It Stings So Sweet (28 page)

There is no chance to warn him, because my words become incoherent cries.

I come hard. I come straining every muscle against the silk ties, my hips lifting up off the
bed only to press harder against his mouth, my arousal flowing onto his tongue. And when it’s over,
I’m so embarrassed and there’s nowhere to hide. I can’t cover my face with my hands; I can only turn
my head to the side.

I go silent inside myself.

“Sophie?”

I say nothing.

“You
know that’s exactly what I wanted to happen, don’t you?” Moving between my legs, he presses the crown
of his erection against my slickness. “Can’t you feel how hard I am for you?”

The desire to
reach for him, to touch him is so strong that I writhe against my bonds, and the frustration only grows
when he whispers, “Do you remember this fantasy, Sophie? How the man kneels over her, stroking
himself until he sprays all over her body. Is that what you want me to do?”

“Yes,” I whisper,
then change my mind. “No! I just—I want you inside me.”

“But I promised to reenact your fantasies
in every detail.”

“Change it. Please!”

“Do you want me to fuck you instead?”

“Oh,
please, please, yes, please!” Shamelessly I spread my knees and I’m near delirious with anticipation
when I hear a tearing sound and know he must be rolling a sheath onto himself. If he didn’t want to
wear one, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. And that thought terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

My heartbeat thumps when he slides himself between my legs, teasing at the opening. “Is this
what you want, Sophie?”

“No!” I cry with frustration. “I want . . .
more
.”

His swollen
erection dips shallowly inside me, then withdraws. It doesn’t hurt. Not with the sharp pain of the
first time. Instead, it makes me ache. And I don’t think I can stand it. “Tell me what you want, Sophie.”

“Robert, please, please.”

He stretches me a little more, then leaves me empty.

“I
want you to fuck me!” I cry, then sob with desire. I am desperate for him. Desperate to have him inside
me. “Please, please, fuck me.”

I hear the hiss of his desire through his teeth, but he holds
back. “Only if you promise me one thing . . . that when you come—and you will—that you’ll call out
my name.”

I promise, though my words are an incomprehensible jumble. When he fills me, I give
out a strangled cry of relief.
Yes
. This is what I need.

“Christ, you’re still so tight,” he
murmurs, seating himself until we’re pressed close, his front to mine, and the weight of him on me
is delicious. I feel every puff of air against my cheek when he breathes, and my own shallow breaths
quicken as he strokes in and out.

He kisses me. And in my fevered state, I bite him. Not hard,
but just enough that he notices and growls, making that sound I love so much. I want to throw my
arms around him. I want to run my hands up and down his back. I want to wrap my legs around his waist,
but I can’t do any of those things. Tied still, I can only kiss and bite and breathe him in.

I can only accept all this pleasure . . . and I think I’m going to die of it.

I’m coming. I
say his name, moaning it at first, then louder, until the sound drives me to completion. He moves faster
inside me, making wet slapping noises that are drowned out completely when I scream his name. My
body tightens, grabs at him, and binds us together through my climax.

His jagged breath tells
me he’s close and I want that, too. But when the last of my tremors pulses through my sex, he withdraws,
kneels up, and suddenly I feel the whole mattress shaking beneath us.

“Do you want me to come
all over you?” he asks in a hoarse whisper.

The indecent question breaks open a dam in me,
and I’m flooded with memories of the fantasy I wrote in the journal. “Oh god, I do.”

When the
first spurts of his seed splash against my skin, we cry out together. In the darkness of my blindfold,
the sensation surprises me. The wetness on my belly. The strand that catches on my lips and clings.
It tastes wonderfully salty as I draw it into my mouth, consumed with the depravity of it.

Robert collapses atop me, angling most of his weight into the mattress, but resting heavy limbs over
my trussed-up body. Then he kisses me, and the salt of his sweat mingles with the salt of his seed
and the salt of my own taste on his lips.

It’s an ocean of newness and discovery, and I swim
in it.

The fantasy I wrote ends here, the man departing without a word. Thankfully, Robert
doesn’t go. Instead, he dips a fingertip into his sticky leavings and paints my body with it. “I’m writing
my name on you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re mine.”

He’s claiming me. Claiming me more
now than when he took my virginity, and though I shouldn’t want to be claimed by any man, it touches
me somewhere I didn’t expect. He’s rubbing the sharp, virile scent of himself into my skin, staining
me with his essence, and I feel a pull between us, a connection both fragile and irresistible. Can
it be possible that there’s something sacred in these indecent acts I’ve imagined?

Or is the
magic in the man?

He shifts again and my breath hitches. “Now what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to untie you. I don’t like the marks the ties are leaving on your arms, and your hands
are bright red.”

He reaches to release me and I hiss with pain as my arms fall, one at a time,
to the velvet coverlet. Only now do I feel the ache in them, the suffering that couldn’t make itself
heard over the roar of pleasure. He knew I was in pain, worried about me, sensed this about my
body before I did. And his care for me elicits a pang of tenderness that threatens to be my undoing.

How can I feel the way I do about this man, who is nothing like he seems?

He removes my
blindfold and I blink at the intrusion of unwelcome light. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in a state
of complete undress and it takes my breath away. He’s big boned and barrel-chested, with powerful
muscles hidden beneath the flesh. I marvel at the constellation of freckles on his skin. We’re
both
fair-skinned but his body dwarfs mine and makes me feel like a doll in his arms. And it soothes
me.

It also brings out my inner imp. “Is
that
all there is to it, then?”

His hand goes
to the nape of my neck. “Oh, Sophie, we’re just getting started.”

CHAPTER

Six

Late into the night when I’m aching and sore, I
ask,
“Why do you always get to be the one in command of the situation? Why don’t I ever get to yank your
clothes off or force you down or make you obey me?”

Robert props himself up on one elbow, idly
tracing my collarbone. “Because, my dear lady, none of that was in your book.”

Nose to nose
with him, I say, “Well, it should have been. What was I thinking, writing all these stories about girls
who get seduced and spanked and surrender to a man like he’s the lord of the manor? Stories like
that probably make people think women shouldn’t have gotten the vote.”

“I assure you, suffrage
was the last thing on my mind when reading your diary.”

“I’m being serious,” I say, unwilling
to let him divert me.

He laughs. “I can see that. Sophie, your stories left me with an impression
of a woman who understood her own desires and was unapologetic about them.”

A little doubt
creeps in. “Maybe there’s something wrong with a woman who desires this.”

He cups my cheek,
adoringly. “There is nothing whatsoever wrong with you, Sophie.”

“I’m just thinking . . . wondering
 . . . I believe people are all equal and that power should be shared. I believe that women
are as smart as men and employers ought to respect their employees, but when I’m with you, all I want
is to do things that insult those ideas.”

Robert scowls. “Oh, for the love of God, if it will
put an end to this dreary introspection, have your way with me.”

It takes me a moment to recover
from the shock. “You’ll do anything I say?”

He doesn’t look at all thrilled by the prospect,
but throws his arms open. “I’m yours to command . . .”

In spite of his words, there is absolutely
nothing humble or submissive in his posture. I’m even a little nervous to touch him for fear
it’s a trick and he’ll spank me if I try.

“Well? No idea what to do with me, Sophie?”

“I think I’d better tie you to the bed.”

One eyebrow goes up. He doesn’t think I’ll do it, I
realize. He doesn’t think I’d dare. But he’s changed his mind by the time I’ve used one of his silk
ties to knot his right hand to the headboard.

“Sophie, is this really necessary?”

“Your
other arm, please,” I say, reaching for his hand.

“This is an experiment,” he says with a sigh,
allowing me to secure him. “An exercise in trust.”

“Mmmhmmm.” I lean back and survey my handiwork.
I’m overcome by the sight of him, naked, those spectacularly big arms of his spread out and
straining like a dangerous beast that I’ve captured. I’m not sure I
do
know what to do with him.

I start by straddling his legs, kissing him, letting my hair fall into his face. At least I
know he likes the kiss, because he murmurs my name. I shiver when my sex touches his and it stiffens
with arousal. I grind against him. And I feel an urgent need to have him inside.

“Careful,
Sophie.” He shifts beneath me, his eyelids lowering in warning. “You’re dangerously close to destroying
my self-control.”

That’s when I see that he’s loosened the tie holding his right arm. I don’t
bother to fix it because he could break it if he wanted to. This is, as he said, an exercise in trust.
Shamelessly, I slide my body down, taking his cock between my thighs, but not inside me. The sudden
motion makes him groan. The head of his shaft nestles against my clitoris and stimulates me in
a most delicious and unexpected way.

Resting my palms on his pale, freckled chest, I rub against
him slowly. I mean to use his body for my pleasure—to be as wicked and controlling with him as
he’s always been with me.

And maybe that’s how it starts, for the first few moments.

But then we kiss again, the sweat of his upper lip in my mouth, and it’s as if I’m the one bound. The
undulation of my hips is a dance I do to please him even more than to please myself. And the way he’s
looking at me makes me feel as if I’d better not stop. The idea that I’m his private dancer sends
spirals of arousal up into my belly, but before I can let myself get lost in it, I lift up, leaving
him hard, wet, pulsing, and unfinished.

He snarls with frustration. “Where do you think you’re
going?”

“Remember, you’re mine to command.”

I arrange my knees on his pillow on either
side of his head.

Then he goes quiet and so do I.

I can scent my own arousal, so it must
be in his nostrils, too. I was all boldness when I started this, but now my confidence fails. What
I meant to do is so brazen that I tremble at my own temerity. I’m frozen above him, paralyzed.

“If you’re going to do it,” he says, with a growl, “by god,
do
it, Sophie. There’s no room for
shyness if you mean to fuck my mouth.”

That’s all I need. Arching my back, I thrust against
his mouth. I ride his tongue. I moan as his teeth graze my most sensitive spot, and then it becomes
a battle. His is no passive kiss between my legs. He strains, the cords of his neck tight as he sucks
my pussy lips into his mouth and takes possession of them.

I try not to melt into him. I try
not to surrender. But the way he uses his mouth on me has me panting, moaning, straining. I throw
my head, tendrils of sweat-soaked hair whipping at my bare back as I realize that he’s going to make
me come. “Oh god, oh please.”

I shouldn’t beg him, but I can’t help it. As my thighs clench
around his ears, I reach down and grab a fistful of his hair. I’m coming again, crying out, and I think
I must be hurting him.

But I can’t be gentle.

Rip.

It’s the sound of his right arm
tearing free of his bonds and it’s as raw and primal as my orgasmic screams. In spite of everything,
I’m grateful when his freed arm comes round my hips and locks me in place. He’s still sucking and
licking and thrusting his tongue into me when we begin to roll.

His body is like some enormous
boulder, the momentum of which I cannot stop. He’s supposed to be submitting to me, but he has me
caught in the grip of one arm as he rises from the bed the other arm is still tethered to. He pins
me to the wall. The cool grain of the wood paneling scratches my back as I slide between it and his
body.

My eyes must be filled with reproach because he says, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m made
that way . . . and neither are you.”

Hours later, we’re
glued together, sticky with sweat and sex. Having taken personal instruction as to exactly which
positions
are
possible—quite a few, it turns out—I’m so overstimulated that even
the bedsheets against
my skin leave me raw. “I begin to see what all the fuss is about, Mr. Aster . . .”

With great
satisfaction, Robert peels himself off me, collapses onto his back, and basks in the morning rays
of sunshine that leak in around the curtains. “And
that’s
how your first time should have been.
Now we can sleep in.”

I groan. “I’ve never been so tired in all my life . . . but I don’t think
I could sleep a wink.”

“I’ll read you a bedtime story,” he says, reaching to the end table
for my journal.

“I’m too tired to even
think
about sex,” I confess.

“Nonsense. Tell me,
my little bearcat, which of these fantasies is your favorite?”

When this started, it was exciting
to have a man cater to me with no expectations in return. Now I find myself wanting to know his
fantasies, too. “Which one is
your
favorite?”

“This one.” He flips to the right page, holding
the journal so that I can see it.

One glance at the page and I feel myself turning scarlet.
I curl in on myself, drawing my knees up under the covers as if I can hide what he’s exposed. “It was
just a whimsy . . .”

“Why are you cowering, Sophie? Trust me, I’m gratified to know that we
both fantasize about famous movie stars.”

I peek at him. “You are?”

He gives me a lurid
smile. “I knew about these fantasies before we met. Nothing in this journal shocks or offends me.
I don’t know if everything you fantasize about will excite me, but everything I’ve read in this journal
definitely
does.”

There’s an easing of the tension in my back and shoulders as I accept his
words for the gift that they are. “I think it’s just
her
. I love her sass, her hair, and the way
she dresses. We all try to imitate her. I think if there was any movie star girls would think about
kissing, it’d be Clara Cartwright.”

“And trust me, she’s the movie star most likely to appreciate
that sentiment.”

I have to ask. “You’ve met her?”

“I know her very well.”

Remembering
the spate of scandal sheet rumors from more than a year ago, my stomach suddenly sours. “You may
say that I haven’t any business asking, but—”

“Sophie, you’ve every right to ask,” he says,
reaching to stroke a lock of hair out of my eyes. “But a gentleman does not tell.”

“I thought
you were trying to be less of a gentleman.”

“Nevertheless, I treat people I care about with
respect. If you want to know about my relationship with Clara, you can ask her yourself.”

I snort indelicately. “I’m just a shopgirl. I’m not likely to meet the likes of the legendary Clara Cartwright.”

“To the contrary, you’re going to meet her next week. Clara and Leo are coming to stay in the
hotel. Their film has been nominated for an award and they’ll be my guests while they’re in the city.
I intend to introduce you.”

If someone told me two days ago that I’d see Clara Cartwright in
the flesh, I’d have been over the moon. Now, I’m upset. “I don’t want to ask her about you like some
jealous harpy! It’s not her place to tell me. It’s yours.”

He pulls himself up, resting his
back against the headboard and reaching for a flask by his bedside, as if this isn’t a conversation
that he can have sober. When I see him pause, unable to take a swallow, I know I’m not going to like
what he has to say. “Clara and I were lovers, but I deny it in the scandal sheets and always will.”

“Because you’re such a
right guy
or because you have something to be ashamed of?”

“I’m
not ashamed of Clara,” he says with a slight note of offense. “I adore her. She’s married to my best
friend in the world.”

I sigh with relief at this perfectly reasonable explanation. He wouldn’t
want to rub an old affair in the nose of her husband. It makes sense to spare everyone’s feelings.
So why does something feel so unfinished about it? “You’re not
still
sleeping with her, are you?”

“Not for quite some time.” He seals the flask, puts it back without taking a sip, then arranges
himself stiffly against the pillows. I’m alarmed by the anxiety in his expression, by the naked
emotion in his posture that he’s trying to hide.

He’s a man who takes what he wants; I’ve always
known this about him. What I don’t know is if there are lines he won’t cross. “Robert, did you
betray your friend with his wife?”

“
No
,” he says forcefully, more than a shadow of warning
in his eyes. “No, I did not. I
would
not.” That’s when I realize it’s not guilt I see on his features,
but some other kind of regret. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Sophie. But it’s too complicated
and unconventional to explain.”

“I’m a complicated and unconventional girl. If you can’t tell
me, who can you tell? It’s hardly fair that you know all my stories and I know none of yours.”

He sighs. “Has anyone ever told you that you argue rather persuasively? Do you have formal training?”

“I’ve been speaking in union halls since I was a teenaged girl at my da’s side.” I nestle against
him, trying to make him comfortable enough to tell me the truth. I see that his handsome features
are marred by dark shadows beneath his eyes. I don’t know if it’s sadness or exhaustion, but he
lets me pull him down so that we’re on the same level, face-to-face. “The main thing is that I’m persistent,
Robert, so you might as well sing.”

I school myself not to show shock or alarm; I don’t want
to wound him if he opens himself to me. But a little part of me worries whatever he has to say might
ruin everything between us. And perhaps my keen desire to protect this relationship should be what
scares me most.

He touches his forehead to mine. “What would you say if I told you that when
I shared a bed with Clara Cartwright, it was at her husband’s invitation?”

The stab of jealousy
is blunted by my instant fascination. “He wanted you to make love to his wife?” In spite of bracing
myself, I’m wide-eyed, my mouth a little circle of surprise. My words are breathy when I speak,
betraying my own excitement. “And you did?”

“Many times.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else
to say. That he would do such a thing makes him seem even more worldly than before. “Are you . . .
are you
all
lovers?”