Page 63 of Bound By her Earl

He was teasing, she was sure, but as his hands went to undo the buttons first on his waistcoat then on his shirt, she decided that a little teasing was a fair trade.

When he shucked his clothing, leaving his torso bare, she felt the briefest flicker of regret that her hands were bound. Benedict’s height gave him the impression of being slender, and he was, to be sure. But with his form bared to her, she could see the impressive strength in him and the rippling muscles of his chest and arms that she wanted to stroke, caress, lick.

It was this third thought that made her blush. When he saw it, Benedict grinned an evil grin.

“Oh, my darling girl,” he murmured, “how you flatter me.” He ran a hand up the length of her thigh, from knee to hipbone, and her legs tried to clasp around them.

Instantly, Emily realized her mistake. Benedict’s hands clamped down firmly on her thighs and hetskedat her, his expression growing even more deliciously wicked.

“Patience, darling,” he chided gently. He reached for the remaining length of rope and before Emily had fully registered what he was doing, he had removed her stockings and lashed her ankles as well, one to each of the bed’s immovable posts that stood like sentinels at the foot of the mattress.

“Benedict,” she panted, her voice needy, desperate. She didn’t care.

His gaze grew assessing for a moment. “Tell me to stop,” he reminded her.

She shook her head. She didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t know how to phrase what she did want—everything, her mind insisted,give me everything—but she knew she did not want him to stop.

The wicked look returned.

“Well, then,” he said, sounding very, very pleased indeed. “I think I shall take my time with you at my mercy.”

Emily’s chest heaved, the wordmercyan echo and a promise in her head.

She did not, as it turned out, know the true meaning of the word.

Benedict—still wearing his trousers, damn the man—did take his sweet time, barely even touching her to start. With gentle hands, he guided her head to one side then the other, plucking hairpins one by one from her coiffure until her curls spread out in all their massive, chaotic glory.

“God, woman, the hair on you,” he murmured, his tone making this unmistakable as anything but the highest praise. “It’s the only part of you that should never be bound.” He played with a long, dark curl, tugging it straight and then letting it spring back into shape. It grazed along the sensitive curve of her breast as it went, making Emily whimper.

“Benedict, please,” she said. Her hips were the only part of her with any mobility, tied as she was. And though the ropes grounded her in a way nothing else ever had—made her feel as though every inch of here washereandnowinstead of spiraling off worrying about this or that—it was blisteringly frustrating that she could not reach for him.

Still, she was never once tempted to ask him to release her.

“Please what?” he teased, leaning over her so that his lips grazed hers in the barest of touches.

“Just…please,” she said, exasperated and delighted all at once. “This isn’t lovemaking!”

She was so hungry for him that she didn’t even feel embarrassed saying the wordlovemaking.

His mouth grew crooked again. It was so unfair how that crooked look suited him when sternness also made him look so well.

“Isn’t it?” he asked. He traced the trail of the curl along her skin, down her neck, over her shoulders, across her breast, and to the upper ridges of her ribs. “Are you certain?”

Well,no, she wasn’t, but saying so felt as though it would be directly in opposition to her overall goals.

“Then do itmore,” she insisted.

And finally, wretched, cursed,wonderfulman, he did.

“Oh, very well,” he said lightly. “I suppose I would enjoy it very much as well though I cannot offer any criticism to you the way you are now. Lovely, laid out. All mine.” He caressed down her side as he went, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. He pressed a kiss to her mouth then her neck. Emily fought to stay still, lest she disrupt this very promising change of tactics.

She managed it for approximately three seconds. When his mouth traveled down to press hot, lingering kisses to her breasts, she started to twitch. When he kissed her stomach, she squirmed. When he kissedlower, she arched up toward the divine sensations he was creating, the heat in her stoked like a fire with far, far too much fuel.

When he stopped, she gathered that he was lucky he’d tied her ankles because she could have kicked him.

“What? No, no, Benedict, no,” she pleaded, feeling half mindless with desire. She tugged against her bindings, strangely relieved when they did not give.

“Fuck, darling, no wait,” he gritted out, sounding pained.Good, she thought with a desperate vindictiveness. She was beingtortured; he could share in that suffering.

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