His by Carolyn Faulkner (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

one instant before he allowed it, that he would make her very, very sorry. All Raina could hope was that he wouldn't use his mouth until the very last.

His words of warning flowed over her various points of overheated skin of one sort or another, then into her ears, where it traveled back down to the area he was sitting in front of. She was so sensitized to him that she couldn't help but respond to any effort he made towards her, especially in this situation. Her clit was so engorged it was as if it was trying to reach out to him, to gain his attention, and most specifically his touch.

But what he did was draw his fingertips - his rough, callused fingertips - over the area, starting at where her pubic hair, if he had been allowed it, would have begun, down through her natural crease, but consciously avoiding that heightened nub, not pausing to plunge into her dripping womanhood, or even further abuse that already plundered bottom hole of hers. Instead, he just kept drawing his fingers over her, over the close insides of her thighs, into the creases where leg met pubic area, and back up and down again.

Then he donned a leather glove and did exactly the same thing, this time poking a little bit more, not trying to pleasure her in any way, merely inspecting what he owned. He took his time - he had nowhere to go, and he'd seen to it that she didn't, either.

Chapter Six

Raina was ready to burst. He had been very slowly licking her for at least the past year, his broad tongue only coming in contact with that inch or so of engorged flesh for seconds at a time, not spending any time where she really wanted him. She had been reduced to trying to arch up into him when he got anywhere near that area, so much so that he had introduced a belt across her hips that held them nicely in place, such that she no longer even had that outlet, that ability to ease the horrendous ache he was creating.

She could see herself in the mirror on the ceiling and she could see it every time he advanced towards her, and that only made her body anticipate the pleasure even that much more. Raina could see how desperate she looked, how lewdly she was spread and, as if she couldn't feel it already, how completely she was bound, to him and by him.

After what seemed like decades, he finally rested his chin on her bare pubic bone, whispering the words she so longed to hear.

"I'm going to put my fingers inside you now, and then I'm going to put my mouth over that bright red clit of yours. I bet I could talk you into an orgasm right now, couldn't I? I wouldn't even need to touch you."

Raina nodded emphatically, nearly in tears at the thought of the relief she was going to feel when he finally let her explode between his lips.

"We'll leave that for another time."

All of a sudden, with no real warning, she felt herself parted by his thick fingers, which he rudely shoved up insider her. But she was just as happy to have the stimulation as his flesh dragged along hers, inciting each and every already rioting nerve.

"Hold on. Not yet," he murmured, "not yet." He adjusted himself a little, then poised over her clit, his lips actually brushing against her as he spoke. "When you feel me take you in my mouth, then you may come, but not until then. Do you understand me?"

Raina nodded, her eyes transfixed on the images of them above her.

With that, he leaned forward and sealed his mouth over her while his fingers plunged at will in and out of her. As often happened when she had held herself off for so long, it was no longer an instantaneous thing. It took him four, maybe five strokes before the way his hot, wet mouth had settled around her, and the fact that she had permission to give in that anguished ache she'd been holding at bay for so long seeped into her brain and let her let go of the leash she'd had tight around her desires.

When it came; when she came, she could do nothing but slam her head back against the table and truly howl with the agonized pleasure of it; her already stressed voice breaking even further as she gave him wild, full throated scream that signaled the end of any sort of control she might have had.

Her Master brought her through five storms that were nearly as intense before leaning back a little to let her try to recover from them. But she wasn't recovering. She was crying. He cut her loose of everything, literally cutting each bond, and removing each cuff, leaving her more naked than she ever usually was, picking her up and carrying her up to their bedroom.

All he did for the next several hours was hold her. She wept uncontrollably for the first long while, then settled and simply lay in his arms, almost unnaturally silent.

There was no pre nup. There was no year long wait for the marriage either. They had a very small, very private ceremony within the next month, and then a long, private honeymoon in a beautiful bungalow on an island that he owned in the South Pacific, which, during the month that they were planning the wedding and the trip, he had had stocked and opened and cleaned and supplied with everything he could think of, and then he'd sent the staff away, so that he could have her to himself, and they could have the island to themselves.

The moment after they got there, and his pilot left with his private jet - although he had a helicopter stabled there if any sort of emergency arose - he turned to tug her into his arms, kissing her