Page 16 of His Bound Bedmate

It was time.

Chapter 9

Millicent

Look, I’d had lovers.

I knew my way around a man’s tongue.

But Findlay’s tongue? Oh my God. Findlay’s tongue.

Combined with the way his fingers were playing with my clitoris and the pressure of the pad in front of me… Well, in all the naughty romance novels, this is where the heroine starts using metaphors about fireworks and dams and explosions, but me…

I was going to fooking come.

Just like that, though, he pulled away, and I found myself lifting my ass up off the wooden shelf of the stocks, trying to get closer to him again. I wished I could see what he was doing. Not being able to see him—being clamped in his position—made the whole experience more exciting; it was incredibly arousing, and a little frightening.

And I loved it.

“Would ye like to ken what’s going on back here?”

Findlay’s voice was his usual gravelly tone which I loved so much. It not just sent shivers all over my body, but reached down between my thighs and grabbed a hold of my core and squeezed.

Needless to say, dinner conversation was going to be a little interesting, if I was this aroused by his voice. The analytical side of me wondered if his vocal chords emitted a frequency which was somehow resonating with my cunny, or if it was a more emotional connection because he was now my husband.

Further research was evidently required.

The rest of me, however, screamed “Shut the hell up and enjoy it!” so I did. I squirmed against the wooden restraint and nodded my head with a moan. I did want to know what was going on back there.

“Currently, I’m stroking my cock.”

The easy way he admitted it made my stomach tighten. God I wanted him inside me.

“I’m pretending this is your hand, you know. Not too tight, just soft pressure.” I filed that away for future stroking-needs reference. “And while I do that, I’m playing with the paddle with my other hand.”

The casual reference had my pulse hammering in my ears. “The paddle?” I choked out.

“Yes.” He must’ve slapped it against his thigh or something, judging from the smack I heard which set my heart pounding even harder. “I’m no’ going to hit yer ass too hard, but I am about to—”

Without giving me time to tense—and that was probably his intention—he slapped my left cheek with the paddle. It wasn’t too hard—just a light smack. It only made me hotter, want him more.

“Did you like that, Millicent?” Findlay murmured.

“Yes,” I gasped. “Oh, yes.”

“Excellent. I’m going to do it again while I continue to stroke myself.” He slapped my arse a few more times, not too hard, and I moaned. “I love the way ye arch yer back when ye’re in this position,” he continued while the paddle made light contact with my flesh again and again.

The sensation itself wasn’t particularly arousing, though it did warm my arse…more, it was the knowledge he had complete control. I didn’t know when or where the paddle would next strike me, and that had me holding my breath, each fiber of my being focused on the tender flesh of my rear end.

Each time the paddle touched me, I sucked in a surprised, excited gasp, as if discovering a grand new secret.

He continued. “I love the way yer ass is turning pink. It makes me want to shove my cock in your dripping cunny.”

“Yes,” I managed to gasp again. “Please! Green!”

He chuckled, and that did something even better to my clit. He so rarely laughed, or even smiled, and now I knew exactly how much he was enjoying himself.

With me.

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