Charlotte's Control, page 6
“Is there a better reason to sneak?” he asked with a cheeky grin.
“Said with the solitary focus of youth,” she muttered under her breath.
He shrugged, his smile unwavering.
“William,” she said with a withering glare. “I will gag you if you are not quiet.”
His eyebrows rose.
Interesting. His face portrayed curiosity rather than fear. Liquid heat gathered between her thighs at the possibilities open to her.
He pressed his lips together, showing his willingness to follow orders.
She approached him, leaning over to tie one hand to the carved wooden arm of the chair, before moving to the other. Her shyness gone, she embraced the fantasy turned reality. Her pulse pounded in her chest, behind her ears, between her legs. Ah, the pleasure of subduing a partner to have her way with him. There was nothing like it. Wetness seeped down one leg.
She could smell her own arousal—could he? Could he even identify the scent at such a tender age? No, she would not think of that now. He’d pushed her beyond her control, but he was old enough to know better.
As she leaned in, he inhaled. His gaze dropped when the neckline of her nightrail did, and his breath gusted out over the tops of her breasts.
She shivered once, and arched her back to push her breasts toward him before she could stop herself. He glanced up as she licked her lips and mimicked her motion. He was testing her, just as she tested him.
Kneeling to tie his ankles to the front chair legs, she deliberately blew over the bulge between his legs and his hips jerked. His head fell back, eyes dropping closed for a moment before he gathered himself and bent his neck to watch her again.
She considered his ties and the growing bulge in his trousers, then untied his hands from the chair, retying them together in his lap. Standing, she turned away and checked the mirror. She’d been correct. His cock was in an uncomfortable position and he was furtively adjusting himself to get relief in the confines of his clothes.
He glanced up and caught her watching him. He sighed, smiling, and said, “Thank you, Mistress.”
She nodded as she removed her wrapper to recline against the pillows on the bed, her legs outstretched.
He opened his mouth to speak.
She frowned at him, wagging a finger to remind him of her threat of a gag.
Subsiding, he licked his lips and leaned forward, looking hopeful.
She drew her nightrail partway up her legs. Her nipples still poked through. He might even be able to see the shadow of rose against cream. Perhaps she should have lit another few candles. For a first lesson, this was enough, she decided, and raised a hand to tweak her nipple.
First lesson, Char?
She shook off the thought and slid her other hand under the edge of the nightrail, keeping the bottom hem draped between her thighs, not allowing him to see her womanly folds.
His gaze followed every finger bend, every muscle twitch in her wrist, trying to ascertain her movements. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips again, and she imagined it in lieu of her fingers parting her nether lips. He gave a stifled moan and pressed the heel of one of his bound hands against the iron rod now straight under his clothes.
Knowing he was unbearably aroused at the sight of her touching herself sent a hot lick of fire through Charlotte. Her head arched back and she slowed her circles of her nub to ensure she would not embarrass herself and end this almost before she’d started it.
He moved his hand away, then back.
Her hips bucked without conscious thought.
His eyes glinted with the knowledge that touching his cock affected her, and he focused on her wrist moving in circles with the nightrail caught on it.
She breathed through her nose, trying not to pant, her chest rising and falling against the fingers twisting her nipple.
He licked his lips again and she thought she might go over. Lud, the lordling had not even removed his cravat. She froze, groaning.
He grinned and undid a button on his trousers, his fingers shaking and his breathing erratic.
“No.” Her voice was an octave lower, but firm. If he showed her his cock, she might swallow it whole without even asking permission. “You may not touch yourself unless I tell you to. Only over the clothes. And you may not climax.”
“Mistress, please. May I at least see you, to better learn what you like?” he dared to ask.
Her hips jerked upward again. He was right. What had brought him into the room were her words, “watch and learn,” and his continued requests had ended with him bound at the foot of her bed. Why was she holding back on this last step?
She tugged the nightrail up the last few inches, showing him her pale hand against a thatch of hair a few shades darker than that on her head, and the swollen, wet folds of her sex, open between her legs.
He stared, leaning back.
Concerned he was uncomfortable at the sight or smell, she observed him. He was uncomfortable, all right—due to the length and hardness of his cock. He clenched his fist around it through his trousers like a club, as though he was going to jerk himself, but instead squeezed hard, cinching his eyes. They flew open instantly, focused on her finger circling her most sensitive flesh.
She dipped her finger inside, then roughened her pace. Almost scrubbing now, sparks igniting from fingertips to toes, she stared at him, almost wishing he was free to see what he’d do, if he knew his way around a woman’s body. It had been so long since she climaxed at someone else’s hands. But this, this was close enough that she’d take it, use it for weeks after tonight. She imagined his breath on her skin, his hands where hers were, and all her muscles tightened, straining toward the cliff of ecstasy, higher than she’d had in years. She slipped two fingers inside her channel, moving her thumb to press her nub, as her inner muscles rippled with the beginnings of an explosion.
At the sight, he clutched his cock with both hands and shouted, “Mistress…!”
That was the last straw. She curled around her hand, scrunching her stomach muscles. Her swollen flesh pulsed around her fingers and thumb, on and on. Gasping, she kept her eyes trained on him as she thrust her fingers in and out to prolong the pleasure.
He attempted to stand, forgetting he was tied to the chair, and nearly fell. Another pulse roared through her at the vision of his fall aligning his mouth to her sex to lick her clean. Groaning, she slammed her eyes shut, trying to catch her breath. The last image she saw was him falling back in his chair gripping his cock again.
Chapter Seven
Holy hell, that was the most alluring thing he’d ever seen.
When she’d let him stay, William was beyond excited.
Grateful for his friend’s suggestion of trellis climbing, he’d watched the downstairs fall dark, and one room brighten upstairs, and found a conveniently located trellis to just below her window. He’d expected to beg for a future audience if she didn’t throw him out. Instead, he’d seen a montage he’d never forget—with his moniker on her lips. Using that to his advantage, he had prodded and perhaps even goaded her into allowing him to stay. He was learning to read her reactions, her eyes blazing when he referenced learning or making amends.
He almost burst his trousers when she tied him to a chair and allowed him to watch as she restarted what she’d been doing when he’d first seen her through the casement. This was beyond all expectations and more fun than he’d ever had in his life. He hoped she’d allow him out a door, as he might break his cock trying to shimmy down the tree.
Then he’d pushed to see more, despite the risk of countering her demand that he not spend. Moisture oozed out of her rosy, glistening folds, and her whole sex was swollen and dark, much as his cock felt. He’d nearly come in his trousers for the first time in his life, only to find that touching himself heightened her pleasure as much as she did for him.
From there, it was a race to the finish. He could not take it all in fast enough.
Her fingers disappearing inside her caused another spurt of pre-ejaculate to seep through his smallclothes, a damp patch forming on the fabric over the head of his frustrated cock.
Gads! Don’t come. Don’t come. My horse. The family estate. Our finances.
Falling back onto the armchair after watching her convulse around her fingers, he clenched and unclenched his fists, not daring to even squeeze his cock now. It was delicious, inspiring torture to observe and not be allowed to touch.
When her fingers slid out of her channel, wetness seeped out behind them.
He swallowed back the saliva pooling in his mouth from wishing he could taste her wetness. He chanted, “Don’t come, don’t come,” under his breath and waited for her direction with the wild hope that she would not leave him in this torturous state.
Her eyes reopened, and she blinked to focus on him. Her words were slow, but she managed to ask, “Are you all right?”
“Define all right,” he gritted out through a clenched jaw.
“Are the bindings too tight? Or did you hurt yourself trying to rise?”
“’Tis the trousers that are too tight. Or my skin. There is only one part of me in pain.”
She raised her eyebrows.
He replayed their exchange and corrected himself, adding, “Mistress.”
Swinging her legs around, she knelt up on the bed facing him, her nightrail falling back into place.
Interesting. Gone was the angry, embarrassed woman he had negotiated with when he first arrived. He made a mental note that orgasms did wonders for her confidence, as well they should.
“Your self-control was exemplary. You deserve a reward. You may touch yourself now.” Her command sounded almost regal.
Ah, gads, she was a scant few inches away now, although not quite within touching distance given his bindings. As he considered her beauty, he wrenched at the buttons of his fall, grunting, and one button pinged across her floor.
“Go slow. I want to see what you have there.”
He stifled a groan. Go slow, after that show? Ah, she wanted him to give her a taste of what she’d done for him. She was a master of this. He was learning, all right.
Carefully, he drew his cock out. Afraid his control was at its end and it would explode from a mere touch, he held the base by one finger and thumb as it leaked onto his lap.
She stared, angling her head one way then the other, blinking rapidly.
He daren’t ask what she thought, daren’t say anything, although if he did it might be to beg permission to put himself out of his misery.
Looking down he tried to see it through her eyes. A dark rose, the crown was swollen into high definition. He was proud of its length, as the boys at boarding school had measured and he often won.
She swallowed and said, “Mmm. You are nicely formed. Your cock is quite handsome. You know, you did not compliment me.”
He was indignant, despite his cock pulsing at her reference to it. “That is not fair, Mistress, you said I could not speak!”
She laughed. “Oh, all right, then. If you are going to finally claim obedience.”
His lips twisted.
Apparently, someone is more relaxed now.
Wanting to ensure she had no reason to reject him, he gasped out, “Mistress, I told you, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. That was reinforced by watching you just now. Thank you for allowing me. For teaching me.”
She nodded, her expression unreadable. “You are welcome.”
He panted, still holding his pulsing cock, his fingers and lap wet with his pre-ejaculate.
“Right. Now let me see what you want to do next.” She sat back on her heels.
He grabbed the base of his cock, the other hand half holding the fall of his trousers open, half cupping his balls. Sliding his fist up to gather more moisture, he turned his wrist at the top, circling the head to spread the liquid and smooth the friction of his hand. His hips surged reflexively, and he gasped. He repeated the motion, gaining speed with each pass.
If she did not allow him to climax soon, it would be out of both of their hands and he’d earn another punishment.
“William, I want to see you come, just as you saw me. Here, let me help.”
Hellfire, if she helps, I might lose consciousness with this orgasm. He gulped.
Charlotte whipped off her nightrail and knelt up, cupping her breasts.
His eyes nearly rolled back as he took in her creamy, rose-tipped breasts and the small mound of her belly above the flare of her hips. Heat shot up his spine and rolled in his bollocks.
He gasped out, “Mistress. Yes. Thank you.”
Then she shot him into heaven. Swiping a finger along her wetness, she leaned forward and ran it along his lower lip, saying, “Show me. Can you smell my arousal? Do you want to taste me?”
As she pushed her finger into his mouth and said, “Suck,” he came. And came and came.
Thick white liquid spurted up, hitting her breasts, and belly, falling across the bed, the floor and his lap. He was surprised—and relieved—it did not end up in her hair.
His hand had been almost still, his hips thrusting through his fist rather than the other way around. Now, his eyes slid closed as his bottom eased down to the chair. He continued to suckle her finger, not wanting to lose the connection.
She tugged her hand away after a moment, and his eyes opened to catch her licking her lips, nipples hard again.
If he begged, she might let him taste her without the need for fingers. “Mistress, may I—”
He lost his train of thought when she swiped through a dollop of his seed on her breast and brought it to her lips, sucking in that same finger that had been in his mouth.
He gasped and his cock pulsed, when a moment ago he’d have sworn he’d emptied it so completely it would take days to recover.
At his breath, her eyes flew to his then lowered, pink tingeing her cheeks.
“Mistress. Thank you for the lesson. Perhaps I might practice—”
“No.” She stood to grab a cloth from the dresser to swipe at herself before drawing her nightrail and wrap as though they were armor. Then she untied him, touching him as little as possible and not leaning as close as when she’d secured his bonds.
Taking a few steps back, she folded her hands across her waist. “Part of me wants to beg your pardon, as I feel I took advantage of your youth. But you were eager enough I won’t, especially as I suspect it will offend you. However, you must go. Do not, I pray, come back, via that method or any other.”
He’d expected that, but it still hurt to hear. Nevertheless, he had no intention of obeying that particular command. His mind still full of white cotton, a buzzing in his ears—probably from lack of blood—William used the chair arms to stand and righted his clothing as best he could. He could not build a coherent argument to see her again, still recovering from the most intense sexual pleasure of his life. He gave her a wordless bow and slid out the window.
But this was not over.
* * * *
Several days later, William surfaced from trying to make sense of his father’s haphazard investments and recordkeeping. Settling into his favorite spot at White’s to try to unwind, he waved a lackadaisical hand to one of the servers. Knowing South would find him when he arrived, he sat back and sipped whisky when it was delivered, contemplating the various sides of Charlotte he’d seen to date.
As had happened since his late-night visit to her bedroom, his cock thumped and hardened as he remembered his education at her hands. He had replayed every second, every breath since that night every chance he had, most often while stroking his cock to a climax that was a mere shadow of the original. The memory of her touching herself just out of reach, while he remained tethered, was what took him over the edge, rather than her watching him. Although…she’d tasted him.
He had never seen a woman’s most private folds up close. Nor had he ever touched himself in front of anyone, and—unh. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable and avoid anyone seeing the noticeable bulge in his trousers—certainly never coated a woman’s skin with his essence. And her private moisture on her finger was the most delicious honey he’d ever sipped. His eyes threatened to roll back in his head at the memory, there in the crowded club.
South arrived, stopping to greet a group of earls in the middle of the room. “Will, d’you know your father is here?”
“He usually is.” He shrugged. He didn’t want to think about the older Stanton. This was supposed to be his time, after slogging through his father’s mess all day.
“He is with that earl you mentioned.”
“The one who hasn’t responded to my inquiries about the last investment Father made with him?” He sighed. He could not even enjoy an evening with a friend any longer. He envied South’s freedom. All the benefits of being heir to an earldom, none of the responsibilities yet.
“Give me a few minutes to go talk to them, will you?”
South nodded, already ordering a second drink. He wandered over to the group he’d greeted after pointing William to a separate alcove.
“Father.”
“William. You remember—” His father’s words were slurred.
“I do. My lord. I am glad to run into you here”—not really—“as I have not been able to reach you at your residence here in Town. I have not seen a quarterly review of the shipment we invested in.
“We?” The earl chuckled, flicking a speculative glance at his father. “I’m afraid my solicitor handles all that.”
“Yes, well, he has not responded, eith—”
“Will, my boy. Gentlemen do not discuss money. ’Tis beneath us.” He waved his drink and gestured for a new glass. “Come now, have a drink with us and we’ll talk horses and politics like sane men.”
William gritted his teeth. His father was quick enough to talk money when friends like this swindler were asking him to invest, no matter what the venue. But all he said was, “Might I call on you tomorrow, then?”
