Part 13 (1/2)

Belle surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. She stood in front of him to unhook her dress, recalling how much he had enjoyed watching her disrobe that first night. How much she had enjoyed it, too. Watching his excitement mount served to increase hers, she had learned. Provocatively, she paraded in front of him, casting silk and lace and cotton and ribbons aside. Naked, she reached up to loosen her hair, stretching her arms above her head to tauten the line of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, watching Ewan through half-closed lids with immense satisfaction. He was positively devouring her with his eyes. A curl of excitement knotted tight in her belly.

Ewan strained at the ribbons. Forced himself to relax.

Belle laughed for the pleasure of it. She climbed onto the bed between his legs. Leaning over him, she allowed her nipples to graze the skin of his abdomen. She s.h.i.+vered at the contact and stooped down to lick him, tracing the line of his rib cage with her tongue. Stopped to watch him.

His eyes darkened with desire. She felt him strain at the ribbons again. ”Kiss me, Belle,” he whispered huskily.

She shook her head. Leaning over him again, she traced a path with her tongue down his stomach, cradling his length between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, teasing him with her nipples, relis.h.i.+ng the feel of their hardness against his silken skin. Down she licked; the inside of his thigh then the other, revelling in the heat and maleness of him, feeling herself tight and wet, aware of his breathing becoming harsh and quicker as she lingered on the crease at the top of his leg.

”Do you like being my prisoner, Ewan?” she asked, her mouth against his skin.

Silence.

Her finger fluttering along the length of him. Circling the tip. Her tongue now, repeating the action, licking her way up, lingering, circling. Ewan groaned.

”Tell me you surrender, Ewan,” she whispered.

”No,” he managed through gritted teeth, straining at the ribbons.

Belle licked again. More than anything she wanted his hands on her, his lips on her, but that way lay capitulation and she was not ready for that. Not yet. Daringly, she put her lips around him and sucked gently. Silence of a different sort. She sucked again. Breathing so rapid she thought he was in pain. Looked up. Saw his eyes fly open.

”Don't stop.”

”Say it,” she insisted.

Her lips on him again. He thought he would die with the pleasure. Now b.u.t.terfly kisses and fingers stroking, her lips again. Now looking at him, demanding. Ewan closed his eyes and looked away, praying she would have pity.

She remembered last night. She could do the same to him. She could have him without allowing him to have her. It was a powerfully erotic image. Ewan was looking at her. She could see the plea in his eyes, though he would not say it. She touched him with her fingers, stroking until she could feel the blood pulse, stopping as it did, glorying in the exquisite pain she could see etched on his face.

She put her lips around him again, drew him in as much as she could hold. Sucking purposefully now, feeling him engorged in her mouth, aware of him straining, breathing, saying her name, but caught up in her own powerful need to control him, feel him, and then he came, and finally she heard him, over and over again, saying the words, I surrender, but she didn't care anymore and it didn't feel like a victory; it simply felt right.

She lay on his stomach. She could feel his heart beating hard. She was conscious of her own arousal, and wondered what to do about it. She could make him tend to her as he had last night, but that was not what she wanted. She wanted him inside her. Cautiously, she touched him. Wondering.

A throaty chuckle. ”Give me a moment.”

She looked up. ”Fighting back, Ewan?”

He shook his head. ”Simply trying to do your bidding, but I need time to recover. If you untied me, it would help.”

But she would not. And it did not take so very long after all.

Lowering herself onto him, s.h.i.+vering as she felt him enter her, satin smooth and hard in contrast to her soft and wet core. Slowly, she sheathed him until he filled her, and she held him without moving.

”Belle,” Ewan said urgently. ”Belle, untie me.”

She shook her head. Even that tiny movement reverberated inside her.

Ewan strained at the ribbons holding him but to no avail. Belle moved again, up, down, slow, too slow, tilting herself forward on top of him, nipples grazing his chest. She was doing something else now, so that he was caught in a vicelike grip inside her. He felt the blood rus.h.i.+ng. ”Let me go, Belle.”

Still she denied him, squirming on top of him, enjoying the friction, enjoying the power she had over him, enjoying the power she had over herself. She lifted herself up again, then down, then writhed.

She could feel herself unravelling. She leaned forward using her elbows for purchase and thrust again. Ewan pushed up to meet her. His eyes on hers, dark amber, watching her, waiting for her, she realised. Finally, she kissed him. Deeply. Pa.s.sionately. Her tongue hot in his mouth. She thrust, could hold it no longer, came around him, gripping his shoulders, like a complicated knot untying, and felt him climax almost at the same time, so that she was lost, unable to tell which was her and which was he as they fell, glided, and soared.

Little kisses nuzzling her back to consciousness... Abruptly, Belle sat up. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away. She untied him.

Ewan smiled at her lazily. ”How does it feel to win?”

”How does it feel to lose?”

”Surprisingly good.” He sat up, ma.s.saging his wrists.

To her embarra.s.sment, there were red wheals where the ribbons had been pulled too tight when he had strained against them. ”I'm sorry,” she said contritely. ”I didn't mean to hurt you.”

He shrugged and pulled her down on top of him. ”It's of no consequence.”

His hands stroked her back, pulled her close, so close she could hear the thump of his heart. Her head fitted snugly onto his shoulder. How could three days have pa.s.sed so quickly? Why could not the night last longer? She was dreading daybreak.

”Belle, about tomorrow,” Ewan said.

”There is no need to say anything,” she mumbled into his chest, unwilling to hear any reminder of their terms or, G.o.d forbid, his thanks or his excuses. She would leave without betraying herself if it killed her.

a.s.suming they were in perfect accord, Ewan smiled contentedly. She was right. There was no need for words to frame something so fundamental. But he would say them all the same in the morning. Unconventional this courts.h.i.+p may have been, but it must be formally sealed. He slept deeply and dreamt of their future together. When he awoke she was gone.

Chapter Six.

”Why did you leave without so much as a word?”

Ewan pushed pa.s.sed the maidservant and slammed the door of the small parlour firmly behind them. He was clearly angry. It showed in the hard glitter of his eyes, in the rigid way he held himself, leaning against the door, muscles tensed as if waiting to pounce, holding her in a gimlet glare she dared not break.

Isabella shook her head helplessly.

”I thought things were understood between us,” Ewan said harshly, pus.h.i.+ng himself from the door and closing the distance to her with three long strides. ”Last night, you said we need not say anything, I thought you realised-” He stopped abruptly, ran a hand over his unshaven jaw, up to his hair, copper and gold in wild disarray, in tune with his mood. ”Isabella, have you any idea how I felt? I did not even know where you live.”

She smiled nervously. ”We did not get around to such common place information.”

”No. What we shared was rather more fundamental,” he said, taking her hand. ”Luckily, the footman who summoned the hackney for you this morning has an excellent memory.”

Hope flickered in her breast, but she could not yet turn it into belief. ”We certainly reached a-a frankness in a very short acquaintance which few people achieve in a lifetime.”