Page 13 of His Bound Bedmate

It was my personal copy of A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts.

Dog-eared and well-worn, a testament to how often I took it to bed with me.

I wouldn’t need to do that any longer.

His lips slowly curled into a wicked smile, the one he only showed to me. “I’ve been meaning to add a copy of this book to my personal collection.”

“Really?” Breathless now, I leaned over his arm so I could open it, then flip through the pages. “I was hoping—that is, not tonight, since we have plans…” I sucked in a breath when I turned to page twenty-seven. “Could we try this?”

“The King’s Gambit,” he read in a choked tone. “Ye want to do this with me?”

I glanced up at his expression, worried. “Yes? Is that not correct?”

“Jesu Christo, Millicent, it’s more than correct.” He closed the book, tossed it onto the shelf, and pulled me against him. “It’s going to make me come before I even get ye naked. Have ye made yer choice?”

Choice?

The length of his cock probed at my hip and I squirmed against him.

Oh yes, I remember. He’d asked me to choose which room. Our bedroom…or our secret room?

Grinning, I reached up and curled my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. When I flexed my hips forward, he hissed.

“I want to give you my trust again, Findlay.”

Exhaling on what sounded like a prayer, he met my gaze with joy in his. “And I want to give ye mine.”

Understanding what he meant, I sucked in an excited breath. “Really? Are you ready now?”

He grabbed my hand, then he was pulling me through the door to our secret room. It was so fast, I missed him unlocking the door, but then we were surrounded by the devices and tools of control.

I was already getting wet. He’d asked me not to wear bloomers—or petticoats or a corset or a chemise—under my gown, and I was happy to oblige…except I was going to ruin the silk if I got wetter.

“How do ye want to begin?”

His low question drew my attention back to him, and I smiled. He was giving me the control, and that’s what this room was all about. Trust.

“Take off your clothes,” I commanded him.

The last time we were here, he stripped me. Now it was my turn. I stepped forward to help him peel off his formal jacket, undo his necktie, unbutton his shirt. We could’ve had fun, teasing each other, but there was no time now.

Now, tonight, was all about gratification and satisfaction. We could relish in strip-teases later.

When he stood shirtless before me, I took the time to run my hands over him, as he had me last week. I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of feeling his chest. I hummed in appreciation.

“I want to try the St. Andrew’s cross,” I announced. Nothing too edgy; but I liked that he was letting me be in charge.

“As you wish.” He crossed the room at his usual languid pace and stood in front of the large wooden X. “Forward or backward?” he asked, as if it were the most natural question in the world.

“Forward,” I was quick to instruct. There was no possibility of letting him hide his cock from me. I could already tell it was engorged, and I needed to see it, to feel it. More than just the way I’d felt it pressing against me at the altar, or in the times we’d kissed over the last week.

He strapped his left wrist to one of the top arms of the cross and I stepped forward to do the other. I had to brush his new leather cuff out of the way to secure the restraint, and my fingers lingered on it. “I love this,” I whispered.

Those gorgeous blue eyes turned towards me as his chin hit his shoulder. “I hoped you would appreciate the symbolism,” he murmured in return. “No matter where we go, we’ll wear cuffs for each other.”

“Giving control to the other person.”

Something flashed in his eyes—approval? Arousal?—and he lunged for me, catching my lips in a kiss even without the use of his arms.

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