be afraid, Lady Catherine. You will not be harmed.” The reassuring, resonant voice did little to alleviate her fears. She swallowed. Her mind raced with possibilities, all of which were bad. She was naked. Totally naked. And totally at the mercy of this stranger. And all too aware that whoever he was, he could see everything. Everything. Despite her state of undress, she refused to show her fear. She would not. She would bargain with her captor and secure her release when he discovered her lofty connections. She jerked her chin toward the voice. “My fiancé is the Duke of Wallingford. I’m certain he will pay an exorbitant amount for my release.” 6

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“Your fiancé is the one who sent you to me.” The voice was low and velvety. Catherine froze. Chills swept down her body. “I don’t believe you.” But even as she uttered the words, she thought back over what had happened—the odd gleam in Robert’s eyes, the encouragement to finish her drink. It all made perfect, horrific sense. The bed sank and she felt a hard thigh encased in rough linen press against hers. Panic surged. Her captor’s heat radiated through his clothing, making her all too conscious of how vulnerable she was. The idea that this man—this stranger—was looking upon her filled her with emotions she did not comprehend. Fear, alarm and, strangely, excitement thrummed through her naked body. “Robert tells me you are unresponsive to his romantic overtures. He wants me to teach you.” Catherine gasped. A hot blush of shame rushed to her cheeks followed quickly by a burst of anger. She tensed against the bonds. “Sir, I am first and foremost a lady. I will not submit to such a dreadful thing!” “Very well. I will not do anything you do not want me to do.” She relaxed but only a little. She was still unclothed and tied and veritably at this man’s mercy. The idea of it was nearly overwhelming. It was intolerable. “Untie me. Give me my clothes,” she said, jerking her chin at her unseen captor. “No.” “But—” “I said I would not do anything you didn’t want me to do. But I will not untie you. Your fiancé has retained me to teach you for two weeks.” “You cannot leave me here for two weeks!” The panic that filled her voice surprised her. How dare Robert do this to her! How dare he!

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She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall. She hated him. More than ever, she hated him. Her parents had arranged her marriage to him and she had reluctantly consented after discovering that her father was practically destitute and on the verge of losing everything. It was her duty to marry him. Still, she had never dreamed Robert would stoop to such depths. He had always been impatient and eager when they were alone together. And thus far, she had thwarted his attempts to kiss and fondle her. Sex was something shameful. Something she did not want to think about. And dear Lord, she had never been unclothed this long in her life. In this condition, she could not bear for this strange man to be in the same room with her any longer. She tried to swallow against the lump in her throat. “Please don’t do this. Please release me.” “I will,” he said and her heart leapt. Only to come crashing back down when he uttered, “In two weeks, Catherine.” Thomas felt a pang of guilt. She was frightened. And he knew she felt as if she had been betrayed by a man she was supposed to be able to trust. Damn Wallingford, he thought. He knew he should untie her. Cover her. Send her on her way. But hell, he couldn’t. He wanted her. He wanted to feel her rise underneath him when he kissed her mouth, to feel her twist and undulate while he explored the recesses of her hidden treasures. She was beautiful. And even though she was as innocent as the day she was born, she exuded sexuality. He wanted to remove the blindfold. He wanted to see her eyes. Long, long black hair stretched wildly across the white pillowslip. Her lips were the color of rubies, stained from the drugged wine Wallingford had given her.

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Thomas took a deep breath as his gaze moved lower. Her breasts swelled with her shallow, quick breaths. Dark brown velvety nipples protruded, hardened, begging him to suckle them. He wet his lips and let his gaze move farther down to the nest of black curls that hid her sex. Even with her legs spread wide he could not see the folds, the aperture. Wallingford had been right. No man needed a mistress with a woman as lovely and alluring as Catherine. His cock stirred and he involuntarily tightened the muscles in his thighs. It had been a long damned time since he’d been inside a woman. But he would not be inside this one. Not in that way, anyway. Still, she needed time. And time was what she was going to get.

***** Catherine had no idea how long she had lain here. An hour? A day? Time seemed to stand still. She shifted against the bonds which held her wrists and ankles, appalled that in the deepest recesses of her being, she wished the stranger would return. Just as she thought she would scream from the frustration of her intolerable situation, the door opened. “Did you sleep well?” It was the stranger’s voice. “No.” Again, he sat on the bed beside her and she caught the aroma of something sweet. Something she wanted. “Are you hungry?” “No,” she said, although she was starving. “Catherine,” he scolded. “Tell me the truth.”

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“I’m not hungry.” And then she felt something brush her bottom lip—and she tasted the most exquisite thing she had ever had in her mouth. Chocolate. Just a taste. He was teasing her. Tempting her. A little moan of protest escaped her throat. She could never willingly submit to this. Never. She had always been constant and self-assured. She was the one who knelt in church and fervently said her prayers. Her whole life had been arranged for her and she was the one who’d prepared herself to uphold her duty. Everything had always been well ordered for her—until now. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” he asked again. His voice was low. Seductive. His finger grazed her bottom lip and this time she opened her mouth tentatively, touching it with her tongue. “Tell me what you want, Catherine.” This was unbearable. “Just a taste. Please.” She gave in, wondering in the back of her mind if she would give in to other requests. Her mind raced with possibilities, the likes of which she had only read in her maid’s taboo novels. The stranger complied and placed a piece of the exquisite chocolate between her lips. It was wonderful! She wanted more. But then his finger was once more tracing her lips, this time laced with wine. Catherine’s heart went wild. She had never known such sensations. She had never known anything could taste so—much. The flavors mingled and filled her, making her forget she was bound and naked with her wrists and ankles stretched wide apart to reveal her most intimate and private parts. “Tell me you want more,” the stranger said. She trembled. “I want more.”

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Thomas wanted more. God help him, he wanted more. He watched as Catherine parted her lips, waiting, wanting and begging for another taste of the exemplary imported chocolate. No woman had ever resisted it. And he knew it would be a struggle to resist burying himself, losing himself, in all the sweetness Catherine had to offer. His gaze swept her luscious body. Her breasts rose and fell with her quickened breaths. The muscles in her thighs tensed and released. And there—high up on the inside of her thigh, he noticed the tiniest drop of her succulent cream. Silently, he asked Estelle’s forgiveness. He had never, not once, even so much as thought about another woman when he had been married to her. And in the three years following her death, he had not entertained the idea of being with another woman. He had only masturbated out of primitive need but even that seemed somehow a desecration of Estelle’s memory. Yet, here he was with this beautiful, enticing creature tied to his bed, open and ready—and all he could think about was stripping off his clothes and fucking her. His arousal surged against his dove-gray trousers. He placed another piece of chocolate in her mouth. Teaching her to respond was going to be easier than he had first thought—and also far more pleasurable than he had first thought as well. But there was so much more. Wallingford wanted her to learn to do anything without question. Thomas knew well that a woman would lie down and spread her legs for her husband, no questions asked in most cases, but to do anything, to willingly submit and take pleasure in it was altogether different. He seriously doubted Catherine would ever take pleasure in Robert Wallingford.

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Wallingford had a cruel reputation and a name for rather eccentric tastes when it came to boudoir games. Thomas hated to think of this innocent young girl submitting to Wallingford’s perverted aberrations. He reached under her neck and threaded his fingers through the silken black strands as he lifted her head and held a glass of wine to her lips. As she drank, a crimson rivulet spilled down her ivory chin. She was driving him mad. He had thought he could do this without getting involved, without wanting her, but he knew it was impossible. Her guileless pleas, her parted red lips, her striking innocence…all of it affected him in a way he had never imagined. He needed it. He needed to be part of it. He felt so old and so damned jaded. It was almost as if taking her, as if being inside her could and would absolve him of all the pain he carried around within him. But he couldn’t have her. He had promised Wallingford he wouldn’t fuck her. Bugger her in the arse. He groaned at the thought of being in her even there. Just to feel her heat, to lose himself for the first time in years inside a woman, was consuming him to the point of insanity. He couldn’t stand it any longer. With a jerk of the ebony silk sashes that bound her feet, Thomas freed her ankles and flipped her over onto her stomach, shoving a pillow under her hips to lift her taut, rounded buttocks up in the air. She gasped and tried to fight but he held her thighs firmly, his gaze raking her from head to toe. Her arms were crossed now, stretched above her head, her black hair wildly framing her blindfolded face. She panted, becoming perfectly still. Both apertures were visible now despite the wealth of black curls between her legs. Thomas’ swollen phallus strained at the sight of her tight little anus and the dusky pink

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lips of her labia. He nearly exploded in his pants. He could smell her. Hot. Sweet. He wanted to taste her. But not yet. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice raising nearly an octave in her distress. His hand slid up the back of her thigh and gently, barely brushed the cleft between her legs. “I want to touch you. Here.” She tensed when his fingertip circled her clitoris. “May I, Catherine?” “No!” She sounded hysterical but her cleft glistened with her wetness. He swept his palm over her rounded buttock, knowing she wanted it but waiting for her to ask, to plead with him for more. The muscles in her thighs tightened and she raised her buttocks just a fraction of an inch and that was all the impetus Thomas needed. He leaned toward her and breathed in the feminine scent of her, so close he knew she could feel his breath, his heat. “May I taste you then?” She said nothing. He closed his eyes and grazed his cheek against the swell of her buttock. “I forgot, Catherine. You don’t know what it’s like to have a man taste you there. Let me show you. Let me. Just once,” he murmured. And with that, he pressed a tender kiss to the soft pink folds. She whimpered. “Let me, Catherine. Tell me you want me to kiss you here.” “I can’t!” She was breathless. Her body was taut. Her clitoris swelled and he knew it was aching. She was so close. “Yes you can,” he whispered. “Say it.” “No.” “Yes.” 13

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“No…” Her voice was weaker this time. “Yes!” And then she acquiesced. “Yes.” Thomas groaned as he parted her thighs even farther and buried his face in her moist sex. He breathed her essence in and then tasted her. Honey. Sweet, feminine honey. When he flicked the tip of his tongue over the soft, wet lips, she shuddered violently. His hands tightened around her soft thighs. He could not get enough of her. “Catherine,” he breathed and spread her legs farther still, opening her, burying his tongue inside her, inside the place he wanted to shove his rock-hard cock. Hot. So hot. Her back arched and he could tell she was giving him greater access. Yes, Lady Catherine was teachable. Very teachable. And he would enjoy every damned minute of it. He pushed his face farther into her hot crevice and slid his tongue up her tight virgin hole. She trembled and whimpered as he ran his tongue between the folds and then to the apex of her pleasure—her clitoris. She cried out. No man had ever touched her here. His cock throbbed at the thought. No man had ever kissed her here, save him. And somewhere deep inside he felt a pang of jealously that she belonged to another man. Catherine could not believe she was submitting to this—to this wonderful, wonderful pleasure. She had never felt anything so good in her life, so all consuming, so hedonistically gratifying. She was afraid to move but her body was betraying her, arching back, spreading impossibly wider, giving herself up completely to the greedy kisses the stranger bestowed on the most private, sensitive part of her being. He suckled, nuzzled and kissed. His hot tongue explored inside her, darting in and out until she thought she would scream from the pure pleasure of it.

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How could she submit to this? How could she? But God she wanted it! She wanted it more than anything she had ever imagined. His tongue laved her clitoris once more and she rose off the pillow to give him even better access. “Do you like that, Catherine?” he asked huskily. His breath was hot against her sex. She swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered hesitantly. This was maddening. “Tell me where you want me to kiss you.” She froze. Damn him. Damn him! “Here?” His tongue swept along the opening of her sex. She shook her head. “Tell me,” he demanded. She groaned and writhed, trying desperately to get him to return to her clitoris. She could never bring herself to voice those words. “Here?” This time, his tongue traced the rim of her anal aperture. Catherine gasped and tensed. This was intolerable. Simply intolerable. “No!” she wailed but part of her didn’t want him to stop. Part of her wanted him to explore that sensitive little orifice as well. “Where then?” He was toying with her and teasing her relentlessly. “Where you were before.” Her voice was ragged. A little chuckle escaped his throat, infuriating Catherine. She had been on the precipice of something she had never known, something she had up until now feared. But now she wanted it. She wanted him. “Damn you,” she seethed. “Damn you. My…my clitoris! Kiss my clitoris.” That was all it took. Big hands lifted her and pushed her thighs open to the point of pain—and then he had her in his mouth. He sucked and tongued and nibbled, his fingers digging into her flesh, holding her impossibly close against his mouth. 15

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Something inside her began to build, emanating from that oh-so sensitive part of her. Catherine shuddered. Her fingers tightened around her restraints and she fought it, not wanting it to happen just yet. But it happened anyway. His expert mouth sent her suddenly spiraling inward until she was aware only of her own body, of spasm after immaculate spasm coming together to assuage her passion. Thomas tasted the sweet nectar of her cream and as he felt her shattering around him, heard her cries and stifled moans. All he could think about was slipping his hard cock into her tight, wet hole. He hastily freed his arousal and got on his knees behind her, intent on taking her, Wallingford be damned. But something stopped him. He had made a promise. His gaze fell on her puckered little anus and he stroked his cock and considered it, imagining slowly, inch by inch, burrowing inside that impossibly snug little hole. With the fingers of his other hand he stroked her glistening hole, rubbing the warm wetness upward around and around her tiny puckered aperture. He watched her response. Did she want it? Would she accept him there? His gaze flicked down to his distended cock as he continued to stroke it. Dear God, it was huge compared to her tiny opening. Could she accept him there? Her body stiffened. Her breathing stopped. And then with his finger drenched and slick with her come, he slid it slowly inside her anus. She tensed and tightened around his index finger. She tried to squeeze her thighs together. When she whimpered, he knew she wasn’t ready for this. Neither was he. He withdrew his finger, half wondering if she would accept him between her legs, contemplating breaking his promise to Wallingford. Her cleft glistened with her cream, just begging him to fuck her. But he knew if he even slipped his finger into her wet, wet center, he would have to fuck her. He would have to. 16

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And just the thought of it made him spew his hot load all over the curve of her buttocks. Thomas shuddered and wilted over Catherine’s back, winding his arms around her, lying too heavily on top of her, breathing in the scent of that wealth of black hair. He had never in his life ejaculated that way. Never. It was humbling—almost humiliating. “Please tell me your name.” Catherine’s voice was but a silken whisper. “I want to know your name.”

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Chapter Two “Thomas,” he blurted. He had never given his real name before but God in heaven, he wanted to hear it come from her lips. “Thomas,” she said softly. And then she lay there, still, unmoving, the faintest hint of a smile curving her red lips. He could tell by her expression that she had never experienced an orgasm like that. Neither had he. Not even with Estelle. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced her memory from his mind. He would not think about her. Not now. Not with Catherine naked and sated underneath him. Three years. Three long, painful years. Why did he feel this guilt? He propped himself up on his elbows. Catherine’s forehead furrowed above the blindfold and she lifted her head off the bed. “Where are you going, Thomas?” “To bed.” Her lips parted in surprise. “You’re not staying with me?” “No.” He wanted to. He wanted to hold her in his arms, to forget everything except what it felt like to awaken with a beautiful woman. But he couldn’t. He had loved Estelle too much. Losing her had shattered his heart and he was not about to allow himself to be that vulnerable ever again. Keeping his distance from any woman had worked thus far and he intended to maintain his life as a hermit. He’d been a fool to consent to Wallingford’s inane request. A fool! “I don’t want you to go.” Catherine’s lips formed a pretty pout, making him temporarily forget about Estelle and Wallingford—making him want to stay. 18

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“I will loosen your restraints so you will be comfortable but I will not stay.” Catherine acutely felt the absence of his warmth and the heaviness of his body. She shuddered. How could he leave her after what they’d done? She wanted to cry but she refused to let him see her tears. Shame and self-loathing filled her as he cleaned his semen from her buttocks with a cloth. She ached inside. She ached for his touch, for his acceptance. She ached from the indignity of what she had so willingly participated in. Dear Lord, she had wantonly begged him to perform unspeakable acts on her, in no uncertain terms. She had arched and wriggled and cried out in ecstasy. And damn it to hell, she would do it again if given the chance. He’d had his finger in the absolute most private recess she possessed and yet, she had fantasized about having more. She had considered asking for more. She had wanted him inside her—everywhere. Catherine trembled at her licentious behavior although she was no stranger to the power she had over men. She knew Robert wanted her for her looks and she was well aware of her beauty. Often she wished she had been born ugly. No man had ever taken her seriously, had ever deigned to have a real conversation with her. But there was something about Thomas… There was something in his words, in his touch, that bespoke of a tenderness that came from within. It was as if he cared if she derived pleasure from him despite the unseemly situation. He could have taken her. He could have ruined her. But he had not. And now he was leaving her. Heartsick, she lay still as he loosened the sashes which bound her wrists and removed the pillow from beneath her hips. A cool, soft eiderdown coverlet fluttered down over her back and legs but still, it was not what she wanted.

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“Why won’t you stay with me?” she asked pointedly, surprised at the desperation evident in her voice. “You will sleep better alone,” was his terse reply. “Besides, you and I will have a busy day tomorrow. There is still much more for you to learn in these two weeks.”

***** Catherine did not sleep. Instead, she lay awake and listened for the sound of her captor’s footsteps outside the door. She listened for the twist of the doorknob. Her stomach tightened when she thought about what they’d done—when she imagined what they would do next. Desire flooded her abdomen. She had never dreamed she would want to explore this dark side of her nature. She had grown up with strict parents and the topic of sex had been taboo. Her parents had never even kissed in front of her, much less touched. With a twinge of shame and horror, she recalled the talk her mother had given her regarding sex. She’d sat wide eyed while her mother had described men as nasty, sexstarved beasts with horrid penises. Catherine had not thought Thomas was horrid. Not at all. However, she was shocked she had wanted him inside her. Sexual yearning spiraled downward in her body. She had wanted it more than anything and she would have done anything—said anything—to have him. She thought of her fiancé. Robert certainly fit her mother’s portrait of a nasty beast. With his ragged breathing and hands always reaching and pulling… Catherine shuddered. Robert had sent her here. Thomas was supposed to teach her to respond to Robert. But she would never respond to him. Never. Not the way in which she responded to Thomas. Her heart tightened. She could not even picture Thomas in her mind’s eye. She guessed he was tall from the size of his hands, the length of his fingers and the feel of

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his body on hers. He was patient, therefore he was no boy, and his seductive voice was definitely that of a man—a seasoned man. But what color was his hair? His eyes? How old was he? It was difficult to tell. She would beg him to remove the blindfold when he returned. She wanted to see him. All of him.

***** Thomas sat in his den, his thoughts consumed with the young woman who was tied to a bed in his home. He swirled the last swallow of brandy around in his glass before downing it in one gulp and standing to pour another. No woman he had ever seduced had affected him this way. Perhaps it was because he was getting older. Perhaps it was because it had been a damned long time since he’d fucked a woman. He reached down and absentmindedly stroked the wooly gray head of his sole companion, his Irish wolfhound, Paddy. He had been content these last three years here on his estate. Content—but not joyous. Estelle’s death had ripped any hope for happiness out of his heart. He feared those feelings. He feared finding happiness again. And most of all, he feared losing it again. He took a gulp of the brandy, his thoughts turning to Catherine again. There had been a spark with her… No, he wouldn’t think about that. He wouldn’t entertain the idea that another person could give him pleasure. It had just been too long since he’d fucked a woman. But he wouldn’t fuck this one. He would not. He was her teacher. Nothing more.

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***** Catherine awakened to the pleasant twittering of birds. A sweet-smelling summer breeze caressed her body and she assumed the window had been opened. The eiderdown had been removed and she was tied once more, wrists and ankles opened wide, her eyesight still hindered by the damnable blindfold. Her insides tightened in expectation—in anticipation. “Good morning, Catherine.” A thrill trembled through her veins. Thomas. “Good morning,” she purred, unable to quell the smile that claimed her lips. “What lesson shall we learn today?” Her heart leapt. Desire swept through her limbs. A little laugh came from deep in his throat. “My little student is eager to get started. I thought we should begin where I should have begun yesterday—before your enticing body distracted me. I’m woefully out of practice, Catherine. You’ll have to forgive me.” She laughed, somehow incapable of imagining this man being out of practice. “You’re forgiven,” she said sweetly. The bed sank as he sat on it. “I am going to spend the entire morning teaching you to kiss.” A surge of disappointment welled through Catherine. She had never before been kissed. Not on the mouth anyway, she thought with a wry grin. It couldn’t possibly be as satisfying as the way he had kissed her yesterday. She felt him stretch out beside her and then cool silk caressed her skin. A silk banyan? Silk pajamas? But again, she was disappointed. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She had been right. He was tall. One of his long legs slipped over hers, his knee between her knees, his hard, thick, silk-encased thigh draped over hers.

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Tender fingers swept her hair off her face and trailed down to trace the line of her jaw, her chin. Catherine’s breath stopped in her chest. She tried to swallow but she couldn’t. And as he lowered his mouth to hers, her heart pounded so hard she could hear her pulse in her ears. His lips merely grazed hers. Catherine wanted more. She lifted her chin and parted her lips. His shallow, fast breaths feathered her face. Was he as affected by this as she was? She only hoped so. And then his mouth was on hers, raining expert kisses, biting, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth, sucking. She had never imagined a kiss could be so powerful! But there was more. Much more. His mouth opened and his tongue delved between her lips, searching, teasing. Cool fingers encircled her throat. He was trembling. Timidly, Catherine touched her tongue to his and then responded with reckless abandon, fencing, mating, kissing him as if she had kissed dozens of men. This was no ordinary kiss. This sensation sent waves of desire spiraling straight to her loins. She arched, wishing, hoping his fingers would find that special place and send her once more to that perfect oblivion. But he did not. He only kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead. She turned her head to grant him greater access when he kissed her ear, nibbling her earlobe, his breath hot, tickling her. She arched underneath him and sighed audibly when he rained kisses down the curve of her neck. She had never dreamed she would be so sensitive there. And although this was more wonderful than she had ever imagined it could be, she wanted more. “Touch me, Thomas,” she pleaded, her voice but a whisper. “No.” “Please!” His tongue laved the length of her collarbone, leaving it hot and wet. “No.”

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Damn him. She had lowered herself to begging and still he refused. Damn him! His mouth found hers again, his heavy body moving over hers, on top of her. Oh God. There was no mistaking the hard, hard shaft that pressed into her softness, impeded by silk. She lifted and arched, wildly wanting him inside her. But instead he moved slowly and languidly, his lips expertly teaching hers to respond. She wanted to be free of these damned bonds. She wanted to hold him, to wrap her arms and legs around him and never let go. She wanted to feel that hard part of him moving in and out of her the way his tongue was moving in and out of her mouth. A soft, guttural moan tore from his throat and he uttered her name against her lips over and over. As he kissing her with utter thoroughness, he ground his hips into hers. Her clitoris throbbed faster and faster until suddenly, she was on the precipice once more. She lifted her head off the pillow and met his tongue with her own, fighting him, thrusting her hips upward. She wriggled frantically against the hard shaft teasing between her legs. She had to make it happen or she would die. And then it did happen. Sheer ecstasy emanated from her sex and her mouth, merging somewhere deep inside her being. She gave in to it, coming and coming until she was exhausted and fell back limp on the bed. Sometime after the spasms had abated she realized Thomas was beside her, clinging to her with his face buried in the curve of her neck. Had he experienced it too? Catherine then understood that she wanted to give him the same pleasure he had given her. She wanted it for him more than anything and she was determined she would do it, somehow, someway—despite these bonds and this damned blindfold. Thomas breathed in the faint scent of lavender which permeated Catherine’s black hair. She was bewitching. And damn it to hell, he’d come again at just the thought of sliding inside her tight, virgin pussy. Innocence. What was she? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?

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So fucking innocent… All the other women he’d tutored had been somewhat experienced. That had been his prerequisite. However, after he’d met Estelle, all of that ended. All of it. The women. The sex—except with Estelle. He hadn’t wanted any other women. He’d never dreamed he would ever want anyone but Estelle. He ached inside. It had been a long, long time but he had not regretted giving it up. Not at all. Loving Estelle had erased his desire to tame and tease other men’s wives. But now it was back with a vengeance—a desire so strong he doubted he could keep his promise to Wallingford. He had come so close, so fucking close to ripping off his pajama bottoms and thrusting his aching, throbbing cock into Catherine’s cunny—virgin or not. He had never met a woman who made him lose every ounce of iron control he possessed. Not ever. Not even Estelle. She shifted underneath him, bringing him out of his reverie. Catherine yanked against the ties which held her wrists. She wanted to hold Thomas, to stroke his hair, to run her palms over his flesh. “Damn this,” she said, tears stinging her blindfolded eyes. “Untie me.” “I cannot,” he whispered against the curve of her neck. Her heart sank. “Please…” “Not yet. Be patient. Let me give you pleasure, Catherine.” She had never been so frustrated. She wanted to see him and touch him. “But I want to…to…” She could not find the courage to say the words. His body lifted off hers, leaving her suddenly cold. “Thomas, wait! Show me how to…how to please you.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “All in good time, darling.” 25

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Catherine’s stomach tightened at his term of endearment. No one had ever called her darling. Not even her parents. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Do you promise?” “I promise,” he said and chastely kissed her forehead above the blindfold. “But for now, I am going to leave you with the maid.” She sank back into the featherbed, relieved that Thomas would not be attending to her every need. It hardly seemed decent. “Her name is Lydia. She will bring your breakfast and draw a bath for you. She will untie you and remove the blindfold, but only until I return. All I ask is that you do not try to escape.” Escape? She suddenly realized she had not even considered it. “Do you promise, Catherine?” She nodded. “I promise.” Thomas chuckled. “And if you’re bad, I’ll know about it. You will be punished,” he threatened with a playful slap to the side of her buttock. A strange thrill rushed through Catherine’s limbs at the idea of him punishing her. Without a doubt, it would certainly be as exhilarating as everything else they had done. “I’ll be back to continue our lessons.” “I’m counting on it,” she purred. Soon after Thomas left, Catherine heard the sound of soft-soled shoes approaching. Deft, brusque hands began untying her wrists. It wasn’t like Thomas’ touch at all and Catherine found herself anticipating his return. The same precipitous hands swept the blindfold off her face and Catherine blinked against the deluge of bright light that assaulted her eyes. This is what she had wanted—to be untied with the blindfold removed—so why was there this aching hollowness in her newfound freedom?

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Her eyes adjusted to the light and immediately she took in the sumptuous handcarved furnishings, the burgundy velvet drapes, the rumpled white cotton bedclothes stained with pearly cream. Her come. His come. Her stomach tightened at the thought of it. A hot blush welled throughout her body and she glanced at Lydia, who was moving silently into another room that adjoined the bedroom. She slid off the bed, looking for a robe, anything with which to cover herself. But there was nothing. Not a stitch of clothing. Part of her was relieved. She was learning to enjoy the feel of the fresh, warm morning air on her naked flesh. The sash had been thrown up so she padded across the Oriental rug and gazed out onto rolling green fields which stretched to a thick, dense forest. Where was this place? How had she come to be here? Had Robert brought her here? Or had Thomas? She glanced back over her shoulder at the closed door. He was out there somewhere. All she had to do was open the door and go find him. Just one look… That was all she wanted—just to see him. Frustrated, she reminded herself she was naked and she had no idea who else was on the other side of that door. Did he have dozens of girls tied to dozens of beds? A jealous current rippled through her veins. Was she, she hoped, the only one? “Your bath is ready, milady.” Lydia’s voice abruptly brought her out of her reverie. Catherine looked into her eyes. She was short, rather plain and dressed in a black uniform. Hopefully, she would be a wealth of information. Catherine was no stranger to gossiping servants—or how to obtain information from them. She smiled at Lydia as she walked past her into the bathing chamber. A gasp nearly escaped her lips when she beheld the heaven-sent room. She had never seen so large a tub and it was filled to capacity with steaming, lavender-scented

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water. Cakes of all kinds of luxurious soaps rested in an Italian porcelain dish. Thick, thirsty towels awaited her, stacked neatly on delicate wrought iron shelves. This was amazing. Catherine took care of business on the chamber pot and then slipped into the hot water. She closed her eyes as Lydia began to wash her hair, wishing it was Thomas who bathed her instead. Two days ago she had never dreamed she would be inclined to such wanton behavior, to such feelings she knew arose from the darkest depths of her being. It was an entirely new experience. One she would be reluctant to leave behind. She swallowed. “Lydia?” “Yes, miss?” “Tell me about Thomas. What is his last name? Where is this place?” “The master done forbid me to tell you, miss.” Catherine tried to quell her obvious disappointment. There must be something she could find out. “Can you tell me if there are any other girls here? Girls like me?” “There are no others, miss.” A twinge of excitement coursed through her limbs. “What does he…what does he look like?” Lydia suppressed a giggle. “You can rest assured that he’s quite the looker, Lady Catherine.” A smile claimed Catherine’s lips as an image of a classically handsome man rose in her mind. “What color is his hair?” “Can’t tell you that.” “What about his eyes, then?” “Sorry.”

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Catherine blew out a sigh. Lydia had not proved to be the fount of information she had hoped. After her bath, she stood quietly while Lydia dried her and then combed out her long hair after dusting her with scented talcum powder. Catherine had never felt so pampered. She felt so alive and so, so special. She never wanted to leave this place. “Your breakfast is ready as well, milady.” Catherine sank onto the corner of the bed as Lydia lifted the highly polished silver dome off her breakfast tray. A delicate china plate was laden with pastries, butter, sweet pear preserves and, Catherine noted with a smile, one Swiss chocolate bonbon. She ate it first, closing her eyes as she savored the rich flavor, recalling how Thomas had fed her chocolates the night before. She finished and rinsed her fingers in the silver finger bowl Lydia proffered. “I must tie you once more, miss.” Catherine’s insides tightened and she felt herself already becoming wet, anticipating her lover’s return. What would he do next? She could only imagine. She willingly lay down on the bed, shocked at how readily she offered her wrists and ankles up to be bound once more. Lydia hastily fastened the black silk sashes, securing them with an abrupt tug. Catherine felt sensuously sinful as she committed to memory the sight of her legs spread wide, with her ankles tethered to the mahogany posts of the big bed. Her freshly washed black curls were mounded high beneath her slightly rounded stomach and her nipples were diamond hard. She wanted to writhe and squeeze her thighs together to assuage the throbbing between her legs, but the bonds prevented her. Only Thomas could fulfill her. Only he could make this yearning subside. Dear, dear God, had she lost all sense of decorum? Lydia blindfolded her once more and she lay back on the pillow, hoping, praying that Thomas would come soon.

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Chapter Three Thomas paced in his den. There was something about knowing Catherine was still naked, unbound and unblindfolded that drove him wild with the desire to see her—to let her see him. He glanced at his reflection in the gilt-framed mirror which was suspended over the fireplace and a foreboding sense of disappointment washed over him. He was old. What would she think if she knew he were forty-eight? He took a closer look. It wasn’t that he looked old. He just felt it in his bones. And he knew in his gut she would find him unattractive. With his slightly graying hair and the little creases at the corners of his eyes, how could any woman—especially an alluring woman like Catherine—find him attractive? Perhaps it had just been too long. Perhaps he had denied himself too long in his grief for Estelle. He squeezed his eyes shut at the invasion of memories. Estelle had been the first, the only woman he had ever truly loved. Losing her had nearly been the death of him. No, he wouldn’t open himself up to risk that kind of pain again. Never again. Catherine was merely a pupil. She would be on her way in two weeks, hawking her wares in Wallingford’s bed and he would forget she had ever existed. He blew out a sigh. A knock sounded on the open door and Thomas startled, shaken from his thoughts by Lydia. “She’s ready, sir.” His pulse quickened at the visual images in his mind of Catherine being ready for him. “Did she enjoy her bath and breakfast?”

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“Very much, sir.” “Good. Was she any trouble?” “None, sir.” A little flare of disappointment brought a self-deprecating grin to his lips. He had hoped to spank those pretty little rounded buttocks of hers before the two weeks were over. There would be plenty of time for that and he had no doubt Catherine would enjoy it every bit as much as he would. At any rate, it was time to continue her lessons. He crossed the room, stopping when he reached Lydia at the door. “Lydia?” “Yes, sir?” “Did you happen to notice what color Lady Catherine’s eyes are?” Her knowing gaze met his. “I can’t say as I did, sir.” He knew she was lying by the smug grin on her face but he rather enjoyed the mystery. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a woman in the house, hasn’t it?” he asked, his demeanor suddenly turning serious. “Too long, sir.” He gave her a nod and then climbed the stairs, his pulse ever quickening at the thought of seeing Catherine tied and spread on the bed once more. The sight he beheld when he opened the door did not disappoint him. She was beautiful with her wild black hair still damp from her bath and cascading in striking contrast across the white cotton pillowslip. The room was inundated with the scent of lavender and Thomas breathed it in. She turned her head toward him. Her lips parted. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?” he asked as he crossed the room to the bed. “Very much.” Her lips curled into a smile. She was ready. Damn, damn and damn, she was ready. 31

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His cock stirred, impeded by the tight-fitting trousers. He shouldn’t have dressed. He wanted to shed his clothes, to climb into that bed with Catherine and feel every inch of his naked body pressed against hers. But that might prove too dangerous. Instead, he sat on the bed with his hip against hers. The heat of her skin drove him mad with desire. “What are we going to do next?” she asked, the coquette in her already brimming to the surface. His gaze scanned her body. Her hips lifted just slightly, enticingly, as if she could feel his eyes on her. Beautiful, he thought as his hand hovered over her raven-haired pussy. Could she feel his heat? If her hips rose again he would be touching her. Not yet. His hand glided upward, still not grazing her skin, toward her breasts. And then barely, barely, he ran his palm over one hardened little nipple. She arched immediately into his touch and her breast was in his hand. It was just as he had imagined—soft and firm at the same time. He gave it a gentle squeeze, eliciting a sigh from Catherine’s lips. “These can be a source of great pleasure to a woman,” he said, staring, kneading, longing to kiss. “In the right hands.” “Yes.” She arched again. Her nipples were hard and growing even harder. He aroused each one between his thumb and forefinger, pinching, pulling, until she was writhing and twisting against her bonds. “Thomas,” Catherine purred, her voice but a breathy moan. She had never known her breasts could be such a source of sensual excitement. But she wanted more. It wasn’t enough.

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“Please,” she beseeched, not knowing for what she begged, not knowing what would bring her to that bliss only he had sparked in her. And then she felt something warm, wet. His tongue. She rose off the bed and pressed her breast into his hot mouth as desire flooded her loins, as his relentless fingers continued to work her other nipple. He kneaded harder now. She felt his teeth graze her tender nipple. He sucked. “Yes, yes,” she gasped, fighting the silken sashes, wanting only to hold his head there, to run her fingers through his hair. Her sex throbbed until she thought she would go mad. His mouth moved to her other breast, kneading, kissing, biting, sucking. It was overwhelming, the things he was doing to her. She tried in vain to squeeze her thighs together but the damned bonds held her tight. She wanted him to touch her sex, to kiss it again—to make love to her. She wanted him inside her. And she wanted it now. “Make love to me, Thomas.” He relinquished his hold on her breast and she felt his quick breaths feathering the one he had been kissing. His body trembled above hers. “Make love to me,” she said again. “I want to feel you inside me.” “I can’t.” His voice was but a whisper, his tongue making slow, hot circles around her nipple. “Please.” “Catherine…” “Please, Thomas!” “I promised Wallingford.” “Damn Robert!” She wanted to cry from the frustration of it. She wanted to scream. Anger flooded her veins and she yanked wildly at the sashes.

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Suddenly, his body was on top of hers, his arms pinning hers to the bed. He was hard. Hard through his clothing, his hips gently undulating, promising something he refused to give her. Catherine lay still, her breaths coming in short, shallow pants. She wanted him beyond reason. “Please, Thomas,” she said again, this time with tears stinging her eyes. “No.” A groan ripped from her throat. “Damn you! Make love to me!” She lifted her hips against his. “Please!” She felt his body tense, felt his arousal swell through his trousers. He was on the edge. Her heart soared, triumphant. “Yes…please…” She lifted her chin to fuse his mouth with hers. He raked his lips across hers and ground his hips down. But it was all too brief. Suddenly, he pushed her shoulders to the bed, pinning her there with his heavy body. His hand caught her chin and he roughly turned her head to the side. Catherine’s heart thundered. His mouth was against her ear, hot, trembling. “If you say that one more time, I’m going to spank your bottom, Catherine.” A delicious ripple coursed straight to her loins at the thought of it, at the wild sexual images that played through her thoughts. A defiant little smile tugged at her lips. A pregnant pause hung between them for what seemed an eternity and then she uttered the words. “Fuck me, Thomas.” His weight left her and she felt the sashes around her ankles being tugged loose, followed by those binding her wrists, but before she could even move, he rolled her onto her stomach and roped her wrists together behind her back. “On your knees.” It was a command.

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No. She couldn’t submit to this. However much she wanted it she could not present herself to be spanked. “Catherine.” His voice was stern and charged with warning. She chewed her bottom lip, unable to bring herself to comply. And then a hard, stinging slap landed on her buttocks. Catherine gasped, surprised by the unexpected pain of it. “Get on your knees!” This time, she timorously pulled her knees up, raising her buttocks in the air with her head pressed into the pillow, maddeningly aroused by the exhibition of her own genitalia. Crazy desire spiraled through her. If he touched her pussy, she knew she would come. She panted, anticipating another hard slap, but instead his palm rubbed the place he’d spanked before. “You’ve been a bad girl, Catherine.” She quivered. “Very bad. The idea! Trying to tempt me when you know I made a promise to your fiancé.” Wild images fled through her thoughts. Her cunny throbbed, ached. “Do it like this, Thomas. Take me like this. Fuck me.” Another slap fell on her buttocks, this one harder than the first and strangely, wonderfully stimulating. Heat rushed to her backside and spread to her sex, making her even more crazed with desire. She groaned. Her clitoris pulsed. “What do you want, Catherine? Tell me.” “I want you to fuck me.” Another slap resounded in the room. She spread her thighs wider, reveling in the exquisite blend of pleasure and pain, imagining what she must look like to him with her 35

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blazing red buttocks and glistening wet crevice. Her pussy clenched over and over until she ached from wanting him. “I think you want me to spank you.” Yes. Yes. Yes. “Is that what you want, bad girl?” His palm moved over her hot buttocks, his finger dipping down the spread cleft between her legs, the tip brushing and circling her vagina, rubbing cream across her throbbing, distended little hillock. She wriggled and pushed back against his hand, wanting more. So much more. But he refused to give it to her. Instead, another swat landed on her backside. “Do you want me to stop?” His voice was ragged. He was obviously affected. His hand caressed once more, teased. Another hand slid underneath her and his long fingers brushed the sensitive swell of her belly, gliding upward to squeeze her nipple. “Have you had enough, Catherine?” No, she would never get enough. “No.” The word came out in a heated breath, shocking her, thrilling her. She actually wanted him to hurt her, to spank her harder, to squeeze her nipple harder. It made her feel alive. Aware. “No, Thomas,” she whispered again as she spread her legs even wider. “Spank me.” His palm fell across her buttocks again and again, stinging, heating. Between each blow, he caressed. His finger delved between her nether lips, circling her vagina, moving up to trace the rim of her anus. She pushed back, thinking, hoping each time he would slip that finger inside her but each time disappointment consumed her until the next hard slap. “Your arse is red, Catherine.” She shuddered from the inside out at the thought of her bright red buttocks raised high in the air with her shimmering sex gaping and aching desperately for his touch.

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“I don’t care,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. Make it hurt, Thomas.” The back of his fingers brushed her sensitive cheeks. Thomas bent down and kissed her reddened buttocks. If he wasn’t careful she was going to be bruised, but Jesus, she was loving it. Her pink lips were glistening and literally dripping with her cream. He had never seen a woman so aroused. Slipping inside her would be so easy. So damned easy. “Make it hurt,” she whispered into the pillow. Her fists clenched. Her wrists were still bound disgracefully behind her back. He exhaled slowly. He couldn’t hit her any more. He wouldn’t—no matter how much she begged. However, he would give her the little bit of pleasure-pain she needed to bring her over the edge. He slipped his fingers through her folds, wetting them until they were slick with her shimmering cream. And then in one sudden thrust, he plunged two of them into her tightest little aperture. She gasped at the sudden invasion of her anus but rocked back against his hand, voicing her pleasure as his fingers pushed in and pulled out and pushed in again. She shook. Her body misted with perspiration as she wildly met his thrusts. He could do it. He could do it now. All he had to do was free his cock and slide inside that tight little hole. She was wet enough. But dammit, did he have the resolve to stop there? No. He knew better. He found that nipple again and squeezed it harder and harder as the fingers of his other hand plunged and pulled out of her anus, faster and faster. She sank to the bed with her legs spread impossibly wide, her anus opening to his ruthless onslaught, her breast pressed hard against his kneading fingers.

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Catherine trembled, the words begging him to stop just on her lips but she would not utter them. She wanted this. There was something in the pain of his thrusting fingers that made the most immaculate waves of pleasure swell over her. It was something she could not name. She was full—so totally at his mercy—and she loved it. He was completely in control. Completely. Her body convulsed and tightened around him and she rode the crest of his expert touch before she fell against the sheets, exhausted, sated, vaguely aware of his lips pressing a kiss to her shoulder. So completely…

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Chapter Four Catherine was only vaguely aware of Thomas leaving the bed. Footsteps padded across the floor and then she heard the sound of splashing water in the adjoining bathing chamber. Her entire body tingled from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair and all she could do was bask in the glow that permeated her being. It no longer mattered that she was tied like an animal or that she was blindfolded and exposed to a virtual stranger. There was something about Thomas. Something she could not put her finger on. Something that connected her to this man and something she had never before known. She breathed in, the mere act of filling her lungs with air sending bliss throughout her limbs. Bliss… The bed sank and Catherine turned her head toward Thomas, wishing she could see him, touch him. Please him. “Untie me,” she said. It was neither a plea nor a request. He stilled and she would not have known he was there but for the searing heat radiating from his body. “Untie me,” she said again. “I want you to show me how to please you.” Again, silence ensued. But then he half whispered, “Can I trust you not to remove the blindfold?” His voice was uncharacteristically rough, tinged with some emotion she could not place. “Yes,” she said honestly. He drew in a breath and then slowly let it out before she felt his fingers deftly untying her wrists.

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And then as if she had just gained newfound sight, Catherine pushed herself up and reached for Thomas so that they were both sitting, facing each other on the bed. Her palms blindly found fine linen covering broad shoulders and muscled upper arms. With surprisingly dexterous fingers, she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down his arms, listening to the whisper of the fabric against his skin. She was no longer shocked at her own wanton behavior. This seemed so…right. So natural. Her hands found his smooth, hard chest. She smiled. He was just as she had imagined—all big and masculine and oh-so perfect. His skin was hot to the touch. There was a light dusting of hair on his chest that trailed downward. But she would explore that later. Boldly, she let her hands glide up to his face. Her palms found strong lines with the raspy hint of stubble. His lips were full and sensuous. His hair was thick and coarse. She longed to rip off the blindfold, to look her fill at the man who had awakened her desire. But she had made a promise—a promise she intended to keep. She offered her mouth and sighed when his lips met hers once and then twice again. “Show me what to do,” she whispered against his skin. “Show me how to please you.” Her heart pounded as she listened to the unmistakable rush of buttons being undone and then a trembling hand took hers, guiding it downward, down the hard wall of his chest, over his flat stomach, down to a thatch of coarse curls. Catherine swallowed when her fingers encircled his cock. It was big—so much bigger than she had expected. It was thick, hard and velvety. She’d never held one in her hand before. She immediately wanted it inside her. But, she reminded herself, she was not intent on pleasing herself this time. She wanted to give him the satisfaction he had given her so many times. “Show me how,” she said huskily. 40

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His hand covered hers and guided it up and down the length of his hard shaft, prodding her to squeeze, to run her palm and fingers just over the head and then to pull back down toward the base. “Like this?” she asked as he moved his hand away and let her stroke him. He murmured his approval and laid his forehead on her shoulder. His lips brushed the curve of her neck. His kisses became more and more ardent the harder and faster she stroked. Catherine held his head there, threading her fingers into the short, thick hair at his nape, breathing in the heady scent of male and some spicy, exotic cologne that mingled to drive her mad with desire. Her clitoris throbbed. His shoulders shuddered and his body tensed as she pumped him. This was like nothing she had ever known. It was frightening and wonderful and empowering. She held the key to this man’s pleasure in her hand. The table had suddenly turned and now his desire was totally at her mercy. The idea of it, of knowing she could have anything from him at this moment— anything—frightened her. But she was not yet ready to wield her newly discovered power. Not just yet. Slowly and steadily, his body became rigid, his arousal rock hard. His arms locked around her while his hot mouth opened against that sensitive little hollow at her collarbone. He voiced a slow, languid groan and Catherine felt his hot seed erupting over her fingers, over her hand. Her insides tightened and she yearned to know what it would be like to have him gushing that way inside her. Would she feel the heat? The spasms? The thought of it made her quiver. His mouth moved to hers and claimed hers. His kiss was warm and thoroughly appreciative as he pushed her back on the bed.

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He lay half on top of her with his face nuzzled against her cheek and ear. His slow, warm breaths fanned the curve of her neck. One hand came up to possessively cup her breast and one of his thick thighs parted her knees and rested between her legs. Catherine had never experienced anything like this. She’d given him the same pleasure he’d given her. There was power in it. The intensity mesmerized her. If she could gratify him with her hand, what could she do with him inside her cunny? Catherine’s pulse throbbed heavily. It was as if time was standing still and the only two people on the earth were she and Thomas. She wanted it to remain that way forever.

***** Thomas could not bring himself to move or to leave the comfort of Catherine’s absolving embrace. How long had he been here like this? An hour? Two? It had never been this way with any of the other women he’d trained. He had never slept in the same bed with them. He had never allowed himself to become vulnerable. But there was something so sincere in Catherine’s innocent touch… Something that made him fear the joy he had experienced with her. She had wanted to touch him. She wanted to touch him. It was not like it had been with the other women. They had touched him because he’d offered them something they had never before known—the forbidden. Catherine’s hand, kisses and caresses were bestowed on him out of something inside her. Her fingers grazed the line of his jaw and he opened his eyes. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to leave. He desperately wanted to tear that damned blindfold off her and gaze into her eyes. But they only had two weeks. No. Less than two weeks now. 42

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Something in his chest twisted. She belonged to another man. He turned his cheek into the warmth of her palm and kissed her fingertips. A demure smile claimed her lips. “I thought you were sleeping.” “No. Just enjoying holding you.” He instantly regretted his candid admission. Her smile broadened. Damn. Why had he confessed to such a stupid thing? He was here to teach her the art of lovemaking, not to indulge in some forbidden affair. “Tell me about yourself,” she said wistfully. His forehead furrowed. He’d done it. He’d gone too far. He’d broken the cardinal rule of seduction. “There’s nothing to tell.” “Of course there is. Are you married? Do you have children?” He took a deep breath, wanting desperately to unburden himself of the pain he carried around in his heart. Would it be safe with Catherine? Would she ever know his true identity? He swallowed hard. “I was married.” He hesitated, trying to quell the waves of fear and remembrance. “Is she…?” Even though she didn’t finish her question, Catherine’s voice had a compassionate quality that compelled Thomas to continue. “Yes,” he said simply. “She died three years ago.” “I’m sorry.” He knew somehow that she meant it. “Did you have any children?” she asked as her fingers brushed through the hair at his temple—the hair she didn’t know was interspersed with more and more gray each new day.

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“No.” He was surprised by the raw emotion in his own voice. He had always wanted children but Estelle had never been able to sustain a pregnancy to term. “That is unfortunate. I think you would make a wonderful parent. Perhaps you will marry again someday.” “No. I will never marry again.” His tone was laced with a finality that made Catherine wince. She was silent for a moment and then she asked, “How did you come to know Robert?” “It doesn’t matter.” He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t risk her finding out who he was after he’d returned her to Wallingford. A dark and ugly image of his beautiful Catherine in Wallingford’s slick embrace made Thomas nauseated. All I ask is that you leave the maidenhead for me. Thomas balked when he recalled Wallingford’s words. Bugger her in the arse. Indeed! Even given his repulsion, his cock involuntarily stirred at the idea of sliding inside that tight little orifice. He shook off the thought. Catherine belonged to Wallingford and Wallingford would soon bugger her in any orifice he damned well pleased. Thomas knew it was none of his business. “Thomas?” “Hmm?” “I am sorry about your wife.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “Yes, Catherine. I am too.” Catherine drew him a little closer. Her heart went out to him. Pain was evident in his voice and she ached at the thought of him suffering such a terrible loss. It was obvious by the tone of his voice he had loved his wife. 44

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She inhaled a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Robert did not love her. He desired her. But he did not love her. She swallowed, wondering which was worse— knowing love only to lose it, or never knowing what it was to be loved completely by another person?

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Chapter Five Thomas paused at the door to Catherine’s room. It was early. Too early. She would not be awake yet. But hell, he hadn’t slept all night. He’d tossed and turned in his own empty bed, wanting—needing—to feel Catherine’s heat, to feel her arms encompassing him. Damn. Damn. Damn. He had no right to be here standing at her door as if she belonged to him. She was Wallingford’s woman. He ground his teeth even as his fingers encircled the cool brass knob, even as he turned it and quietly, slowly pushed open the door. Catherine. Catherine tied to the bed. Bound for her own pleasure. Bound for his. She lay on her side with one slender thigh visible in the waning moonlight. The white sheet with its blue moonglow cascaded over and under and around her sensuous body. Did she have any idea just how fucking beautiful she was? A whisper of a sigh escaped his lips as he gently pushed the door closed and then treaded softly across the Oriental rug. He stood there at the edge of the bed and stared. Waves and waves of black hair tumbled wildly, indiscriminately over her shoulders, her cheeks, the pillowslip. He longed to thread his fingers through it, to breathe in the scent of it, to feel the silken strands caress his body as she rode him to climax. Beautiful Catherine.

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With the sashes loosened for her comfort during the night, she looked perfectly at peace. One tiny fist curled gently against the pillow. His knee brushed the side of the bed and he nearly climbed in with her but instead, he hesitated. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t take from her no matter how much she wanted to share herself with him. He knew where it would lead—with him buried to the hilt inside her, ramming, thrusting, watching her come undone beneath him. But God, he couldn’t force himself to leave. Silently he cursed himself as he eased onto the bed and lay down behind her. She stirred and moaned sleepily but she did not awaken. His heart raced as he nestled himself against her with his leg over hers. His hand rested on the bed just underneath the fullness of her breast. She was everything. He was becoming obsessed with her and it frightened him to the core. Somehow, after he’d admitted his life story to her, he’d left the room and had stayed away—until now. He was getting too close. Dangerously close. He tried to justify in his mind that it was only because she was the first woman he had taken on to train since Estelle’s death. Other than the servants, she was practically the first person he had confessed those things to. She drew her leg up higher. Her knee grazed his arm while her hip rose enticingly in the light of the moon. With a featherlight touch, Thomas trailed the backs of his fingers down her arm, down her side, down that voluptuous hip, over her rounded buttock to her sex. She was moist.

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He closed his eyes and touched her. There. Yes, there. His stomach tightened as he worked his fingers gently through the copse of curls, between the folds, to the hot wet hole no man had ever been inside. Leave the maidenhead for me. Fuck Wallingford. Thomas gently worked one finger inside her, eliciting a soft, sleepy moan from Catherine’s throat. Still, she did not awaken. So wet. So hot. Leave the maidenhead for me. She felt good in there. Too damned good.

***** Catherine awakened, languidly aware of Thomas’ heat behind her—and aware of something else, something she had never felt before. He was inside her. But it wasn’t his manhood. She could feel his arm pressed against the cleft of her buttocks, his hand conformed to her sex and the tip of his finger burrowed inside her. When had he come into the room? His breathing was slow and even. He was sleeping. Sleeping with his finger inside me. A little moan caught in her throat and she gently undulated against his hand. Pleasure rippled through that part of her body. She had never had a man’s finger inside her hole before. She had never had her own finger inside her hole before. It was—exquisite. She writhed slightly, wanting to rock her hips against his invasive touch but she forced herself to be as still as she could. It felt too good. She wanted to savor it. She didn’t want to come just yet.

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The muscles inside her tightened involuntarily around his finger and he stirred. His hand began to move in the slow and determined rhythm of her hips. Warm breath feathered the back of her neck and shoulders, followed by a lazy kiss. Catherine was in ecstasy. His finger searched and prodded, always careful not to push too far, even when she pushed back. She wanted him to take her. Now. She wanted his sex buried inside her. Just like this. Just like this… She moved her hips in time to his hand slowly, maddeningly as his fingertip slipped in and out and in and out and in again. And then it was happening. Catherine shuddered, clutching, clinging to the sashes which bound her wrists. Her cries erupted in a series of groans and frustrated mumbling and she was calling his name and begging him to fuck her, arguing with his adamant, husky refusals. Suddenly his finger was gone and she had never ached for the loss of anything so much in her life. She wanted more. She wanted it all. She rolled onto her back, writhing against her restraints, begging him in blunt, unladylike appeals to make love to her. Her depraved desire no longer shocked her. All that mattered was appeasing this lust—with only this man. “Please, please, please,” she cried as tears of frustration seeped from underneath the blindfold. She wanted to see him. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel him inside her. The delicious weight of his body was suddenly on top of her, his hot, greedy kisses raining across her mouth, down her throat to where he hungrily suckled each breast. His legs and arms were all around her and she could feel that part of him, impeded by those damned silk pajamas, nudging against her sex. She opened her thighs and

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wrapped her legs around him, twisting wildly beneath him. If he did not take her now she was going to die. She was going to scream. She did scream and he silenced her with a kiss. His tongue plunged between her lips and mated with hers. It was very wet and very, very hot. Catherine made mewling noises and opened her mouth to his. She arched beneath him and bucked frantically against the hard, hard shaft of his arousal. His hand slipped between their bodies and she felt him furiously undoing the drawstring on his pajamas. And then it was intimately against her, prodding, rubbing, stroking the sensitive apex of her desire and then slipping down between the folds to her aching hole. “Yes, yes,” she murmured. She lifted her hips upward but was only frustrated further when his arousal merely brushed her hole and then withdrew again. She thrashed wildly. “No.” A hot kiss caressed her ear. “That’s not enough for you, is it, Catherine?” She shook her head. His knees spread her thighs wider and she anticipated more—all. Again, he only rubbed the tip over her cunny and then retracted to slide back through the wet, wet folds, returning once more to tease her aching opening. “It’s not enough.” She shook with sobs. “Don’t do this to me, Thomas. Please!” His body and his kisses moved downward to her breasts, her stomach. She arched and groaned when his tongue traced around her navel and then left a warm, wet path down to her throbbing sex. Big hands pushed her thighs wide open and she could feel his breath against her and then his tongue, his insistent mouth kissing, sucking, laving. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her and she knew damned well she could never get enough of him. One long finger found its way inside her again, teasing her, giving her a maddening taste of what it would feel like to have his big cock in there.

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His other hand lifted her hips off the bed, pulling her impossibly closer until she could feel his teeth, his tongue, his mouth all over her, greedy and insatiable, bringing her once more to that perfect state of bliss. Catherine cried out as she came, pulling so hard against the sashes her wrists ached. Her head thrashed from side to side and she rode the waves as long as she could before she finally had to beg him to stop. She fell limp against the sheets, her entire body alive with the earth-shattering orgasm Thomas had given her. But he was not through with her yet. His body moved over hers and then he was straddling her chest, lifting her head and slipping two thick pillows underneath her. Catherine froze as she felt his cock push against her lips. Joy mingled with uncertainty flooded her being. She could do the same for him. She could make love to him this way. Hungrily, she opened her mouth and engulfed his thick, turgid penis. “Do you taste yourself, Catherine?” She only voiced an assent as her tongue rippled around and down, tasting her own sweet cream mingled with the masculine flavor of his sex. She had never imagined that a woman could do this with a man but she wholeheartedly wanted to please him the way he had pleased her. The bed creaked as he began slow, rhythmic, gentle thrusts. Words of encouragement spilled from his lips. His voice was low and husky. Catherine took as much of him as she could. She teased him with her tongue and instinctively laved the sensitive head. She sucked and kissed and drew him in, wishing desperately that her hands were free.

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Suddenly, his hand was under her head, holding her tightly against him as he gushed inside her mouth. Catherine could not get enough of his sweet, thick cream. She had never tasted anything like it. His come was warm and spicy. As she swallowed, she heard him uttering her name over and over in such a way that made her wonder how long it had been for him. He withdrew and she could feel the bed shaking with his trembling as he bestowed a kiss on her lips and then lay down beside her, his head against her breast, his arm possessively draped across her, his knee between hers. “Untie me,” she said. “I want to hold you.” Her request was met with dead silence that ended in a soft whisper of a refusal. “No, Catherine.” Thomas closed his eyes. Every fiber of his being vibrated with life. He wanted to bask in the pure joy of having come inside a woman—the feel of her mouth, the way her lips opened to take him inside, the way she willingly, deliberately sucked and tasted and swallowed. He was still so hard he could fuck her right now. She wanted him to untie her. He thought about it. Damn, he thought about it. Wallingford’s fiancée… He had promised he wouldn’t take her virginity and he feared he might do just that if he untied her—if he felt her arms around him again. Jesus, he feared he wanted more than her virginity. No. He wouldn’t even entertain that notion. Not now. Not ever. And then Catherine turned her head toward him and brushed a kiss across his forehead, an innocent gesture that made him ache inside. “I’m marrying Robert against my will.” Her voice was but a hoarse whisper.

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Something twisted inside him—something that reminded him he didn’t want to experience the pain of loss again, the pain of being vulnerable. He shut his eyes against the assault of memories, forcing them away. He had to reason with her. He had to be the sensible one. He propped himself on his elbows and looked down at her. Damn, he wanted to look into her eyes. “Wallingford is a duke. Your heirs might be in line for the throne one day.” “I don’t care. I don’t want to go through with the wedding.” “Dear God, Catherine, don’t you realize what you’ve got to lose?” She chewed her bottom lip. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t love him.” Thomas took a deep breath and held it for a moment before blowing it out. He had married for love, although so many marriages were arranged to strengthen bloodlines and escalate toward loftier titles. How could he begrudge Catherine the same? He tried to think of something to say that would console her, or reassure her that she would indeed grow to love Wallingford some day, but no words of comfort came into his mind. She would never love Wallingford. He was an ass and would remain so. He would never appreciate Catherine. Thomas breathed in an angry sigh as he thought about Catherine and Wallingford’s wedding night. Wallingford would no doubt have her undress herself and then he would climb on top and ram through her innocence without a care for Catherine’s pleasure. He swallowed. Damn the bastard. Thomas considered taking Catherine’s virginity just so she wouldn’t have to experience the humiliation and carelessness of Wallingford’s fumblings. But he had made a promise. And he knew if he let himself inside her that way, he would be lost forever. Damn.

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Goddamn.

***** Thomas opened the trunk that had long since been removed to the attic. His gaze fell on a plethora of sex toys. Dildos of all sizes and colors. Long strings of anal beads. Gleaming Chinese pleasure balls. Gold and silver nipple clamps. He stared down at the long-neglected items and blew out a sigh. After what he had allowed to happen that morning, he knew he should be sending Catherine straight back to Wallingford. He’d had no right to take the liberties with her he had already taken. An image of his cock embedded in her luscious mouth made him stir. Try as he might, he could not stay away from her. He’d attempted to justify it in his own mind with a thousand arguments. He couldn’t send her back to Wallingford just yet. He couldn’t condemn her to a marriage with that bastard without first teaching her all there was to know—and with Wallingford, she would definitely need to know this. He retrieved a wicked leather dildo the size of his own penis and turned it, examining it in his hand. Catherine would need to know how to please herself if she was going to marry that fucking toff, Wallingford. He lifted a thinner dildo out of the trunk. For now, this one would do nicely. After gathering some other curios, he left the musty attic and headed for Catherine’s room.

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***** Freshly bathed and perfumed, Catherine awaited the sound of footsteps in the hall. Once more, she was bound hand and foot with her legs spread wide. The position was hardly humiliating anymore. Now, she found it…exhilarating. Finally, approaching footsteps sounded and then she heard the tumble of the lock as the doorknob turned. Her heart rioted. Her body tightened in anticipation. Never had she wanted anything—anyone—so badly in her life. A smile claimed her lips as she caught the scent of his spicy cologne. “Thomas,” she purred, already writhing against the restraints. The bed sank as he sat on it. “It looks as if my little pupil is ready for her next lesson.” Even the sound of his voice sent waves of pleasure through Catherine’s being. Oh yes. “Yes,” she said and then formed a pout with her lips. “But what more is there to teach me?” Her pout was rewarded with a brush of his thumb. “So innocent,” he murmured. “There is much, much more.” Her smile widened. She wished she could see him. Something hard and smooth touched her lips and then trailed down her chin to her throat, sliding lower and between her breasts, down over her belly to brush across the curls between her parted thighs. Catherine arched against it. “What is that?” she asked. He untied her wrists. “Hold it.” He placed the thing in her hands. It was long and hard and shaped like a…a phallus. She gasped. What was it for? Her mind raced with possibilities. Her insides clenched with anticipation. “This, my dear, is a dildo.” She laughed. “A what?” “A fake cock.” 55

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Catherine felt heat infuse her cheeks. She’d thought after the things they’d done together already that she could no longer be shocked. She was wrong. “You’ll need this if you marry Robert Wallingford.” The smile disappeared from Catherine’s face. She wished he had not mentioned her fiancé. Not when she was trying desperately to forget he existed. “What am I supposed to do with it?” she asked. “You fuck yourself with it.” Catherine gasped. She could never do that. Never! She had the sinking—arousing—suspicion that Thomas was going to show her how to use it. “How?” she asked boldly. He took it from her hands. “You’re not ready for this one just yet.” And then he placed a much smaller one in her palm. “You can practice with this one.” A wave of disappointment swept over her. This one was barely as big around as her index finger but nearly twice as long. They both felt as if they were made of leather. “Have you ever touched yourself, Catherine?” “Certainly not!” He chuckled. “Poor dear.” He took the dildo from her and then his hand closed on hers and guided it down to her cunny. “I can’t do this.” Her body tensed beneath her open palm. “You do it. You touch me.” “No.” Panic surged. “I won’t do this, Thomas.” “Really?” She heard something that sounded like jewelry clinking. “I think this might help.” And then she felt something cold and hard and tight being fastened to her nipples. “What are you doing?” Her voice raised an octave with her distress. What was that? It pinched deliciously, sending wave upon wave of desire stampeding to her cunny. She 56

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became painfully aware of her breasts and achingly aware of the surge of heat spiraling from her nipples to her sex. He took her hand in his again and guided it down once more until she felt the soft curls and the moist heat between her legs. The hard little apex throbbed under her fingertips, begging and aching for release. He pressed her hand against her sex and she arched as a little spasm of pleasure swept over her even as she balked. She couldn’t do this. She could not do this. Not with him watching. “I want you to know how to pleasure yourself, Catherine.” She gnawed her bottom lip and shook her head. She attempted to pull her hand away but he held it firmly in place. God, she wanted to… She squeezed her buttocks together and shifted her weight but it only made it worse. “Do it, Catherine. Touch yourself. Make yourself come.” “I can’t.” “Do it for me.” The clamps around her nipples constricted even more and she whimpered as she slipped a finger through the wet folds of her sex. “Yes,” Thomas whispered. “That’s it.” The sound of his voice encouraged her and slowly, tentatively, she began to stroke the hard little crest. It felt so good. So good. She had never dreamed she could do this. Emboldened by the sheer hedonistic pleasure of the act, she began to writhe, dipping her finger down and into her hot wet hole, only to bring it back up again to furiously stroke her hardened bud. 57

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“Doesn’t that feel good?” “Yes!” “Try this.” He handed her the smaller dildo once more and without protest, Catherine thrust it between her thighs and slipped it inside her as far as it would go, frustrated that it failed to fill and stretch her. If only it were bigger, longer… “Yes, Catherine. Fuck yourself.” Thomas watched. What a beautiful sight she was with her long legs spread wide, her ankles bound to the bedposts and her hand working the smaller black leather dildo in and out of her sopping wet hole. He breathed in the scent of sex and leather as he languidly stroked his own cock. She writhed and twisted, her mouth open, her breathy sighs coming more frequently now. She was on the verge. And so was he. Her breasts quivered with each breath, setting the golden baubles on the nipple clamps in motion. He had never seen a woman respond this way. Never. Suddenly, her body tensed and she cried out. Her hips rose off the bed and with both hands, she pushed the reed-thin dildo inside her as far as it would go. “I want the big one. I want your cock stuffing me full,” she mewled. Thomas’ own eyes fluttered shut as he erupted in his hand and when he opened them again, Catherine was lying limp on the sheets, the glistening dildo discarded at her side. He seized her wrists and quickly bound them once more. “Where are you going?” she demanded when he stood. “I’ll be back later.” A sense of smug self-satisfaction flooded him at her distress. “But these…” she uttered as she thrust her breasts upward. A laugh rumbled up from his chest. “Oh no, Catherine. I want you to wear those until I return.” He fingered one of her distended nipples. 58

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“Oh please!” she cried. His gaze halted on the little dildo again. Should he? Why not? She thrashed wildly as he slid it inside her. “At least untie me,” she demanded. “Oh no.” He relished her sweet torture. “After an afternoon of having this wicked little dildo stuffed inside you, you’re going to be willing to do anything I ask when I return. More than willing.” “Damn you, Thomas,” she said with a grin.

***** Catherine groaned. Damn him. How long had he been gone? Did he intend to torture her this way all day? Her nipples burned and her insides clenched fruitlessly around the maddeningly thin dildo. She’d twisted and wriggled but the damned bonds had prevented her from getting any real satisfaction. Her distended clitoris made her ache to the point of insanity until she could stand it no longer. “Thomas…” she whimpered. She thrashed back and forth until her shoulders hurt. “Thomas…please…” And then she screamed. “Thomas!” Her back arched off the bed and she screamed his name again and again until her throat burned. “Catherine?” His voice overflowed with concern. She had not heard him come in but he was suddenly there and she felt his warm hands remove the torturous dildo and the nipple rings. Deft fingers untied the sashes which bound her wrists and ankles— and then he swept her into his arms. She clung to him and sobbed against a fine linen shirt. His fingers threaded through her hair and he held her close. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” 59

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She tilted her face up. The temptation to rip off the blindfold arose so hard in her she wanted to scream from frustration. Her palm found the hard line of his jaw. “Make love to me.” Her voice was only a whisper. He became rigid. “Please. Remove this blindfold and make love to me, Thomas.”

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Chapter Six Thomas breathed in the scent of lavender, of sex—and that fragrance belonging only to Catherine. His mind and heart warred. Here she was, pleading with him to make love to her—begging him to do the one thing he wanted to do more than anything in the world. Her body trembled in his arms and he was assailed with the feel of her silken skin and her riot of black hair. She raised her knee and her thigh brushed his side, scorching him through his clothes. Damn it all to hell. He wanted her. All he had to do was free his rock-hard cock and bury himself in her tight, wet hole. He shuddered. “Please, Thomas.” A sob shook her shoulders and he instinctively pulled her closer. Her lips parted and she sought his mouth. He kissed her with reckless abandon, thrusting his tongue between her lips until his teeth grazed hers. He wanted all her mouth had to offer. He wanted to crawl inside her silky skin. He wanted to know what it was to be inside her. He ached for her. Forcing himself not to think, he pushed her back on the sheets and moved over her. He parted her knees wide with his. Catherine’s hands roamed over his body, tugged at his shirt and fought with the buttons on his trousers. His aching cock sprang free and he felt the engorged head brush the slick, wet opening between her thighs. Just one thrust… No clothes to hinder him. Nothing… “Yes,” she breathed as she grasped his hips and pulled him down. “Yes.”

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He shook off the doubts and the hard-rearing guilt and took himself in his hand. Positioning the head, he intended to tear her innocence with one powerful thrust. She lifted her hips, raking the velvety folds of her labia over his sensitive cock and suddenly, he was coming uncontrollably, spewing pearly cream across her tuft of black curls and her belly. A shimmering ribbon unfurled all the way to that kissable little hollow at the center of her collarbone. God, what had he almost done? He shuddered with the knowledge he would not have stopped. He wilted onto Catherine and held her, trying in vain to muffle the sob that tore involuntarily from his throat. Her hands slipped around his neck and shoulders, her innocent caress absolving him. He shook, attempting to suppress another sob but Catherine’s voice was his undoing. “It’s all right, Thomas,” she whispered in his ear. The urge to purge himself of all his painful memories proved to be more than he could stand. The memory of Estelle, the pain of losing her, the inexplicable guilt he felt, all bubbled to the surface and he found himself confessing it all to Catherine in lurid detail. And all the while, she stroked his hair, his neck, his back. And she listened.

***** Catherine felt for the covers and found them in a wad at the end of the bed. Thomas had long since fallen asleep. She pulled the covers up over them and snuggled back into his embrace. If only she wasn’t wearing this stupid blindfold, she would finish undressing him. But as it was, she feared her fumblings would awaken him and after the things he’d confessed, she knew he needed rest. She’d gathered from his obvious pain that he’d never told anyone the details about his wife’s death. It must have been awful for him watching her waste away, knowing he

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couldn’t do anything about it. Catherine had sensed the helplessness—and anger—in his voice. His deep, even breaths fanned her shoulder and a little smile curved her lips at the thought of him sleeping so peacefully. Sleeping… She could remove the blindfold and take a peek at him. Just a little peek… Didn’t she deserve that much? Her heart raced at the idea of finally getting to see him. She propped herself up on one elbow and made ready to lift the corner of the blindfold but something made her hesitate. If he caught her, he would never trust her again. But could she leave here never knowing what he looked like? What if he and Robert were friends? What would she do when she saw him out in society? Her resolve melted and she sagged against him once more, going over in her mind what she already knew about him. She knew his name—but only his first name. There were a thousand men named Thomas in London alone. She assumed he must be somewhat wealthy because of the sumptuous furnishings and the expanse of the grounds outside her window. He spoke as if he were well educated. He was not a boy. His voice and the texture of his skin told her that much. But how old was he? He had thick, coarse hair which was cut short. He didn’t wear whiskers or those silly looking sideburns called Piccadilly Weepers. Thank God. But what color was his hair? And what color were his eyes? Dear Lord, she would give anything to see those eyes. Did he admire her when he looked at her? Would she see passion there? Her stomach tightened as she imagined an intense gaze leveled on her nakedness. No. She would not take a peek at him however much she wanted to. He trusted her and she would not betray his trust.

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Besides, she did not need to know what he looked like to know that she was already in love with him.

***** When Catherine awakened, she was still nestled in Thomas’ warm embrace. A storm raged outside. She could hear a torrent of rain pelting the window and hear lightning both distant and near. Languidly, she breathed in the heady scent of her lover. His fragrance was warm and bespoke a spicy masculinity. Gently, she pressed a kiss to the place where his open collar touched his throat. His arms tightened around her and a low groan of approval rumbled in his chest. I love you. She mouthed the words and then kissed him again just beneath the earlobe. She’d lain awake thinking of her new revelation for a long time. She loved Thomas. But what good would it do her when she didn’t even know his last name? She had no idea if he had a title—although she seriously suspected he did. A bright thought occurred to her. Surely he felt the same for her. What if she and Thomas eloped? What if they married? Her heart soared only to come crashing down around her. Thomas was most certainly not a duke. Robert had promised to support not only her but her family as well, and with her father on the verge of impoverishment, she simply had no choice but to marry Robert. She couldn’t very well ask Thomas to support her and her entire family. But what if she told him she loved him? What if he loved her just as much? I will never marry again… Darkly, she recalled his words. He had been adamant. And after what he had told her about his wife, she knew he could never love that way again. 64

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A lump welled in Catherine’s throat and she fought back the tears that stung her eyes. She could not stand being second best. She could never live in the shadow of his deceased wife. Never. It would be better for her to go on and marry Robert and keep the love she’d found with Thomas secreted away in her heart. Besides, even if he did feel the same way about her, he was too honorable a man to elope with another man’s fiancée. For that reason alone, she could never tell him her feelings for him. If he did care for her, it would break his heart when he had to turn her over to Robert. Catherine knew—because with every second that ticked by, her heart shattered a little more.

***** Apprehension swept over Thomas as he awakened fully and realized he had spent the night in Catherine’s bed—in Catherine’s arms. How could he have been so foolish? He took a deep breath as last night’s events washed through his memories. Squeezing his eyes shut, he recalled his untimely ejaculation on Catherine’s stomach. A wave of utter horror and humiliation swept over him. And then he recalled Catherine’s soothing voice and her reassuring caresses. He remembered sobbing like a baby in her arms. He’d been thoroughly unmanned. She lay awake tracing slow, mesmerizing circles on his chest with her index finger. Innocent Catherine… A sense of calm swept through him which he knew would not last. It was like the calm before a storm. Wallingford would be coming for her soon. Wallingford. That son of a bitch. A graphic image of Catherine being forced to submit to Wallingford’s sadistic whims assailed Thomas. 65

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I just want her to learn to respond. To learn how to please me without question. That had been Wallingford’s request. Thomas knew he could never teach her to respond without question to that bastard. He had often bragged about the cruelties he performed on his mistresses. Humiliating sex games. Pony costumes. Thomas shuddered. Would the bastard put Catherine through that? He held her a little closer and nuzzled his face in her fragrant hair. He wanted to protect her, to keep her locked away here where she was safe. He wanted to make love to her, to show her how a man and a woman could come together, could please one another with mutual respect and appreciation. She would never know that with Wallingford. Perhaps she would take a lover after she married Wallingford. Thomas hoped so but even the thought of that dismayed him. Besides, Wallingford was not the trusting sort. He would have his spies watching her every move and if she did perchance behave with indiscretion, Wallingford would surely punish her for it. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had the power to take her from Wallingford. He could marry her—if she wanted him to.

***** Catherine had fucked herself five times with that damned finger of a dildo Thomas had given her. Dear God, why wouldn’t he come to her? Where had he been all day? She’d spent the morning being bathed and fed by Lydia and then left alone all afternoon, unfettered, unblindfolded. Every time she’d heard footsteps in the hall, her body had come alive, waiting, anticipating her next lesson. And every time, she’d resorted to relieving herself with the dildo. Even now, she was less than satisfied. Nothing would do but his touch, his kiss. Her nipples hardened at just the thought of him kissing them, suckling them. That familiar aching between her legs returned full force at the thought of his exploring fingers, his tongue…

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She dropped onto the bed and gazed around the room. Dammit! Where was he?

***** Thomas held his empty glass up to the waning rays of light that still filtered in through the leaded glass in his den. The sunset danced in the cut crystal as he twisted it back and forth, savoring the last bittersweet swallow of Irish whiskey. Over the course of the day, he’d downed nearly an entire bottle and still was not feeling its effects. He set the glass down heavily on the side table, shifted in his leather chair and scratched his unshaven jaw. Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? And why, even at his age, did his shaft harden at the mere thought of her? Emotions he had not felt in years churned inside him. Indecision. Guilt. Desire. Something else he dared not name. Something elusive. Something that made his insides feel as if he were stuffed full of butterflies. Lydia appeared in the doorway and he cut his gaze toward her wordlessly. “She’s eaten her supper, my lord. Would you have me restrain her again?” Thomas shook his head, regretting the action even as he did it. He wanted nothing more than to spend another night in Catherine’s bed, in her arms. He wanted nothing more than to sink into her sweetness, to rip the blindfold from her eyes and watch her face as ecstasy swept over and through her. “No. Not tonight,” he said softly. “Very well.” Lydia curtsied and turned. “Lydia,” Thomas called. “Yes, my lord?” “What has she been doing?” Lydia cleared her throat and Thomas watched as color infused her pale cheeks. “She’s been playing with that little toy you gave her, my lord. I walked in on her when I took in her supper.”

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A smile curved his lips as he imagined her naked, both hands furiously thrusting the dildo in and out of her succulent little cunny. His cock swelled against the constraints of his trousers. Goddamn, he wanted to fuck her. “Will there be anything else?” He lifted the crystal shot glass and stared at it once more. “Yes. Have Addison saddle Storm. And then tell him he’s dismissed for the rest of the evening.”

***** Catherine stood blindfolded in her room, her heart rioting as she awaited Thomas. Finally, he was coming for her. What would they do? Would he kiss her—there—again? Would he slip his fingers inside her? Would he suckle her breasts? Would he make love to her? Her cunny clenched at the thought. A little knock sounded on the door before it opened. A wide smile claimed Catherine’s lips. She could already smell his clean, spicy fragrance. He had recently bathed. She wrinkled her nose. There was something else—the faint hint of whiskey. She held open her arms and at once he enveloped her in a hug. She could feel him against her, ensconcing her. With his broad shoulders and long legs, his body was so much bigger than hers. Her head barely came up to the breadth of his chest. She’d known he was tall but had never guessed he was a giant. She’d never stood toe to toe with him before. Slipping her leg up his, she noticed he was wearing boots. Her hands roamed over his clothing and found soft doeskin riding breeches and a voluminous shirt. Had he been riding? He didn’t smell of horses. “I thought you’d never come,” she said, her voice but a breath as she tilted her head back. His lips found hers, hard and hungry, yet still supple and gentle. How could he control such contrasting sensations? She opened for his tongue, tasting the remnants of 68

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minty tooth powder mingled with the woody redolence of fine whiskey. His hands drifted over her shoulders, down her back, over the contours of her buttocks, around to brush the curls between her thighs, one hand coming up to possessively cup a breast. Catherine moaned into his mouth and pressed herself more fully into his hand. All she could think about was fucking him. Finally, he tore his mouth away from hers, his kisses brushing the blindfold and then her forehead. “I want to take you somewhere,” he said. Her heart hammered. Where could he possibly take her? His fingers entwined with hers and he tugged her hand. She hesitated. She could not leave this room. Not naked and blindfolded. He seemed to sense her reticence. “It’s all right, Catherine. The servants have been dismissed.” “But—” “Come with me, love.” She melted at his term of endearment and allowed him to guide her out of the bedroom. There was something almost sinful about walking out into the hall naked. His arm slipped around her waist. “Be careful. We’re going down the stairs.” Blindly, she groped for the banister but with Thomas’ arm around her, she felt perfectly safe. He told her each time to step down and let her know when they had reached the last step. Her bare foot touched cool marble. Were they in a foyer? She hesitated. “Are you certain all the servants are gone?” “All except Lydia and she’s been instructed to change your linen and prepare a late snack for us.” Catherine began to throb at the thought of Thomas feeding her little finger sandwiches as she lay naked on fresh, clean linen.

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“Come on, darling. I assure you no one will so much as catch a glimpse of you,” he said with a little chuckle. And then, softer—much softer—he said, “I could never share the sight of you with anyone.” What about Robert? She wanted to ask. She wanted desperately to know. Damn this intolerable situation! She heard the unmistakable squeaking of hinges. Were they going outside? She started to resist but he suddenly swept her off her feet and carried her. Catherine squealed and clutched his muscled biceps. “What are you doing?” “Carrying you.” She laughed. “Whatever for?” “I didn’t want the gravel to hurt your pretty little feet.” It was some time before he set her down. Instantly, she caught the scent of horses and hay. “Are we in a barn?” “How perceptive of you.” The ground was soft beneath her feet. Was she standing on wood shavings? She couldn’t tell but she liked the way it felt between her toes. A horse snorted so close to her she jumped but Thomas seized her hand in his and brought it up to stroke a velvety muzzle. “This is Storm,” he said. “My favorite thoroughbred. He’s seventeen hands high.” Catherine swallowed. She had the sinking suspicion Thomas was going to ask her to ride the giant horse. She heard the sound of leather creaking and the stomp of a large hoof and then suddenly, a big strong arm whisked her up and settled her in the saddle. She gasped. “Do you want to ride astride?” A hot blush flooded her cheeks at the thought of sitting naked astride a horse but the saddle was soft and cool beneath her buttocks and even as she debated, Thomas was guiding one of her legs over. Her aching nubbin pressed firmly against the leather.

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It was tortuous and she knew it would only get worse with every step the horse took. Her backside encountered Thomas’ groin and she could feel him, long and hard, straining against the cleft of her buttocks. Strong arms surrounded her and he urged the horse into a canter. Muscled thighs pressed against hers and she could feel coarse horse hair beneath her calves. She leaned back against Thomas’ chest, aware of his heat through his shirt. And all the while, her clitoris ground against the soft leather saddle. The night air was balmy—perfect for riding in the nude. Catherine laughed out loud. She had never dreamed she would ride a horse astride, much less naked! “Can I trust you, Catherine?” “You know you can.” “You won’t look back?” She shook her head. Deft fingers loosened the blindfold and it fell around her neck. And all at once, the most brilliant sunset on which she had ever laid eyes stretched out before her, sinking behind the horizon of trees. Hues of pink and lavender reflected in a placid little lake. “Oh Thomas, it’s beautiful!” Thomas tugged on the reins, slowing his mighty Storm to a gentle walk. He trailed the backs of his fingers down Catherine’s bare shoulder, down her arm, over her thigh. She murmured her approval and rested her head against his chest just under his chin. “You’re beautiful, Catherine.” Silently, she covered the hand that lingered on her thigh and directed it toward the thatch of curls between her spread legs. “Touch me, Thomas.” She was hot. So hot. And already wet. His fingers found the hard little apex and he began to stroke it, slowly, maddeningly. The muscles in her thighs tensed and her body writhed sensuously. Low, breathy moans emanated from her throat as her breathing quickened.

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“Yes,” she said, her voice but a silken whisper that made his cock diamond hard. He slanted his head down to kiss her ear through her wealth of hair, to brush his lips against the curve of her shoulder. “Yes,” he echoed, rubbing more insistently now, feeling her harden beneath his fingertips. “Come for me, Catherine.” Her breath caught in her throat and her body stiffened as she convulsed on his hand. And when it was over, she languidly took his hand in hers and brought it to her lips, taking each finger into her mouth to lick off her own cream. Thomas nearly erupted in his breeches as he felt her hot tongue flick over his fingers and his palm. “Let me take you in my mouth,” she said and it was nearly his undoing. Hastily, he slipped the blindfold back into place, cursing himself for doing so, and then he hefted Catherine to the ground, sliding down with her. Her hands were already groping and wrestling with the fly of his doeskin breeches as she sank to her knees in the grass. Thomas leaned back against the solid wall of horseflesh behind him and gazed down at beautiful Catherine as she opened her mouth wide and engulfed his turgid cock. His fingers threaded into her hair and guided her gently, although she needed no help from him. She expertly licked and sucked and teased and Thomas fought to keep from coming. He wanted this to last forever. Catherine’s fingers encircled his phallus and then her mouth and hand were moving in rhythmic unison. Her tongue flickered around the head, lapping him, making his knees go weak. He nearly stumbled against Storm and clutched the reins to keep from falling. “Oh God, Catherine,” he muttered. “God.” And then she was taking as much of him as she could in her mouth. She was sinfully beautiful, bathed in the purple glow of twilight, sucking him, fucking him with her luscious mouth. He could control it no longer. “I’m going to come,” he warned her but she continued to suck even more savagely and then he was gushing, holding her head there with trembling hands as she drained him.

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He cried out into the night, cried her name. Emotions beyond his power erupted to the surface until he wasn’t coherent and he was uttering words of love to her, sinking to the ground and enveloping her in his arms. He pulled her against him, into his lap and rocked her, kissing her hair, his body still racked with spasm after spasm of pure bliss.

***** Catherine sat on a soft plaid wool blanket with her back against Thomas’ chest. He leaned against a tree, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her stomach. He had removed the blindfold at her promise not to look at him but she looked her fill at what she could see. His fingers were long and nicely manicured. His hands were tanned, the palms slightly calloused as if he did outdoor work. Catherine liked that. Robert was white and pasty and she doubted he’d ever lifted a finger to do anything other than direct a servant this way or that. One doeskin-clad knee was raised, the breeches straining against thick, muscled thighs. Damn, why wouldn’t he let her see his face? But she’d promised… She stared across the shimmering lake as the last vestige of daylight sank behind the horizon. She felt free. Utterly and wonderfully free—and in love—for the first time in her life. Her heart darkened when she remembered that this would likely be the last time she felt this way. A sense of doom swept over her and she gave in to the flood of tears that filled her eyes. A sob choked in her throat. “Catherine?” She covered her face with her hands and wept. “Catherine?” His hands found her shoulders. “What’s the matter?” And then she fled into his embrace, burying her head against his chest. “I don’t want to marry Robert!” Those big calloused hands stroked her hair. “Then don’t.” 73

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She stilled. And everything was quiet. There was only the sound of crickets and the toads in the lake. Was he making an offer? Dear God, she prayed he was. “I’m sure you could find another suitable fiancé.” His words stung. He didn’t want her? Her throat constricted. “No,” she whispered into his shirt. “My father is impoverished. He is adamant that I marry a duke. And Robert has agreed to pay off his debts. The contracts have already been drawn up.” Thomas held her, debating whether to tell her he’d be more than willing to sell his estate and take on her father’s debts. Hell, he’d pay his last farthing and live in poverty if it meant living with Catherine. She dried her tears and nestled her back against him once more. “I have to marry Robert. I have no choice.” Yes you do, he thought. You could marry me. But grimly, he reminded himself that he was too old for her. She deserved a lofty title and Wallingford’s wealth. Wallingford would, hopefully, tire of her when he realized she would not respond to his eccentric sexual tastes and take a mistress. And until then, Thomas could only teach her how to make the best of an intolerable situation. He would have to teach her to derive pleasure from pain.

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Chapter Seven “When you can withstand the punishment, then you are the one in control.” Catherine’s heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. Lydia had come in earlier to bathe her and Catherine had noticed the maid spreading out a variety of oddities which included colorful vials of liquid, yet another long, slender black leather dildo and a cat-o’-nine-tails made out of shimmering black silk. At once, her sex had begun to throb and now all she could do was wait to see what Thomas had in store for her. Lydia had secured the blindfold once more before she left, but Catherine could not comprehend why she had not been tied. She stood with her bare feet sinking into the plush Persian rug. A finger trailed down the hollow between her breasts and Catherine instinctively took the step that brought her closer to Thomas. He brushed a kiss across her lips, leaving her desperately wanting more. “I want you to know,” he said, his voice strange and low, “Robert Wallingford has the reputation of being a sadist. He will require you to submit to him.” Catherine rankled. “Never.” “If you marry him, you will have no choice.” Her throat constricted and she wanted to cry. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to keep her here. A tender palm cupped her cheek. “I can teach you how to take pleasure in the things he will do to you, Catherine. Will you let me?” The image of the things Lydia had lain out earlier flashed through her thoughts. The idea of delving into the unknown with Thomas was strangely exciting.

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“Let me,” he said again. “This has to be your choice.” Still, fear tingled up her spine. What would he do to her? Her breathing quickened. Her insides tightened and wetness rushed between her legs. Could she submit to this? She squeezed her thighs together and recalled the spanking he’d given her only days ago. She had enjoyed it. A hot blush flooded her face. She had enjoyed being spanked. But oddly, it had not been humiliating—it had been liberating. She had found pleasure in the act of having her will stripped away. And she would find it again tonight. “Yes.” “Are you certain?” “Yes,” she said resolutely. Quivering with fear and excitement—and desire—she stood, waiting and anticipating as she listened to Thomas cross the floor. Her mouth went dry. Her heart beat in her throat. Her pussy pulsated with expectation. “Bend over and touch your toes.” It was a command. Catherine gasped. Paralyzing fear flooded her being. His voice had sounded so forceful, so unyielding. When she hesitated, he said, louder, “Do it!” With no doubt that he meant it, a trembling Catherine bent at the waist and touched her toes. “Spread your legs.” Her hard little hillock was so ripe she thought she’d explode if he touched her. She readily obeyed. “Wider.” His booted foot slipped between hers and he nudged her feet impossibly wide apart. “Yes, that’s it. Show yourself to me, Catherine. Open yourself.”

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She didn’t understand. A little slap landed on her buttocks and she gasped. “With your fingers,” he commanded. “Open your greedy little mouth for me.” This was not what she had envisioned at all. This was thoroughly mortifying. But even still, her slit ached impossibly and she complied, reaching between her legs and spreading open the slippery folds of her labia. “If you weren’t blindfolded, I’d make you watch yourself in a mirror. You’re beautiful this way, Catherine. Open and ready. All pink and glistening.” She became utterly self-conscious, knowing he was looking at her most intimate places. He had dropped to his knees and she could feel his breath fanning the backs of her thighs. And then she felt something thick and moist being spread over her lower lips— something that set her aflame. His finger slipped some of the goo into her cunny and then he slathered her anus with it as well, the tip of his finger violating that little aperture as well with the sensitizing cream. Catherine shuddered and struggled to maintain her vulnerable position. She desperately wanted his fingers inside her, in both openings. She pushed back against his hand but when he removed it, she was left aching and cold. She shivered. Her blood grew thick in her veins and coursed heavily through her body. This was maddening. She attempted to press her thighs together but another sound slap landed on her buttocks. “Keep those legs apart.” “But—” “What is it, Catherine? What do you want?” There was no dignity in this. She couldn’t even pretend there was—and she absolutely loved it. “I want you to fuck me.” His palm caressed her backside. “Only bad girls want to be fucked. Are you a bad girl, Catherine?” “I suppose I am.” She tried to straighten but he pushed her back down.

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“Well, well. Not only are you a bad girl, you’re sarcastic as well. Do you need to be punished?” Willingly, she began to play his game. Her pulse rioted. “I need to be fucked.” A harder slap fell across her buttocks followed by a tender caress that elicited a moan from Catherine. His fingertips grazed her gaping, aching lower lips. She shook violently and tried to move more fully toward his hand but he drew it away. “You know better than that,” he said. “Tell me you’ve been bad. Tell me you need to be punished.” Catherine gnawed her bottom lip. The blood was rushing to her head and her legs strained and burned. The balm he’d slathered up and down her cleft was driving her crazy. But no matter how aroused she was, she could never ask him to punish her. “Say it.” He popped her rear again. Warmth spread through her buttocks. She wanted to twitch and squeeze her thighs together, to touch herself. But she could not ask him to punish her. “Please let me up,” she whispered. Again, his palm fell on the swell of her bottom, stinging, flaming—and feeling ohso wonderfully good. Catherine moaned loudly. Why was she enjoying this? How could she? This was perverse. She had never dreamed two people would do these things together. Yet, it was as if by being in total control, Thomas was giving her permission to enjoy something she had been told was shameful her entire life. “Ask me to discipline you, Catherine.” She tried to swallow but couldn’t. If she stood this way any longer she would split in two. “Yes,” she said, shocked by her complete surrender. “Yes, Thomas, punish me.” “Why?”

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She wanted to scream from frustration. Why did he torture her so? Heat inflamed her cheeks. “Because I’m a bad girl,” she said, truly feeling bad in every sense of the word. She wiggled her bottom at him. He patted her backside. “On your knees.” Readily, she complied and sank to her hands and knees. It occurred to her that she was fantasizing about him tying her hands behind her back and spanking her into submission. But it seemed he had other plans. “Oh no, Catherine. It’s not going to be that easy.” Her heart hammered. Spasms racked her aching pussy. “Hold your breasts up and bend over. Spread your legs. Wide.” The muscles in her thighs strained as she fought to hold the position of kneeling with her backside in the air and her breasts in her hands. She’d never held herself this way before and was surprised at the full, soft firmness. Her fingertips found her nipples and she instinctively squeezed until she gasped. And then she felt him spreading wide the cleft of her buttocks and felt something hard and insistent pressing against her anal aperture. She tensed. “Relax, love.” Fingers kneaded her clitoris and Catherine found herself loosening and slowly, a slender, lubricated dildo slid inside her anus. She groaned and trembled, squeezing her own breasts in her hands, wanting to rock back and forth, wanting him to fuck her with it. But instead, she felt it being snugly pushed into place and then to her horror, she discerned that he was keeping it there with some sort of leather strap he belted tightly between her legs and around her waist. No. No. She wanted to feel it moving in and out of her. She shook her backside trying to assuage this wild sexual desire. This was maddening! “Now, kneel up for me, Catherine. And don’t take your hands off your breasts. Hold them up high. Higher.”

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She felt like a circus dog being forced to perform. The dildo up her bum made her want to squirm, but oddly, it wasn’t enough. She positioned her anus over her heels and pushed the dildo up tighter in her rear. She wanted something more—something bigger. Suddenly, something soft but biting slashed across her distended nipples. She squealed. It hardly hurt but it made her so aware and so fucking aroused. Her head swam. She swayed. The leather strap between her legs strained against her swollen nubbin and she rocked her hips furiously against it. Again, the silken cat-o’-nine struck her breasts. “Yes!” She heard herself moan as she held her breasts out for more. And this time, it was Thomas who complied. He gave her all she wanted, flicking the little whip across her pinkened nipples time and time again. She was beautiful and so absolutely gorgeous with her red bottom lip pressed between her teeth and her forehead furrowed in an intense mixture of pleasure-pain. She threw her head back. Her long raven tresses brushed the floor. The ivory column of her throat gleamed in the dim candlelight. Her mouth opened and she moaned his name and he knew she was coming. He’d never seen a woman respond to domination this way. He’d seen them play along, even get excited by the taboo nature of it, but Catherine thrived on it. Still, this was nothing in comparison to what Wallingford would do to her. Bugger her in the arse. Goddamn. Thomas freed his aching cock from the constraints of his trousers and took the step that closed the distance between them. Seizing Catherine by the hair, he pulled her head to him and thrust his arousal between her lips. Readily, she accepted him, greedily sucking, bringing her hands up to grasp his buttocks and hold him against her while she sucked his impossibly hard cock.

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He was going to explode. It took all his will power to pull himself away from her avaricious little mouth. He wasn’t ready to come just yet. And as if Catherine had read his mind, she furiously unbelted the leather straps and tossed the apparatus aside. “Fuck me, Thomas. If you won’t fuck my cunny then by God, fuck my rear and fuck it now!” He pulled her up to him, crushing her body against his and kissed her hungrily before sinking them both back down and twisting her around so that her buttocks were against his hips. On her hands and knees, she wriggled and squirmed as he positioned his cock at the opening of her well-lubricated anus. “Yes, yes,” she breathed the words. “I want you inside me. Fuck me, Thomas.” He prodded and pushed and sank into her tight, slick hole, just holding himself there. He knew if he moved he’d come and he wanted to savor this. God it felt good! Hot. He shifted, pushing all the way in. Perspiration beaded on Catherine’s back and she trembled. He wanted to ask if he was hurting her but she began to move, slowly, gingerly. Holding her hips, he pressed against the swell of her buttocks with gentle thrusts, knowing in the back of his mind Wallingford would not be so considerate. Should he give her a taste of what she could expect from her husband-to-be? He couldn’t. But then she began begging him in blunt, unladylike language. “Harder. Fuck me harder. Faster!” He dug his fingers into the softness of her hips and squeezed, knowing he was leaving bruises but unable to stop as he plowed into her. Catherine gasped and cried out, encouraging him to continue. But it was too much. She was too much.

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She convulsed, tightening forcefully around him, dropping her shoulders to the floor. Her hair splayed wildly across the crimson rug. Thomas pushed once more and exploded, groaning as he came deep inside her. As he sank down his weight pushed her to the floor. His cock was still buried and pulsating in her rear. He knew he had to move. He had to be crushing her but his body was limp. Pushing himself up, he tried to move but she protested. “No, Thomas. Hold me this way. Don’t take it out.” How could he refuse? He scooped his arms around her and turned her onto her side so that her body spooned his. She shifted, pushing back against his still-hard cock. “Did I hurt you?” “Yes.” “I’m sorry.” “No,” she whispered, placing his free hand over her breast. “Do it again.”

***** Sated and blissfully exhausted, Catherine lay outstretched in her bed while Thomas rubbed a spicy-smelling lotion over every inch of her body. After he’d taken her again, he’d bathed her, dried her and then carried her to the bed. She’d never known pain could be so fulfilling, so liberating. From now on, she thought with a wicked smile, she would request a spanking daily. “What are you smiling about?” Thomas asked as he massaged lotion into one of her thighs. “You.” “Me?” “Well, what we just did.” The mention of it made a blush warm her cheeks. His hands moved to her calf and he kissed her toes as he kneaded her leg and ankle. “You liked that, did you?”

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She giggled. “Wasn’t it obvious?” But his tone erased her smile. “It will always be that way with Wallingford. And he won’t concern himself with whether he’s hurting you or not.” Catherine swallowed. “But I wanted you to learn that the one who receives the punishment, is the one who wields the power.” She envisioned submitting to Robert and shuddered. It would never be this way with him. It would be lurid and awful. It would be humiliating. Perhaps if she didn’t offer him a challenge, he would tire of her and take on a mistress. And after her father’s debts were paid, she would leave him. She would leave him and search high and low for Thomas. Suddenly, her world no longer seemed so dark.

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Chapter Eight Thomas stared into the darkness. The candle had long since burned out. Catherine had been quiet since he had finished slathering her body with almond and cherry scented lotion. Now, she lay with her head on his shoulder, her legs entwined with his. She was so still he would have thought she was sleeping if she had not been tracing circles on his chest with her index finger. He brushed a kiss against her fragrant hair. He’d been inside her. His stomach tightened again when he recalled how she’d felt. Hot. Tight. Slick. He’d fucked her that way twice—and he was considering rolling her over and plowing into her again. Grimly, he knew he’d never be satisfied until he’d been inside her the way a man was supposed to be inside a woman. When had he wanted a woman this much? Was he obsessed with her? His conscience told him he was past obsession. This was something else. This was something he had only known once in his life. And damn him, he’d been determined never to know it again. He winced as the realization crept over him. He was in love with Catherine. How could he send her to Wallingford now? Marry me, Catherine. The words were on his lips but he could not bring himself to voice them. What would she think if he removed the blindfold and she saw his graying hair and deeply lined face? He was old enough to be her father, for Christ’s sake. And he was no duke. Catherine had made it clear that night by the lake that she wanted to marry a duke.

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Still, he recalled her tears. She did not want to marry Wallingford and was only doing so because he was going to pay off her father’s debts. Thomas blew out a sigh. Wallingford certainly had a small fortune to throw away. Thomas did not. He had a townhouse in London and this estate and his title but his monies had been spent trying to keep Estelle alive. He’d taken her all over the world, to the best doctors. He’d provided the best care possible for her and now both she and his money were gone. He had enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life but paying off another man’s debts was an entirely different story. Catherine deserved better. She was nobly going into a marriage she did not want only to protect her father’s reputation. Thomas loved her even more than before—so, how could he let her go? His heart ached, reminding him sorely of losing Estelle. Damn. He’d vowed he would never go through that pain again and here he was, lovesick and forlorn over a girl he had only known a little over a week. “Will you kiss me?” Her quiet request brought him out of his reverie. Without words, he turned to face her, cupped her chin in his hand and brought her mouth to his. He barely brushed her lips, thinking he should go, thinking this was dangerous. And then he drew away. A little whimper escaped Catherine’s lips. “No,” she said, shaking her head as if she sensed his reticence. He smiled. “That’s not enough for you is it, Catherine?” “I could never get enough of you.” Once more, he slanted his head and touched his lips to hers. It was the gentlest of kisses. His tongue swept her open mouth and then delved inside, tasting her, mating with her. His pressure increased and then he was kissing her hungrily, threading his fingers through her hair, anchoring her head so that he could take his fill. She moaned into his mouth and kissed him back wildly. Her nails dug into his shoulder. 85

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He kissed her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her forehead and then he turned her head so he could run his tongue along the shell of her ear. She trembled in his embrace. He kissed her neck, sucking and biting, leaving distinct purplish bruises where he’d been. Catherine’s breath came out in rapture-filled gasps and she writhed, slipping her own hand between her thighs so that she could massage her sex. Thomas pushed her to her back and his mouth moved to her breasts. He laved each one, taking her nipples into his mouth, grazing them with his teeth, squeezing them together so that he could kiss them both at once. Catherine rocked her hips against her own furious caresses. He watched for a moment before he pushed her thighs wide apart and gazed at the velvety folds barely visible in her wealth of black curls. So feminine. So beautiful. He pressed a kiss to the hard little hillock she’d been rubbing and she cried out. She tasted sweet and warm and he nuzzled his face there, breathing in her essence, her come. God, he could never get enough of her—his virgin lover. He bestowed a kiss on the opening where no man had ever been and slipped his tongue inside as far as it would go. Catherine lifted her hips off the bed and pressed herself against Thomas’ face. Her hands gripped the bedclothes and she arched and rocked, thrashing her head from side to side. “Yes,” she moaned, telling him explicitly how good it felt. Thomas’ hot mouth moved over her, into her and suckled, nibbled, and all the while his hands pushed her thighs impossibly wide apart. His fingers dug into her flesh, hurting her but she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t ever want him to stop.

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Then from somewhere deep inside she could feel it building and building and she was suddenly coming, holding his head there, arching off the bed and pressing herself to his face. It was like no orgasm she had ever experienced. It shattered her. It left her boneless. She fell back on the sheets and tears streamed out of her eyes and out from under the blindfold. A sob rattled in her chest and suddenly, Thomas had her in his arms and she felt the covers being drawn over their naked bodies. She clung to him and cried and cried tears of exultation, of fear and love, desire and heartbreak. She cried until she had cried herself to sleep.

***** Thomas lay awake until the first rays of dawn filtered through the window. Catherine had not moved from his embrace. He had held her all night. And now, he knew he had to do the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. His insides churned. His heart ached. He loved her. Damn it to hell, he loved her. And for that very reason, he would have to send her back to Wallingford. If he awakened her and begged her to marry him now, she would do it just to escape Wallingford’s cruelty. Thomas could not bear that. He knew if he stole her from Wallingford, they would spend a few weeks, maybe a few months happily wed but then she would certainly grow to resent him because he was old and because he could not pay off her father’s debts—because she did not love him. No. It was better to let her leave now than to risk losing himself all over again. He swallowed hard and shifted from beneath her embrace. She stirred and moaned but nuzzled her face into the pillow and was, once again, fast asleep. Thomas watched her. She was beautiful—more than beautiful—bathed in the coral light of dawn with her fist curled against the sheets.

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He leaned over her and lightly kissed her cheek. “I love you, Catherine,” he whispered so softly not even he had heard the words. And then he gathered his clothes and left the room.

***** Today was the day. Catherine lay awake with a smile on her face. She had been disappointed when she’d discovered that Thomas had already gone but wistfully she recalled the sex they’d shared the night before. It had been wonderful. And today she knew without a doubt that Thomas was the man she loved. He was the man she wanted to marry. She wanted him so much that she would forsake her obligation to Robert and to her parents. She would give up the lofty title and fortune. And in its place she would have true love. She intended to tell him so as soon as he arrived and hoped he would want her as much as she wanted him. All thoughts of marrying Robert for his money and then leaving him had vanished after last night. Last night had been the turning point for her. Last night, she had attained joy, pleasure through pain and submission and she knew in her heart that only Thomas could give that to her. She smiled and recalled the dream she’d had. It had been hazy and faraway but it had seemed so real. She’d dreamed Thomas told her he loved her. Her heart flooded with emotion at the possibility. Could he love her? Was there room in his heart after the painful loss of his wife? The doorknob rattled and turned and Catherine bolted upright in the bed, fervently hoping it was Thomas. “Good morning, Lady Catherine.” It was Lydia. Her heart sank.

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But not even that could dampen Catherine’s spirits. Lydia’s footsteps padded across the carpeting and Catherine felt brusque fingers loosening the blindfold. She blinked as brilliant, harsh daylight blinded her. And when she was able to focus, she saw something awful in Lydia’s arms. Her clothes. No! She hadn’t been here two weeks. It wasn’t time to leave. Her heart pounded. “The master wants you to dress for breakfast.” She relaxed, but only somewhat. He’d never wanted her in clothes before and the idea of wearing anything almost seemed repulsive to her. She’d gotten used to the feel of air on her skin, the freedom. She never wanted to wear clothes again. “Why?” she asked impertinently. Lydia shrugged. “I don’t question the master’s orders.” Catherine was bathed and had her long hair washed. After that, Lydia powdered her and helped her back into her confining clothes. Corset, drawers, camisole, petticoats, stockings, garters, shoes and then the heavy lavender muslin dress were donned—all of which felt miserably awful. Catherine could hardly breathe and she wanted nothing more than to rip off the damnable dress and be free once more. She sat sullenly staring at her own reflection in the mirror as Lydia coifed her hair. Why did Thomas want her trussed up like this? It didn’t make sense and Catherine felt a foreboding sense of doom. After Lydia had finished, she stood back, admired her handiwork and smiled. “You look downright lovely, Lady Catherine. Would you like a glass of juice while you await the master?” “Yes, please.” Catherine was grim.

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Lydia sat a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table, curtsied and left the room. Catherine continued to stare at her reflection as she drank down the contents of the glass. She did look nice. She hoped Thomas thought so too. But she had so wanted to be unhindered by clothing when she told him of her decision not to marry Robert. Her eyelids felt heavy and she suppressed a yawn. How could she be sleepy after the restful night she’d spent in Thomas’ arms? But she was sleepy. Terribly sleepy. Suddenly, she gripped the sides of the dressing table and stared at the empty crystal juice glass. She’d been drugged! That was why he’d wanted her dressed. He’d drugged her and he was sending her back to Robert! No! Panic surged through her limbs and she staggered toward the door but the hypnotic effects of the drug wore on her and she crumpled to the floor. Tears flooded her eyes and she let them fall, sobbing as she felt her consciousness slipping away. She could not move, could not cry out. She would never see Thomas again. Never…

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Chapter Nine Catherine felt ill. Her head swam and her stomach roiled. Where was she? And then it all came flooding back over her in a sickening wave. She opened her eyes and sat. The sickening nausea intensified when she realized she was in her own room with her own lady’s maid staring down at her. “Lie back, Lady Catherine,” Marsha said sweetly. “No.” Oh God, this can’t be happening. The two weeks weren’t up. Why had Thomas sent her back? She shook her head trying to remember, trying to clear her muddled thoughts. Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall freely. She seized Marsha’s arm. “Who brought me here? Who? You have to tell me.” Marsha’s brown eyes widened. “I don’t know, mum.” Catherine pushed herself up despite Marsha’s vehement protests and staggered toward the door. “Please, mum. You need to rest.” Catherine pushed her aside and flung open the door. She cleaved to the banister as she faltered down the stairs and into the parlor where her shocked parents gaped up at her. Catherine was not glad to see them. Not at all. “Who brought me here?” she demanded, her speech slurred. She clung to the doorjamb to keep from wilting to the floor.

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Clearing his throat, her father stood. George Spencer could not even look her in the eye. Realization washed over Catherine. He knew where Robert had taken her. He knew how she’d spent the last ten days. A heated blush rose to her cheeks but she was not ashamed of what she had done with Thomas—only dismayed that her father had some inkling of her wanton participation in boudoir games. Still, he didn’t seem concerned. He hadn’t asked if she had been hurt. Obviously, he didn’t care. She tried to swallow against the constriction in her throat but she could not. So, her father had been in on Robert’s dastardly plan. It all made sickening sense. “Who brought me here?” she asked again. This time, her voice was meek. He turned to Catherine’s mother. “Leave the room, Clarissa.” Immediately obeying, her mother stood and brushed past her, never making eye contact. Catherine suddenly felt alone. Utterly alone. And somewhere inside lurked the realization that she’d always felt that way—until she’d met Thomas. “It was Robert’s idea.” Catherine blushed. Her father did know how she’d spent the last ten days! And apparently, he had agreed to it. Anger roiled within her. She glared. “I won’t marry him.” George was across the room in an instant, backing Catherine to the wall. His hand tightened around her throat. She stared up at him wide eyed, not believing, aching inside for Thomas. “You will marry him. Do you hear me? You will!” She could see the desperation in his watery blue eyes. He didn’t care about her. He only cared about having his debts relieved. “Bastard,” she spat. And then he slapped her.

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Thomas did not look up as Robert Wallingford sauntered into his den. Instead, he stared at the half-empty glass in his hand—the one he’d refilled far too many times. “You look awful, old chap.” Robert helped himself to Thomas’ whiskey and then plopped down in the chair across from him. Thomas finally looked at him, burning inside from the whiskey and outright contempt for the man. “Was she that much trouble to tame? Perhaps I owe you more money.” “I don’t want your damned money.” What he did want was to throttle Robert Wallingford. He lifted his gaze to the smiling man sitting across from him. Wallingford sat casually dressed in smart white trousers and a navy jacket, leaning back with his legs crossed and one elbow draped on the armrest. Thomas literally shook as he forced himself not to lunge at the bastard. “You didn’t fuck her, did you?” He narrowed his eyes. “No.” “Well I must say, I’m puzzled as to why you returned her early.” “I was finished with her.” Wallingford’s mocking laughter filled the room. Thomas smoldered. “Buggered her in the arse, ’eh?” Thomas bit down on his tongue to keep from telling the bastard exactly what he thought of him. “Good,” Wallingford continued. “I hope you loosened it up a bit because I certainly intend to—” Thomas cut him off. “I told you I don’t want your damned money. You have no more business here.”

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Wallingford eyed him warily and then downed his whiskey in one gulp. “Got under your skin, did she? She has a way of doing that to a man. It was lucky I won her in that card game. But between you and me, Tommy boy, I made certain I won that game, if you know what I mean.” Thomas stared hard at Wallingford. Catherine’s father had gambled his daughter away to this cruel, cheating bastard? The thought of it made him want to vomit. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth gnashed. His fists ached to pummel Wallingford but somehow he refrained, and somehow, he reminded himself that he had no right to Catherine. She was Wallingford’s fiancée. Not his. “Get out, Wallingford.” Wallingford stood and straightened his clothing. “I brought you a banker’s draft.” “I don’t want it, dammit!” “Very well. I’ll just consider it your little wedding present to me,” he said with taunting hauteur and then he tossed something on the end table—vellum embossed with a gold seal. Thomas stared at it and then at Wallingford. He could not believe the audacity of the man! To give him an invitation to the wedding after what he’d done with Catherine… It was ludicrous. He would never go. “You really could do with a shave, old man. You look like hell,” he said and swaggered out of the room. Thomas waited until he heard the sound of the door close and then he hurled his crystal shot glass against the hearth. It shattered, leaving him less satisfied than he had hoped. “Fuck you, Wallingford,” he seethed.

*****

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Catherine stared at her reflection in the mirror. It had been two weeks since she’d last been with Thomas and all attempts she had made to find out who he was had been fruitless. No one would answer her questions. Her mother had scarcely spoken to her and her father, not at all. Not even Robert had been to call on her. Not that she cared. Marsha put a sprig of dried flowers in Catherine’s hair and she winced as the hard little stem scratched her scalp. She looked like the most miserable bride ever. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying—crying not because she had to marry Robert Wallingford but because Thomas had not sought her out. He knew her name. He knew who she was and undoubtedly knew where she lived. Her stomach knotted. If he loved her, surely he would have come for her by now. She pursed her lips to stop their trembling. All they had done flashed through her thoughts. Everything… And after all that, he still did not love her? Catherine wanted to weep but somehow she refrained. Today, she would marry Robert Wallingford and she would make his life a living hell until he told her Thomas’ last name. In the mirror, she could see all her things packed and ready to move to the Wallingford estate. Robert would never have to know about the little dildo that had been discreetly wrapped and brought back with her from Thomas’ house. It was her most prized possession, but in the past two weeks, not even that had brought her any joy. Every time she had used it, she’d thought of Thomas and she’d ached for him so badly she’d tossed the dildo aside and cried. A knock sounded on the door. “Hurry up, Catherine. The carriage is waiting to take you to the church.” It was her father’s voice—and it was the first thing he’d said to her in two weeks. Grimly, she pushed herself up as Marsha continued to adjust the pale eggshell pink wedding dress. “That’s enough,” Catherine said. It didn’t matter to her what she looked 95

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like. The dress was heavy and confining, her corsets constricting. She could hardly breathe. Still, she hesitated before a full-length mirror. She had to admit, she was stunning. She smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes. Robert would tell her Thomas’ last name tonight. If Thomas had taught her anything, he’d taught her how to wield her own power. Robert had probably not counted on that. Holding her head high, she opened the door and descended the stairs. Her parents said nothing to her as the servants gathered her voluminous train and stuffed it carefully inside the carriage. Catherine, in turn, said nothing to them. She did not even look at them. It was a short ride to Trafalgar Square and to the church, St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Catherine looked up at the imposing façade with dread. There would be over a thousand guests here today, including Queen Victoria herself. But Catherine felt none of the nervousness a normal bride was supposed to feel. She felt sick. Her knees trembled as she was escorted out of the carriage by one of the liveried coachmen. She gazed up at the steeple, salient against the gray London sky. Her heart sank. How she wished she were marrying Thomas instead of Robert. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. Her corset had been laced too tightly. Once her train was fluffed and stretched out, she made her way to the door and stepped inside. A throng of people turned to watch and an organist began the strains of a Bach chorale. Someone thrust a bouquet in Catherine’s arms and she started down the aisle. A minister awaited her at the end and beside him, stood Robert. A sinister smile twisted one corner of his mouth. Catherine tried to swallow against the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t think about this. She couldn’t. She just had to force herself to go through with it. She squeezed her eyes shut and then made herself open them once more, her gaze scanning the crowd, searching the smiling faces. 96

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How could they be smiling? Did they not know she detested Robert? Did they not know what he had done to her? Her gaze stopped on one man. He was not smiling. He was staring. Catherine hesitated. There was something oddly familiar about him. Although he was quite a bit older than her, he was strikingly handsome. As she neared him, she felt suddenly naked beneath his penetrating gaze despite her multitude of skirts. Still, she continued to boldly stare. He was tall, broad and dressed in a well-tailored charcoal suit that accentuated his black hair which was interspersed with distinguishing gray. Two steps closer, she discovered that his eyes were a glittering sapphire blue. He stared in the most intense manner and Catherine’s stomach tightened with recognition. But it couldn’t be. Could it? No. Thomas would certainly not come here. She glanced back over her shoulder at him as she passed, knowing deep inside she knew this man. Her father elbowed her in the ribs, abruptly drawing her attention back to Robert who loomed at the end of the aisle. She couldn’t marry him. She wouldn’t. She stopped in the middle of the processional and turned back toward the man who’d been staring. He stepped out into the aisle and realization washed over Catherine in a deluge. She knew. She knew by the fervent way he looked at her. This was the man she loved. This was Thomas. Wrenching away from her father’s grasp, she took a step toward him. “Thomas?” The hint of a smile claimed his lips and that was all the impetus she needed. Joy flooded her being as Catherine rushed into his arms, threw her own around his neck 97

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and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I thought I’d never see you again!” she said, oblivious to the guffaws and gasps of the wedding guests. Thomas hugged her, lifting her off her feet as he gazed into her deep green eyes. She was more beautiful than he’d remembered and looking into her eyes, he could see the love she felt—for him. He cupped her cheek in his palm and stared. She searched his gaze. “Take me away from here.” “Catherine, what the hell are you doing?” Robert’s voice demanded. “Catherine,” her father scolded. He strode toward them and tugged at her arm but she jerked free of his hold. “No!” she wailed. “This is scandalous!” George muttered beneath his breath. Thomas tore his gaze away from Catherine just long enough to see Robert storming toward them and then he turned the full force of his stare on George Spencer. “You should have thought of that before you gambled your daughter away to a sadist.” George gasped. “Unhand her, Collins!” Robert said. Thomas looked into Catherine’s green, green eyes once more. Dear God, he loved her. It was real—and it was worth it. Suddenly, he swept her off her feet and rushed out of the church, clambering back into the carriage with her. “Go!” he told the driver. “Go now!” With a lurch, they were off. The horses’ hooves pounded on the cobblestones. Catherine laughed and waved gleefully at Robert and her father, who were standing slack-jawed in the street. Breathless, she turned to Thomas. “I knew you’d come. I knew you wouldn’t let me go through with it.” “I couldn’t.” 98

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She reached up to caress the hard line of jaw. She knew the feel of him so well but the sight of him was something altogether new and wonderful. Her lips burst into a smile. “God, I’ve missed you.” She searched his blue eyes. “Why did you send me back?” His smile faded. “I’m not for you, Catherine.” She seized his hands in hers. “Thomas, I could never love anyone but you.” He seemed surprised. “Look at me. I’m an old man.” Her gaze scanned him from head to toe. He was older, yes, but he was still stunningly handsome and devastatingly sensual. “I think you’re gorgeous.” The sound of his surprised laughter filled the carriage. But Catherine didn’t laugh. She just stared. And suddenly he had her in his arms, crushing her body to his, holding her head tightly against his chest. “I love you too, Catherine,” he whispered into her hair. “God help me, I love you too.” She closed her eyes and let out her breath in a long, soft sigh. She had not married Robert Wallingford after all. She was with Thomas! She loved him and he loved her. It was too perfect to be true. Joy flooded her. “How did you know who I was?” he asked softly. She breathed in the familiar scent of him. “I just knew.” He pushed her away and tilted her face up to his. “Marry me,” he said. “Today. Right now.” More joy filled her heart and she managed to nod. He brushed a kiss across her lips before he turned to the driver. “Don’t stop until we’ve reached Gretna Green.”

***** The wedding ceremony had been short and intimate, with only Thomas, Catherine and a rotund little vicar who had been awakened from his afternoon nap. Thomas had procured a room for them at the nearest tavern and although it didn’t boast much in the way of amenities, it was everything to Catherine. 99

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He’d carried her across the threshold and now she stood in the middle of the tiny room as he turned down the bolt on the door and then faced her. A smile claimed her lips. She was now married to Thomas Collins, the Earl of Claymore. Lord and Lady Collins. They were husband and wife and she could scarcely believe it. She rushed into his arms and closed her eyes at the feel of his hard body encompassing hers once more. This was bliss. This was perfect. Her eyes fluttered open as she tilted her head back, as his mouth sought hers. He kissed her softly at first, stopping to gaze into her eyes before claiming her lips again. And then his tongue was inside her, forcing her mouth open. He kissed her hungrily, greedily and all the while, his hands furiously worked the endless row of satin-covered buttons on the back of her dress. Her breasts were freed first and he slanted his head down to take each one into his mouth. Catherine watched and brushed her fingers through the graying hair at his temples as his kisses scorched her flesh before she helped him wrest the corset and dress from her body, leaving them in a crumpled eggshell pink heap on the plank floor. Thomas lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, still clad in her thin silk camisole and drawers. Catherine yanked and tugged at his tie, at his starched white shirt, at the sapphire buttons which glittered at his throat and cuffs. He leaned over her and kissed her mouth as he shed his jacket and then his shirt. Catherine fought with his trousers until she had them unfastened and then she pushed them down, freeing his aroused cock. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of him. Dear Lord, he was big. She’d had that inside her? Back there? She trembled. Kneeling on the mattress, she took him in her hand and examined every inch of him before she bestowed a kiss on the swollen, purplish head.

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He groaned and his fingers wove into her hair, heedless of the hairpins and combs Marsha had so carefully placed there. It all fell and Catherine’s long black hair tumbled around his hands. “Oh yes,” he whispered. She glanced into his eyes as she brushed the tip of his phallus along her bottom lip and she was rewarded with an expression of pure passion. His eyes clouded. He gnawed his bottom lip. His forehead furrowed. So this was what she did to him. She kissed his cock again and then all at once, she engulfed him in her mouth. He cried out and she could feel him trembling. He tasted heady and warm and masculine. Clean. So familiar. She ran her tongue over and around him, her hand moving in time with her mouth. Thomas’ knees went weak. He was going to come if he didn’t stop her. His insides were at war. Nothing would be more perfect than to explode in her mouth but dammit, he wanted to make love to her. He wanted to make love to his wife. He pushed her back on the bed and yanked the camisole off over her head before he moved on top of her and forcibly ripped her lacy white silk drawers open all in one motion. As he positioned himself over her, he looked into her eyes. They were the color of spring grass and filled with emotion. She opened her thighs and lifted her hips to accept him. “Make love to me,” she said, her voice but a breath that caressed his very soul. He steeled himself, holding her hips steady as he thrust quickly inside, tearing her maidenhead as he stretched her. It took every ounce of iron control he possessed not to come as he sank into her lush, tight softness. He feared he’d hurt her but she merely winced before her expression changed from one of pain to pleasure as he moved inside her. Her hands roamed over his back, down to his buttocks. She clutched, holding him tightly against her. Her long, silky legs wrapped around his. Dear God, it was everything he had imagined it would be. It was better.

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And suddenly he was driving into her. The little bed creaked beneath their raucous activity and Thomas feared it might fall. Catherine writhed beneath him as he made love to her fast, bringing her to the brink of rapture and then with maddening, prolonged slow thrusts, teasing her relentlessly. She caught his face in her hands, held him there while she lifted her head to kiss him. His thrusts became more determined. She urged him on and suddenly, he could feel her spasms tightening around him. When she threw her head back in the throes of passion and cried out, it was too much for him. He was coming too, shooting deep inside her, filling her with his cream. His forearm was firmly beneath her back. His other hand gripped the softness of her buttock, where he held her tightly against him. After the spasms subsided, he lay still on top of her, not moving, just relishing the feel of her. Hot. Wet. His. And when he did raise his head, he saw the tears streaming out the corners of her eyes. Alarm filled him. “Did I hurt you?” She shook her head, batting her eyelashes against the onslaught of tears. “No. It’s just that I’ve never felt…this…before.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I love you so much.” He rolled onto his back and drew her into an embrace with her head on his chest. He loved her too. And it felt right. Perfect. They lay there, touching, exploring, kissing, until the shabby little room started to get dark. Finally, Catherine propped herself up on her elbows and looked into his eyes. A mischievous smile curved her kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve been a bad girl, Thomas.”

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About the Author Debra Glass’ previous experience as a medium inspired her interest in writing Alabama ghost stories, although she’s also got a passion for spine-tingling paranormal romance. Since 2002, Debra has written several books on regional folklore and has had numerous articles published in Fate Magazine and various Civil War magazines. Now she’s writing steamy erotic romance and dabbling in the paranormal with her Phantom Lovers series which features passionate and sexy ghosts who are guaranteed to keep you up at night!

The author welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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