Charlotte's Control, page 10
* * * *
That evening, Austin ushered a still-panting William into the parlor. She hadn’t trusted herself with upstairs, or releasing the servants.
She took a moment to compose herself. It would not do for William to see her agitation. Given his missives, she suspected he’d use it to his advantage.
And yours.
Shushing the devilish, Belle-like voice in her head, she rose to greet him and paused, her knees unable to sustain the motion of walking for a moment. Lud, he was delicious, all golden hues and plain dark clothes, hair parenthetically framing his forehead.
Her knees. Had. Gone. Weak. Really, Charlotte? They hadn’t done that since Charles had first called on her, too many years to think about now. When you were his age.
She willed strength back into her limbs and continued toward him. His scent wafted to her.
Cloves, that is it. Spiced rum and cloves.
She took a long sniff, as his eyes trailed over her heaving bosom, bright with excitement.
When she reached him, he bowed low and reached for her hand, ungloved in the privacy of her home. He kissed it, lingering. “Mistress.”
Ignoring the pulse of heat low in her belly, she tugged on her hand. “Did you run here?”
His breath sniffed in before he released it and straightened. He was blushing, and his free hand held what appeared to be a book.
She peered at it as she sat, choosing her preferred rosewood armchair. He chose the settee, and she tried to ignore him tucking the item half under his leg.
“I, ah, might have hurried. I brought you something.”
Ack. How did he manage to be sweet, sinfully beautiful, and possibly submissive? She slid her gaze to the sofa beside him, but she stayed silent, attempting not to appear too eager. Internally, she berated herself. She should not covet his gifts, even if they were books. ’Twould only encourage him.
He slid his hand into his jacket and produced a piece of paper, passing it to her.
Opening it, she read the line at the top noting its source, then the poem. She pressed her lips together at the last few lines in an effort not to grin, feeling his eyes on her. How on earth he kept finding new tokens perfectly suited to her, she had no idea. Once again, his choice was spot on.
“Thank you, William. I confess, I am not familiar with Catullus. This is lovely.”
He grinned. “There is a whole book of his poems. They were passed around at university, as they are too racy to be taught in our classes.”
“Yes, I can see why the administration might have decided that.”
“Sadly, I’ve only seen copies in Latin. Which led me to think…” His hand dropped to the tome and drew it out an inch at a time.
She followed his hand’s path without blinking.
He held it out, face up. A Latin primer.
She gasped. This was better than any poetry, any science that led to better investing. This was a door to a whole universe she wasn’t privy to.
“I dug this out of a crate from secondary school.”
She glanced up at him, then back to stare at the book he held, still silent. Her lust for knowledge—which would be far more available by learning Latin—might equal her lust for this magnificent specimen of a male in his prime. She flicked her gaze up again. No, probably not, but it is a…close?…second.
“Ahem.” He cleared his throat, then swallowed, glancing from her to the book then back. “I thought you might like it, and I could help you with it as you wish whilst I am here…?”
She wanted to snatch the book to her, to ensure he could not change his mind. But as the mature adult here—her imagined snort sounded a lot like Belle again—she would mind her manners.
“What a thoughtful gift, William.”
Drat! Her voice caught. Indeed, it was the most thoughtful gift she could have imagined, and she suspected no other man, of any age, would have thought of it. She pressed her lips together, biting her tongue to try to avoid crying. She daren’t weep in front of him a second time or he’d never kiss her again. Wait, she should not want that. Heavens, her emotions and thoughts were in turmoil with this lovely but oh-so-young man.
Her eyes slid shut to hide from him, but one tear escaped, rolling down her face. Embarrassed, she whirled away and sniffed.
William set the book down on the table in front of them and leaned in to offer his handkerchief, questioning, “Mistress? Did I upset you? I beg your pardon. I will take it away, ’twas clearly a mistake.”
“No!” She turned back and slapped her hand down on the book, her voice and arm like whips.
His back jolted straight, although he continued to hold the linen out. “Oh. Of course not, ’tis yours to do with as you wish. Er…if not the book, then may I ask what made you cry?”
She drew the book into her lap greedily before accepting the handkerchief to dab at her face. “I was not crying. I simply got something in my eye.”
“Oh. Right, then. I am glad. Uh, not that you got something in your eye, but that I didn’t upset you…” He blushed.
It was just what she needed. She giggled a bit at his clear discomfiture, and, when he gaped at her abrupt turnabout in emotions, giggled again.
“Does that mean you do like the book? I can help you with it. It was ever so hard at first. There are many interpretations for each word.” Gone was the reserved knight of the evening before. The eager puppy was back.
Yum.
Alarmed at the thought, she shoved it away for later, her worry turning to lust-tinged panic at her ability to resist him when she heard his next thoughts.
“Mistress, I’ve made it quite clear that I wish to learn from you. I believe you wish to teach me as well. I—you…”
He blushes beautifully. She sat back, interested to see where he would go with this line of thought, content to let him stammer, while she attempted to keep her libido from finding the nearest set of restraints—those curtain ties would work—and having her way with him.
He arched a brow at her recline, realizing her intent. “You know of what I speak, Mistress. I was thinking that for every five words I teach you in Latin, you could teach me something. It would not be possible to learn the whole language this summer, but I think at that rate you’d make significant progress.”
She was impressed that he’d already planned his approach and was ready to barter. However, she thrived on dickering and refused to make this easy. “And, just to be clear, what would I teach you?”
“Mistress.” He sighed out, sounding exasperated.
“William, if you cannot say it, then I daresay you are not ready to learn it.” She grinned.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Although that is quite dear. Belle would be proud. She stifled an inappropriate giggle.
“You are right, Mistress.” He took a breath. Still blushing, he nonetheless held her gaze as he finished, “You could teach me…more ways to serve you…in bed.”
She acquiesced without a fight. After Belle’s pushing that afternoon, her conscience had been attempting to wrestle her craving for this gorgeous, fervent young man back into submission. But when he presented his personal Latin primer as a gift, her desire slipped its lead and was running amok. The only thing she could control was the end date. “First, William. Let us set a time period for this arrangement. You refer only to this summer, do you not?”
He blinked and swallowed. His gaze flickered away. “I suppose I hadn’t thought that far.”
She suspected he was lying, but she’d take his statement as agreement. “I have. Whatever we decide on here, I am stipulating that it ends when you leave for university.”
He frowned before smoothing his expression and nodding.
“If you are in my bed, I expect you not to be in any others. Is that understood?”
“Absolutely, Mistress.” He sat forward, his smile eager.
“And I will offer you the same courtesy.”
His eyes narrowed.
She smirked. She would have not have done such a thing, but it was all part of the negotiations. William had not considered that side of it. He needed to feel that she was giving something up. “Lastly, absolutely no attachment. You do not fall in love, you do not fall in lust, and you do not write to me when you return to Oxford.”
“Hmm. I am not entirely sure I can control all that, Mistress, but you have my word that I will do my best.”
She considered for a minute. ’Twas not like she could hold him to any of that, anyway.
He’d also proven that he’d do what he wanted whenever he could get away with it.
She nodded. “Fine. Then for every 50 words of Latin, one night in my bedroom, although not necessarily in my bed.” She smirked.
He leaned in. “No.”
“I beg your pardon.” She arched her brows, pretending hauteur to hide her glee at his willingness to haggle. He had no idea of the extent of her skill with money and investing, the best form of bargaining in her opinion. How entertaining.
“Mistress, I wish more than anything to pursue this arrangement with you, but fifty words is too much.” He continued, “I said five because for every Latin word there are a myriad of ways to translate based on context, when it was written, and frankly, the individual reader. It’s a language that cannot be rushed to be appreciated, and I cannot wait for fifty words to touch you again.”
She loved the enthusiasm, but he should be sure about what he was signing up for. “You might be waiting longer to touch me if you do not behave, puppy. I can tie your hands each and every time and torture you to my heart’s content.”
His eyes flared at her moniker, a smile teasing one side of his mouth even as he groaned and sat back, his hand in his lap surreptitiously plucking at his trousers to offer relief for his strangled cock.
After a moment of enjoying the view, she offered, “Twenty-five.”
“Ten. Mistress, please. I beg you, ten.” His mouth begged, but his eyes said he knew what that word did to her.
Naughty rakelet. Well, never let it be said that I do not reward good behavior. He did use one of my favorite words, even if he knew it would help his case. “Done. We shall work in the library tonight.”
He jumped to his feet and bounced once more in ill-concealed excitement before following her to her desk in the other room.
She hoped her own pleasure was less obvious. Her blood felt thick and hot in her veins as she sat in one of the two guest chairs at her desk. She swallowed against his scent and her core thrummed in anticipation. He’d better be a good teacher as she needed to master those first ten words quickly.
She groaned when he placed the naughty poem next to the primer and said, “We shall use this to learn a few verbs.”
* * * *
A sennight later, Charlotte had a better appreciation for William’s characterization of Latin. Groaning, she threw her pen down, spattering ink across her notes. She had been rushing to get through her second set of ten words.
She’d learned the first set easily, although she suspected he’d chosen very basic words.
Afterwards, she had requested another kiss, and indeed, he’d been the only man in her thoughts from the first step into her bedroom. She’d then allowed him to touch her everywhere while bound to the chair but for one hand, after which she had returned the favor—with him still tied, of course.
She was dying to taste other parts of him, but this second set was making her brain hurt. She looked back at him where he hovered standing next to her desk chair, having only arrived a few minutes before. “William, please. Give me an easy one. A pronoun, a number, anything.”
“Pronouns are not always—” he gulped.
Her gaze had strayed down to the bulge between his legs.
“Sex,” he said, panting.
“Yes, please.” She stood.
“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t have you say I cheated our bargain. Sex is six. Six is sex. In fact, here’s another: that is decem. Decem is ten.”
“Sex and decem. Done. Thank you. Now lead the way to the bedroom. I enjoy the rear view as much as the front.” She grinned at him, hoping he was as primed as she was for the rest of their evening.
Upstairs, he undressed her, again rubbing her back free of chemise creases, this time without tears.
Turning, she slid one foot forward to press her hip against his groin.
He stopped circling his hand on her back, pressing into her now to hold her in place and humming low in his throat but waiting for her instruction.
Mine to teach, to taste. She shifted her hip fractionally left then right. He gasped, surging into her microscopically, as though trying to remain still and failing.
“Mistress?”
Always the polite puppy, checking for her permission. Gracious, he could be addictive if she let him. She was past politeness, though. More than a year without intimacy made her hungry, and William himself turned her ravenous. She slid her hands to his chest and gave a small push.
He stepped back and his calf caught against the bed, sending him sprawling. He stared up at her, his hands having landed up and out from his body, elbows bent, creating a supplicant pose.
Charlotte shrugged, and her dress dropped forward, catching on her hips, her stays loose over her breasts. A shimmy sent the dress to pool around her, and a second one dropped the stays onto the dress.
William stared, unblinking. One arm slid along the counterpane, edging toward his cock.
“Stay still, William.”
“Yes, Mistress.” His voice was guttural, almost unrecognizable.
Heat flared anew in her. She wanted this, she was ready. And, she took a moment to reflect, Charles would want her to have this, just as she would have for him, and if their situations were reversed, the young lady with him might easily be twenty. With that, she banished William’s age from her mind.
Her breasts strained against her chemise, wanting to feel his muscles and smattering of chest hair against them. First, though, there was torturing to be done. Leaning over him, she unfastened his waistcoat first, spreading it. Then came his cravat, unwound after being untied. She straightened, running the cravat through her hands.
“Remove your shirt and shoes. You may sit up to do so, then remain sitting.”
He scrambled, grabbing the dress shirt below the collar and yanking before realizing he needed to unbutton the collar to avoid choking himself.
Charlotte watched, keeping her expression neutral. Inside, she was panting like a bitch in heat. Her control was ready to snap, but having this gorgeous young man under her power was intoxicating. She strolled around the side of the bed. When he turned to keep her in sight, she admonished him with a tsking sound, and he stared forward again, his arms shaking.
She could feel the barely-leashed lust in every shake. As he couldn’t see her, she allowed herself a small smile of pleasure before swallowing it and her own eagerness down. She knelt on the mattress, and tugged one of his hands as she directed him. “Lie up on the bed, head on the pillows.”
As he swung his legs up and around to lie, she carried the wrist she held and wrapped the cravat around it, then around a carved wooden bed post. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she did so, and she smiled, excited she’d found a worthy playmate.
Not ready to use leather cuffs and risk frightening a novice, she used his shirt for the other wrist. Crumpling it beyond repair, she secured his second hand then slid a finger between his skin and the fabric to ensure his hands would not go numb.
Scooting back, she stood at the foot of the bed and scanned his length. He was delicious. Reminding herself that this was a summer fling, she basked in the moment. This rakelet wanted her. Oh, she knew she was attractive enough. But he could have anyone, a different girl in his bed every night. Yet, he’d chosen her. Her ego preened for a moment before she reined it in. He was not hers to keep, only to enjoy for a short time.
So enjoy, she would. Legs sprawled haphazardly framed a mouth-watering bulge she was salivating to see again. Candlelight flickered over the planes and ridges of his lean torso. A hint of rib under pads of muscle led to puckered nipples begging to be pinched. A trace of hair led from each tiny bud, narrowing to a single line that disappeared into his waistband. His throat bobbed as he watched her, his biceps still twitching as though testing his bonds. The lily white underside of his upper arms invited a feathery tickling touch to make him squirm.
Her mouth watered, wanting to skate over each inch, tasting and savoring. Her fingers would lead the way or follow. Her breasts grew heavier, and she was tempted to cup them, or feed them to him. The sensitive folds between her legs pulsed and throbbed, ready for more.
But, oh, where to start?
Chapter Thirteen
William closed his eyes to attempt to regain some control. He would be mortified if he came in his trousers simply from Mistress positioning and observing him. He opened them a heartbeat later, not willing to miss a second of this.
She stood in chemise and petticoat, and he remembered what was beneath. The firelight flares allowed him to see the dusky shadow of one nipple behind her chemise, now hard and poking the fabric.
He arched his back a bit, testing the give in his bonds. Being tied, basically helpless, amplified his desire, his cock pulsing and leaking its eagerness through his trousers. He might be daft for doing this. A sane man would be nervous should a woman they’d met a handful of times restrain them and stare at them with such hunger, wouldn’t they? Instead, he was eager to please, ready to follow whatever commands she wished to give.
I want whatever my Mistress wishes to do with me or to me. He stopped tugging as the phrase “my Mistress” reverberated in his head. This was his place. It felt right. More than that, not having to make any decisions was freeing. He was forced to lie still and learn.
He relaxed to indicate his subservience. Then surged against his bonds once again when she ran her palms up his legs, kneeling between his thighs.
