Free Mastering the Marquess by Lavinia Kent Page B

but he kept his grip on her ankles tight.
    “Stretch just a little farther,” he said. “Try and place your fingertips on the headboard. Yes, just so.”
    The wood was cool beneath her fingers and she tried to concentrate on that, tried not to think about him looking at her, staring at her. If only she could see what she looked like—although it was probably best that she could not. This was embarrassing enough.
    Using his grip on her ankles, he pulled her legs apart, spreading them.
    She tried to resist. She knew it was foolish after standing before him, bending before him, but still, she could not bear for him to see her—not there.
    “Trust me.” His voice was quiet, but left no room for question.
    “But …”
    “You promised to try. You can ask me to stop later.”
    She closed her eyes beneath the blindfold, imagined she was in her garden at midsummer, and relaxed her legs. He spread them wide, almost to the point of pain but not quite. He held them there for a moment and groaned softly. She knew the meaning of that groan. He was staring at her, right at her. She’d never even seen herself there. No memory of roses and mums was going to keep her from realizing what was happening.
    Another groan. This one deeper.
    He desired her. She could picture his cock rising—and all because of her.
    The embarrassment, the need to close her legs shut, was still there, but there was a growing excitement. He wanted her.
    She wished she could see him, know exactly how he was responding, how he was reacting.
    Or at least touch him.
    She started to move her hand.
    “Stay still.” It was almost a bark. Or a growl.
    Instantly she froze.
    “Now, I am going to release your legs, but I do not want you to move, not one inch. If you move, I will stop.”
    How could he stop? He had not even begun.
    His hands let go, and she had to struggle to keep from moving. She felt him shift upon the bed until he was directly between her legs.
    She hoped the blindfold covered her face adequately. She didn’t want him to know how she felt—how nervous she was, how excited she was. She felt damp there, there between her legs. Was she supposed to be? She knew the man produced seed, but did the woman do something? She wanted to ask, but knew she could never say the words. At least not yet.
    “Your honey is dripping for me. You like this more than you know.” Once again it wasalmost as if he had read her mind.
    “Honey? Am I sweet then?”
    A low laugh. “You definitely are sweet, although perhaps not quite in the way you mean.”
    His finger stroked her and then was gone, before she could complain—or even think.
    Another groan. “Damn, you are sweet.”
    He hadn’t tasted—had he? She remembered the taste of him and felt her mouth grow dry.
    And then another quick stroke. He leaned over her, not touching, but still she could feel his heat, his weight. And then his fingers were against her lips.
    She held them tightly closed.
    “Taste.”
    He could not really want her to … It was hard to even think about.
    “Taste.” His voice was more insistent.
    With some trepidation, she parted her lips.
    His fingers slipped in.
    “Suck.”
    She complied. It was like nothing she’d ever tasted before. It certainly wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t bad, but … She didn’t know what to think.
    That was her taste. Her flavor.
    He held his fingers in her mouth for a moment, drew them back, then pressed them forward. And then again.
    By instinct, she sucked tight with each thrust.
    His voice whispered by her ear. “Soon it will be more than my fingers you taste, and then you’ll know the taste of us—together.”
    The images the man conjured. She didn’t know whether to be appalled or … The urge to press her thighs together grew greater—and now not from embarrassment.
    He removed his fingers from her mouth, pulling away from her. He placed a hand on each of her knees, forcing her stillness, not giving her a chance to disobey.
    “Do you