Bertrice Small - Captivated

He knew

Dear God, how did he know?

And if he knew… she had no choice but to do everything he wanted, anything he wanted to protect Gerard and to conceal the fact she loved him.

Her whole body felt like lead. She didn't know how she was going to do this, how she was going to let Court even touch her.

She swallowed, turned, so that for one instant the curve of her breasts and the tight thrust of her nipples were outlined in the light, and then she slowly moved away from him.

Don't think about anything or anyone else. Don't feel his eyes on you or the heat washing all over your body. Don't… don't… don't

He watched her through hooded eyes. She was so perfect, flawless, her buttocks soft and rounded and flaring into those swaying hips that were made to be grasped tightly as a man centered himself to penetrate her.

He wanted to grab her right then, right there, and ram himself into her; a thousand fantasies played in his mind as she stopped at the wall and waited for his next command.

Oh? It was going to be like that, was it? A tiny act of defiance that he would squash right now.

"Turn and come back to me," he ordered, and she swiveled around and started pacing toward him.

Her breasts bobbled just a little, her nipples begging that he look at them, marvel at them, lust for them.

He'd never been so hard in his life. He couldn't contain the iron-bar jut of his manhood. He didn't want to. He wanted to do exactly what she desired: throw her on the bed and embed himself in her to the hilt and beyond. He wanted to feel the bones of those hips grinding against him, and the hard-soft play of her breasts and nipples against his naked chest.

He wanted… all those things and more, more, more…

He itched to slide his fingers between her legs and make her moan with pleasure. She was that close to him, and that far, and not nearly ready for such an assault on her senses.

Her lips were moist from her having tongued them over and over in her nervousness. He wanted to suck them, he wanted her to tongue him all over his body and then root for his manhood and suck him dry.

Instead, she was standing before him, naked, abashed, trembling, virginal, her bosom quivering, her nipples more tempting than fate.

He could not allow himself to feel sympathy for her. She wanted to "get it over with," that was all. She wanted to save her immortal soul for Lenoir. He could see it in her eyes. And that made it easy for him to make the command.

"Get on the bed."

Oh, God, yes, yes… She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. The moment of reckoning was here.

But how did a virgin seduce a libertine, she wondered suddenly, panicked, if she couldn't stand him looking at her naked body with those knowing, ravenous eyes, and the threat of that hard, flexing rod of his sex. There was no way she could escape him, no way she could renege on that contract she had willingly signed.

But she hadn't thought it was going to be like this with him. That he would be so hard, inflexible, cold-blooded.

Just let him stick it into me and have done… after that, the rest will be easy…

She moved toward the bed, aware with every step of his assessing gaze.

She heard him pull in a hot breath as she climbed onto the bed, and sat on her knees with the curve of her buttocks tucked behind her ankles.

He couldn't believe his response to that one commonplace movement and the tempting picture she made. All he had to do was lift her, straddle her and poke his throbbing ramrod into that hot, tight pleasure hole.

But it was too soon for that. She was obedient now because she wanted him out of her room, and because she thought her nakedness would make him instantly come to heel.

Like that upstart, Lenoir.

He would have bet she had the bastard twirled around her little finger. She was probably very used to batting her lashes and putting men off or making them come to heel.

But he was no lapdog.

And that was just one hard lesson the fawn had to learn among many. He was a patient man, in spite of the fact that he ached for the full-bore possession of her sex. Oh, yes, he wanted her; the gnawing was intense, almost unbearable.

Which made it all the better. Because soon, soon, he would teach her how to want him, too.

"On your back, my fawn. Good. Nowhold your breasts up to me, and spread your legs."

She moaned; her body writhed in protest and the movement sent a jolt of pure boiling lust to his throbbing penis.

"Do it, Drue. I want to see everything between your legs."

She turned on her side. "I won't."

Damn the bastard He had to touch her, much sooner than he had planned, but he had to crush that refusal now.

She felt his hot, huge hand on her hip, rolling her ruthlessly onto her back.

"The master always gets what he wants," he growled. "Spread your legs, or I will spread them for you."

"I won't …" It was enough, it was, and he wasn't even undressed, and she didn't know what he wanted or what he planned to do, but she couldn't yield to him in that, not that way, by putting herself in the most vulnerable position for a woman.

But it became clear that her desires held no sway. He ripped off his shirt, and tore off the sleeves with all the anger, lust, and crippling desire to cram himself into her channeled into containing her on the bed.

She couldn't escape him; he was stronger, tougher, relentless in his passion to have her nakedness exposed to the greed of his lust. She couldn't kick him hard enough, scramble fast enough, or roll far enough to elude his hot huge hands.

Mercilessly he wound each sleeve around a bare ankle and tied it to the posts of the bed.

"Bastard!" she spat. "Take me now."

"Oh, no, my naked fawn. No. I won't take you now. That would be too easy." He moved away from the bed to pull a small upholstered chair from the window over to where he could sit and see her perfectly, and he settled himself there.

"I cannot believe you're doing this."

"What am I doing, little fawn? I'm feasting my eyes on my wife's enticing nakedness."

She fell back against the mattress, feeling so exposed, so bare, she thought she would die.

But her body wouldn't let her die. Her body moved incessantly against the bonds that held her legs spread wide, as if the movement itself could loosen the knot instead of escalating the tension and anger she felt.

She arched her back against the restraints. "Damn you, damn you, damn you" No one had ever treated her like this. Gerard wouldn't…

His whole body seized up with every undulating movement of her rounded hips. He saw himself between her legs, riding that hot, bucking thrusting body so deep, so hard, that he exploded and drowned in her juices and begged for more.

He couldn't get enough of watching her innocent body finding an erotic rhythm of its own that he matched in his imagination.

This was his domain and he was the master. He had only to drop his trousers and present himself to her and her writhing, grinding body would take him to sweet, hot oblivion.

But denying himself his release only made the pleasure of anticipation that much more intense.

Slowly he rose from the chair and went to the bed.

"I hate you."

"Well, this is your first lesson, little fawn, I hate when you refuse me what I want."

"Take what you want," she whispered, "and then just go away."

"No, my wife. You don't yet understand. You are to willingly give me what I want whenever I ask, whatever it is. Sonext time I want you to spread your legs for me, you will lie down on that bed and make sure your legs are as wide apart as an ocean. Is that clear?"