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She will always remember the first time Anthony reached over, without pause, and took her hand in his. He laced their fingers together as if they had done it a hundred times before, as if the simple act of grasping was nothing but old news to them.
They were at the Bridgerton home just after they had announced their engagement, hosting a luncheon for his family and hers in celebration of the union. They were seated on one of the plush loungers alone, watching as Gregory and Hyacinthe spat over who would get to read a certain book next now that Francesca had finished it. Without warning, her to-be husband reached for her hand placed dutifully in her lap and twined his fingers between hers, not even so much as looking over as he did it.
It was mindless. Yet monumental.
Kate had never given much thought to someone’s hands or all the intimacy they may hold. Before, in India, they always represented hard work, sturdiness, a job well done. Like when she would fashion castles out of clay in order to win her father’s praise. Or when she and Edwina would assist in scrubbing down their pets, since there was no one hired to do so. Perhaps even when her Mama took her small hands in hers and helped her scream, just after the most important person in their lives had been ripped from time forever.
The first time Anthony’s hand accidentally touched hers, ever briefly, was at the races—that wretched day. Although it’s hard to think back on the afternoon sporting event with glee, she can vividly recall the moment their gloved fingers brushed against one another. It was after he had stolen Lord Lumley’s seat beside Edwina and then was forced to shift closer to Kate as the other gentleman rejoined them. As they shifted, their hands touched and she remembers them both snatching them quickly from one another as if they had been burned. At the time she had attributed the sensation to that of an electric shock, as if warning her to stay away.
Now, she recognizes it as the heat they’ve always shared.
Then, as the draw between them did nothing but grow, there were the instances that were done with purpose. Such as her hand cradling his to her chest after the bee sting, aiding him in understanding that she was unharmed. His hands jerking the gun into position on the hunt at Aubrey Hall, fingers clasped over hers near the trigger while the others shifted from below her arm to atop it. Their hands seamlessly performing together during their dance that same visit, when he asked her permission to propose, right before she revealed she was meant to leave for India soon.
(She can still feel the way his hand held hers at her shoulder as they swayed just before Edwina, warmth catapulting through her at the betrayal and lust she felt all at once. Regardless of where they are now, she sometimes wonders if she can forgive herself for all of it.)
(She will one day. Edwina will make sure of it.)
Countless times their hands have touched with meaning, even when they didn’t intend for them to. Her first time wearing her betrothal ring was when it wasn’t yet hers, but the look on Anthony’s face as she wore it before him is one she’ll never forget. Nor the way he took her hand in his, so gently, and stroked his thumb over the backs of her knuckles as if in disbelief of the sight. Then, later that morning, when he assisted her out of the boat on the lake just before he fell into it.
Kate didn’t mean for it to happen, of course. In what world would she have managed to concoct the perfect mishap where Anthony tripped over her beloved Newton in order to take a backwards dive into the water? No world, unfortunately.
However, watching the strength of him, the power, as he pushed himself back up onto the dock whilst hardly breaking a sweat—it’s reason enough to slap out her nearest fan in order to calm herself.
It was precisely at this moment that she realized how much stamina her now-husband has. He always looked athletic, of course, but all is different in theory than in actualization. Revisiting the way his white shirt clung to his torso, outlining every inch of him, is like reigniting the splash of heat she first felt when seeing it while promenading that day. Baring witness to just how durable Anthony Bridgerton is realigned her entire view of his touch from then on.
When his fingers slipped around the back of her head at Lady Danbury’s after the Sheffield dinner, as if asking to bury into her curls and pull. Or in the closet after the botched wedding ceremony when he grabbed her wrist to ask her to wait, tugging just enough to keep her in place if he so desired. And then when he finally kissed her for the first time at that damned altar and gripped her back like a man starved, nails digging into the material of her dress.
Her Anthony could rip apart the largest of foes, the worst of life, all with the advantage of his fine hands. Yet instead he chooses to use them for kindness and patience by wearing his ring night and day, spinning his youngest sister around the ballroom, and signing his paperwork without even one complaint. He chooses to use them for his wife, in holding her and caring for her, although sometimes she wonders if she does the same for him nearly enough.
Thinking back to the night of the failed Harmony ball, when he had so urgently taken her under that rotunda just before the storm had hit, she simply quakes. She’ll never be able to erase the way he’d worshiped her, the way he’d given so much without expecting anything in return. How he had kneeled before her, a King unto his Queen, with her thumb in his mouth as his eyes told her more than the two of them could possibly say at the time.
She knows she will spend the rest of her now-bountiful life repaying him for the tenderness he bestows, for the love he gives, for the touch he provides. It’s the most she can do after all that they have gone through to stand here today.
There is certainly no reason she cannot start now as opposed to later.
-
They are on their third month of traveling, courtesy of the Bridgerton trust. First they went to France before journeying to Spain, yet they are now residing in Italy, lodging with an old family friend who was more than happy to allow the newlyweds to use their summer home during their visit.
Kate somehow convinced her husband to spend one of their first days here in museums with her, perusing the many statues and paintings done by the most romantic of Italian artists. She catches him watching her more than once, eyes wandering her face as she takes in various beautiful pieces. When she asks him why he is looking at her instead of what they came to view, he just gives her his elusive half-smile before ushering her down another corridor.
Returning home to their lodgings, they have a plentiful feast sent their way for dinner. They decide to dine on the balcony overlooking the small square that their housing is located in. The meals that arrive are much more than two people could ever hope to finish, yet it doesn’t stop Anthony from spearing more food onto her plate while pointing out how their restless travels and constant touring is hungry work.
“You’re going to very well tip me over,” she jests with a teasing smile as he attempts to slide her another scone dripping with butter. “Perhaps I’m full. Have you thought of that?”
“You slept in a fit last night. Am I to believe a good night’s meal will not fix such an issue?”
Kate clamps her lips together, swallowing down the answer she wants to give in truth. Last night she dreamt of tangled sheets and wandering hands, coupled with his cock so far inside of her she could taste him even without his mouth upon hers.
She cannot express that at this moment.
“My Lord,” she says soothingly, using his title to lay it on thicker. His eyes flash to hers at the declaration. She reaches out and touches his hand lightly with hers. “I am well. I can promise you that.”
A smile graces his lips then, full of a promise she can’t decipher. “Oh, dearest, I can assure you, you are.” Her lips lift to match his. “I would still like to make sure you are taken care of, despite your reservations.”
“You take care of me just fine,” she rebuffs, moving her hand from his to idly pick up a strawberry by the stem. “As I do you.”
“Do not attempt flattery.”
“And why not?”
He gives out a grumble, watching her fingers as they spin the small, full berry by its green leaves, just above her plate. “You are changing the topic to deflect from what I am merely requesting.” Anthony leans forward, closer, to pluck the strawberry from her grasp. She frowns. “I cannot be swayed so easily.” His eyes flick to her lips, a swallow moving down his throat. “Open.”
She exhales. Her husband leans in further, propping an elbow on the table in front of them to steady himself as he holds the strawberry out. Her mouth parts for him, a warm flush blooming up her collarbone. She’s always been lucky that her dark complexion saves her from embarrassment, as Anthony doesn’t even take notice of her immediate shame in obeying.
That competitive spirit in her will never be snuffed. Not that he wants it to be.
The berry hits her tongue in an explosion of tart sweetness after she bites down. Once she has the whole of it in her mouth he lets go, instead drifting his fingers down to her chin, hooking hold of it between two of them. She gives him a soft sound at the touch while she chews, their eyes not breaking contact once during the intimate moment.
As she swallows, his thumb drags down her bottom lip. The Viscount’s gaze simmers anytime he gazes upon his Viscountess, but in the privacy of their bedroom it tends to surround her like molten lava, heating her from the inside out. He’s become an expert at turning her to liquid with but a single look and there’s nothing he loves to use more than that fact.
When he kisses her, he tastes like the sip of scotch he just took and a hint of rosemary from the potatoes he just ate. It’s a heady combination that forces a moan from her sternum, the sound of it mingling with his tongue finding hers. His other hand finds her long curls to tangle in them, arching her neck for him the way she finds he must enjoy.
(After they were married, one of the first things he requested was that she wear her hair down more often. She inquired if he took issue with her usual updos and he quickly said of course not, yet mentioned that she rarely wore her hair loose during their initial acquaintance that he wanted to make up for lost time.)
(His fixation with her hair does not go unnoticed. She just wanted to hear him say it aloud.)
“I would have taken you atop the tiled floor of that museum today,” he is suddenly murmuring against her mouth, nose bumping hers, “if it wouldn’t have been terribly indecent of me. I have half a mind to demand we return so I may satisfy my desires.”
Kate releases a low chuckle, getting a hand up and into his hair, raking her nails across his scalp so his eyes may flutter. “Is there not a place on this Earth that you wouldn’t take me?”
His smile feels decadent against her lips. “Of course not, my love.”
Anthony has her wrapped around him as they move to the bed, abandoning the food to be devoured later for when she will actually need the sustenance. He knows how starved she gets after he’s thoroughly fucked her, which is precisely why they requested such a banquet be delivered to them in the first place.
He presses them into the mattress only to rear up seconds after, making work at his already-undone white shirt. As he’s sliding his trousers down to allow his cock to bounce forth, she begins pushing down one shoulder of her dress to help them along. His hand snaps out to grip hers, however, ceasing the movement. “Allow me,” he declares in a scorched whisper.
Although they have had the pleasure of bedding each other night after night, desperate and in constant frenzy, he always offers to undress her himself. The worship he wears in his eyes as he does never fails to make her feel as if she’s the most wicked yet exquisite thing he’s ever encountered. Like he, quite possibly, will never get enough of her.
Good thing she feels the same for him.
Kate slips her eyes shut in order to feel the gentle tug of him pulling her dress off, the way the satin scrapes across her skin as more of it is exposed. She catches his sharp intake of breath as her nipples harden against her brasserie, as her tongue darts out to wet her quivering lips. He doesn’t waste another second before dragging her undergarments off as well, baring her utterly. His nostrils flare at the sight.
One hand finds her thigh to smooth up the expanse of it, from knee to hip, where he pauses and taps two firm fingers against the crease there. “Open,” he commands again.
She obliges, spreading her legs for his view, watching the breath stutter in his bare chest as her cunt opens for him. Her eyes dip to take in the sight of his fingers grazing closer, closer, before barely brushing the hood of her clit. Despite her constant desire to hold out on him, to not let him know just how much he affects her, she can’t help the noise of longing she gives at the simplest of touches.
“A vision,” Anthony murmurs in what sounds like awe. “I am unworthy of you.”
Despite his finger now running down her slit to gather her slick, she manages a coy smile while tapering down a keen of pleasure. “That you are.”
There, in the warm light of their borrowed room, Kate discovers what she desires for the evening. The idea flashes behind her eyes as they track his movement—from the way one of his long fingers sink into her without resistance to the design his veins make on the back of his hand, the one holding himself up on the mattress near her hip. She takes note of the way the strength of him moves upwards from his flat palm into his sturdy wrist, winding around his muscled forearm until finishing through the thick of his bicep. She follows this path with hurried breath, once again blown away by the magnificence that is her husband.
He is not so easily caught off guard. She’s known since the moment she met him in the woods during their race that he is a man who is on constant high-alert. When she strikes, she has to strike fast.
Gently, she hooks an ankle around the back of his knee while winding her arms around his shoulders as if to kiss him. He finds no fault in it. When they are a hairsbreadth from touching lips she surges up and to the side, rolling him onto his back so their positions are effectively swapped.
“Kate,” he grunts out, her bare hips colliding with his clothed ones as she straddles him. The smirk itching the sides of his mouth is obvious, for he knows she bested him. Again.
“Anthony,” she returns, planting her hands on his chest. Her cunt is pressed to the fabric of his trousers, creating a delicious friction she wishes she could take advantage of but—alas, she has a different thing in mind. “Stay here a moment.”
She slides off and away from him before he is quick enough to snatch her back onto his lap, leaving him half-dressed and sulking. “Kathani Bridgerton,” he growls, watching as she struts toward their chests in the corner of the room. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Can you not just listen for once?” she asks in exchange for an explanation, tossing his words right back at him from so many months ago. His answering noise of displeasure is ignored. “You would be doing me a service if you also removed your trousers.”
Her dearest continues grumbling to himself, even as she hears the sound of fabric hitting the ground with a soft thud. Now who is the dogmatic one?
When deciding to travel for a few months after they were wed, Anthony wasn’t sure what other countries had in store for them. Both he and his wife packed for different sorts of weather—rain, shine, or snow. Having to lug around various clothing for various seasons is a headache yet worth it since their heavy coats have managed to be useful a handful of times. Along with longer underwear, gloves, thick-cotton skirts, and warm hats, they will be well-equipped in case of an unpredictable blizzard.
Buried amongst these items, Kate pulls out two long scarves of her own. They are both a deep, jewel blue to match one of her favorite winter dresses. Made of buttery soft silk, they feel like heaven against the skin and smell faintly of a bright floral scent she’s never been able to rid of, regardless of how long she’s had them.
She keeps them in hand as she returns to the bed, finding her husband completely bare for her eyes. Her mouth is parched as she takes in his manhood, his presence, his everything. In all honesty, her inner praise of him never feels false or exaggerated. He truly is a work of art.
“What is going on in that head of yours?” Anthony asks with an arm behind his head to prop his neck up. He’s stretched across the center of the mattress, waiting for her like an already-opened gift. His eyes flick across the scarves before moving back to her face. “I have to admit I’m eager to know.”
Kate smiles, feigning innocence, before moving back to her original position of straddling him. She lays the scarves across his chest, scratching her own nails down the hair sprinkled across his abdomen. Heat flares inside of her as her flesh makes contact with his, his hard cock that’s already swollen and flushed pressing against the warmth of her as she settles atop him. She has to breathe down the moan that threatens to spill.
“I ask that we try something,” she requests, leaning forward further to press a kiss to his lips. He hums into it, making it sound like a question. “I have a feeling you may not like it.”
As if on cue, his hands drift up her sides, eliciting tingles in their wake. Anthony Bridgerton is, to his personal dismay, utterly predictable.
At least, he is when it comes to his wife.
“And why is that?” he asks, snagging her bottom lip in between his teeth.
She moves her face to the side to release from his mouth, dragging her nose up his cheekbone and toward his ear. “Because you won’t be allowed to touch.”
Immediately, a grumble of denial moves through his throat. He uses one hand to grab the hair at the back of her head and yank, bringing her eyes to his. A storm tumbles through his glare, causing excitement to roll through her. Such a reaction is exactly what she expected of him.
“I may not enjoy telling you when you’re right,” he mutters, jaw clenching, “but I do not like such an idea.”
As she said. Predictable.
Kate chuckles, reaching down to grab the hand at her waist and entwine the fingers there with hers. “Do you not want to try something new with me, my love? Who knows. You may enjoy it. However will we know, though, unless we divulge?”
His eyes dart to the scarves. “Kate.”
“Anthony.”
Before he can utter another word of disapproval, she urges him into a heady, greedy kiss. He allows the distraction, she can tell, but it helps her nonetheless. She grinds down against him as their mouths press deeper, his lower half twitching from the ministrations. He groans at the wet slide of her cunt across the underside of cock, giving her ample opportunity to press one of his hands against the pillow under his head.
“Allow me, my Lord,” she murmurs after pulling away, plucking one of the scarves from off his chest. His jaw clenches, again, so hard she’s afraid he may pop a vessel.
“Kate—”
“Indulge me.”
The exhale he gives is sharp and unrestrained, but the miniscule nod of his head tells her enough. She grins, full and wide, then scoots up his body so her legs bracket either side of his torso instead of his hips. He releases a huff before beginning to mouth at the edge of her brassiere that’s just above his face, letting her know he’s given into her hopes for the evening.
She’s not a nautical expert by any means, but apart from hunting and fishing in India she was also taught how to tie a knot effectively. Channeling what she can remember, she pulls his arm up and out toward the headboard, winding the scarf first around one of the wooden poles before curling it about his wrist, tight and snug so there’s fabric between him and the wood. Once she’s looped that twice she ties it off as neatly as she can, ending it with a kiss to his brow.
“And the other?” she asks, tilting her head back as if to shake off the hand still ensnared in her mane.
He gives her a tempestuous look before obliging, removing his hand from her hair to place his wrist in her grasp. She performs the same with the second scarf to that one, leaving him bound to the headboard of the bed, splayed before her.
She licks over her lips. “Thank you for being so agreeable, my Lord.”
His jaw mimics the cut glass of the vase upon their dining table. “Do not test me, Viscountess.”
The beginning of her slow sweep down his body begins at his mouth, as it always does. Kissing Anthony is a constant test of will, since neither accepts acquisition to the other easily. Even while at her mercy, quite literally tied up, he tries to gain the upperhand with his mouth, which she quickly stomps out by lifting away to begin pressing kisses down his neck and over his collarbone.
“I’m beginning to regret such a decision,” he tells her through gritted teeth.
She lathes the flat of her tongue over his nipple, his arms jerking against his restraints in reaction, before saying, “Hush. You’ve already made it.”
Her journey down continues, lips pressing to various spots across his stomach, nipping at the indents by his hips, running her nose across the dip of his bellybutton. He groans from his stuck position, looking down at her with barely contained lust. His legs widen as she settles more between them, her own fingers raking across the muscled expanse of his thighs. He jerks again.
As she gets a grip around his cock, stroking the touch up once then down, he hisses as if he’s been burned. The tip of him is an angry red, flushed and desperate, leaking precum. A bit even escapes to run down the side as she grasps it. Her tongue catches it by grazing up the side of his dick, eliciting a sizzling moan from him. His hips thrust towards her, gaining nothing but another pass of her palm, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Kate, my love, please—”
There’s not a moment of hesitation before she descends upon him, getting half of him into her mouth. He chokes on whatever sound he is going to make next, eyes popping back open to stare down at her in disbelief. He pants as she sinks down further once she’s taken a deep breath in through her nose, collapsing her cheeks to make him feel more of it.
“Oh fu—Kate, my—”
She makes a heated noise herself once she feels him hit the back of her throat, hand moving away from the base of his dick since her nose is now touching it. Anthony gives out a string of curses, drawing her gaze up to him now that she’s let him effectively gag her.
Every muscle, every tendon, every cord in his body is strained toward her, eager to move, to overtake, to touch. Yet he can’t. She smiles around the cock buried between her lips, delighted that exactly what she wanted for their night was given to her. His damned hands—the hands that may very well have been what began everything that transpired between them back in London—are stripped of their privileges. Of their desire and ability to overpower her, to make her melt.
Pride may be a sin, but she is relishing in it.
“Kate,” Anthony manages out through labored breath as she does nothing but hold him in her mouth just so, running her tongue along the root of his cock, “Kate, I swear if you do not move—”
A hoarse cry leaves him as she gives in, easing off to only settle back down, starting up a rhythm that suits her. His hips follow in time, sinking in and out of her warm mouth as much as he can from his disadvantageous position. She stares up at him from beneath her dark lashes, feeling heat thrash her at the sight of him, helpless yet tense, utterly desperate to yank himself free so he may snatch her up and devour her himself.
(Although she has become well acquainted with her husband’s cock, he is not insistent that she get on her knees for him. More often than not, he is eager to do the act himself. She’s had his mouth on her so many times she may never have an approximate number.)
(Needless to say, her plans for the evening were to satisfy multiple motives.)
As she slides off and away, his dick springs toward his stomach, long and thick. He bares his teeth down at her. She can see how much he’s aching, can see the angry color his skin has turned from her attention yet lack of actual stimulation. She gives another broad lick up the underside of it before beginning to move from between his legs.
His groan of displeasure does nothing but aid the pulse running through her own cunt. She’s drunk with this power, this hold, and she wonders why she didn’t suggest this venture sooner.
“Kate,” he breathes up at her once her hips have settled near his again, “I never took you for a torturer.” His chest moves up and down with his deep panting and her eyes are mesmerized by the sight. Her hands run over his pecs yet again. She takes note of the way his arms tighten and pull against their bindings at her deliberate touch. “Free me from this—”
“Torment?” she finishes for him, giving a breathless smile. She undoes the ties at the front of her brassiere, tugging them loose in order to pull her last remaining clothing from her body. It joins his trousers on the floor. “Like I’ve never heard that before.”
He gives out a wanton sigh at the sight of her breasts, dark eyes following the sway of them as she situates herself just above his cock. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. His fists that are just above the loop of her scarves securing him stiffen further, his knuckles turning positively white. Her smile shifts into a dangerous grin.
“Let me taste you,” Anthony murmurs, sounding absolutely distressed. “My love, please, just allow me to—”
Kate shakes her head, planting one hand on his chest while the other circles his cock, angling him toward her cunt. She eases down, feeling the head of him slip into her without pause. She’s been ready to take him within her since he fed her that strawberry—her slick has been painting her inner thighs perhaps since he fed her that ravenous gaze at the museum.
They groan in unison as he enters her more fully, her hips rocking to help him stretch her. Her favorite thing about their marital bed is how he fills her, the way his cock creates an addictive burn between her legs, the way his hips click against hers just right. Like he was meant to be submerged in her, making a home in her. He once claimed he wish he could be within her always and she’s been unable to enjoy a carriage ride innocently since.
Her name sounds like a prayer on his lips. “Kate, my love, Kate—” He ruts up, throwing off her slow descent onto him. She gives out a surprised cry. The swirling tension inside her couples with the frustration that he bested her, however briefly, so she shocks him back by taking him completely, burying him to the hilt. He exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring. “Kate, I am going to—”
“What, my Lord?” she asks, grinding down upon him hard enough that her clit sparks against his pubic bone. It forces an eager moan from her while he gives out a grunt of unabashed need. “Going to what? Tell me,” she lightly mocks while rolling her hips into his, “how are you to do a single thing while restrained to my bed?”
His face darkens like a clear sky being invaded by storm clouds. The look sends a bolt of heat through her. She grinds down harder upon him, chasing that feeling that begins to grow low in her stomach. One hand snakes down to begin rubbing at her clit and Anthony snarls.
“Kate, release me. Please, I am begging you—”
She gasps at the rush that rolls through her. “You are begging?” She manages the words out through her fucking although they are encased in fever. “I never thought I’d see the day. The Viscount begging me—”
“And you, as my Viscountess, should listen—”
“When have I ever—”
A sharp cry cuts her off as she is suddenly orgasming, the tangling of their heated words and her careful build-up catapulting her to the unexpected edge. Her head tosses back as she comes, riding his cock through the pleasure coursing through her. It feels like a volcano erupting, washing her in a violent wave of smoky warmth. Her hips falter because of the tide.
“Kate.”
Her only answer is a moan as she rocks onto him a little harder, chasing the end of her release. She can feel the shift of his body as he jerks against his bindings again.
“Kate, I swear—”
She opens her eyes as the euphoria recedes, her vision a bit blurry. Anthony, in all his prowess, is tense as an arrow, every muscle and vein taut as he stares up at her. The expression on his face is downright thunderous and her heart skips a beat at the exciting sight.
“You will live, my Lord, I can promise you that,” she tuts as her hips begin rolling against his again. He’s so thick inside her she feels he may burst through her walls clenching down upon him. “You have needed to be shown restraint for some time—”
The sound of wood splintering cuts her off. Her eyes dart toward the headboard. They widen at what they see—Anthony’s hand free of its restriction, the wooden pole he was tied to now dangling from the other end of her scarf not around his wrist. Her hips stutter to a stop in shock just as he surges up, getting the now-free arm around her waist. Kate doesn’t even have a chance to make a noise of indignation before he flips her onto her back, rolling on top of her. The breath feels knocked out of her from the change.
He broke the headboard in order to seize back control.
That bast—
“What you fail to remember, Viscountess,” he mutters as he comes down upon her mouth, yet not quite kissing her, “is that I am never knocked down for long.” Her eyes flit to his hand that’s still tied to the headboard, eyes widening even further at the fact that he’s using it as leverage to hold himself above her. His free hand leaves her waist to drift up over the swell of her breast, then to collapse around her neck, thumb pressing into the soft underbelly of her jaw. The wood still attached to his ruined binding scrapes across the skin of her shoulder at the move. “Did you really think you could keep me subdued for long?”
She swallows, feeling it move down her throat against his palm. His fingers tighten a bit there yet don’t constrict. “I didn’t take you for a show-off,” she refutes.
The Viscount grins. His hips bump into hers to urge them back, her legs bending to accommodate now that she’s below him. This drives his cock further into her. A keening whine drags out of her that she manages to soften at the last second. Her cunt is still oversensitive from already coming once and she knows he knows that.
“Darling,” he murmurs, making the term sound like a misdeed. Like she’s wronged him and will be punished. “You’ve never underestimated me. Don’t start now.”
Kate is usually much more quick witted, she must admit, but the combination of her post-orgasmic mind and his cock drawing in and out of her with a rough glide is rendering her unable to keep up. Instead, all she can do is give out a mewl, scratching her nails down his back as he pumps forward enough to make her feel stretched thin. “Anthony,” she murmurs, “please, move—”
“My, my,” he chuckles with mirth. “How the roles have reversed.”
“Anthony—”
He gives a particularly sharp thrust, conjuring another cry from her mouth. He follows it with a ferocious kiss, claiming her mouth as if he will never be able to again. “How about next time,” he grunts as he begins a brutal pace, unforgiving and demanding, “it is your turn to be bound for my pleasure? Hm?” His hips snap into hers relentlessly and she feels like she can’t breathe. “Perhaps I will tease you for hours, yes?”
“You were not restrained for nearly so long,” she tries to hit back with, yet there is very little temper behind her words. “Do not exaggerate, my Lord.”
“You said I needed to be shown restraint,” he remarks as his hand clamps down on her throat a bit harder. The wood of the headboard piece grazes her nipple and it somehow gets a moan out of her. “Perhaps you need to be shown discipline, Viscountess.”
The way he fucks into her next sends a lightning strike up her spine and drops her jaw noiselessly. He takes the opportunity to meet her open lips, dragging his tongue across hers, as if to devour her whole. She meets the kiss as best she can while feeling utterly taken. The nails she has dug into him prick skin, she can feel it, and it assists her in feeling like she’s gained some sort of authority back.
“I will tie you to this bed,” he growls at the sensation on his back. “I am going to make sure you can’t move as I urge the very essence out of you. You will give me everything, Kate.”
She gasps against his lips as her next orgasm nears, teasing the edges of her womb. “You already have it.”
“Damn right,” he mutters.
Something is unleashed. His hand about her throat goes rigid, applying the perfect amount of pressure to draw a line of heat from her neck to her clit, while his hand still attached to the headboard grips the wood there hard enough to threaten another break. Then he gives her everything.
His hips slam into her over and over again, the headboard he is half-tied to smacking into the wall as he consumes her. Kate is positive her eyes roll into the back of her head as his cock hits the end of her channel repeatedly, lashing her like a fiery whip each time his tip knocks into where he cannot continue. She doesn’t realize she isn’t looking at him until she feels her breast being overtaken by his blazing mouth, a sputtering noise escaping her. Her eyes flick down in time to see him skim his teeth over her nipple, enough for it to feel harsh.
The thumb under her jaw suddenly pushes, forcing her head back, tipping her chin and elongating her neck. He swarms back into her field of vision. His thrusts do not stop.
“You are going to come for me again, Kate.”
“Anthony—”
“Do not argue with me now,” he grunts. His movements are starting to grow more demanding, more loose—she can tell he is nearing his own end. “I will redden your hide if you even think of attempting to snatch the upper hand from me now.”
“I was the one who had it to begin with,” she manages out, breathy, as all air feels pinched inside her. The intense pressure building within her is at its utmost point, aching to be tipped, like a bottle of wine to be poured. It tastes just as sweet yet just out of reach.
“Perhaps,” he replies with that infuriating grin of his. “Or so I let you believe.”
Her husband does not allow room for a rebuttal as his thumb under her chin moves to find her mouth, dragging her bottom lip down again for his perusal. The sight of him above her, poised and solid, adoring hands still sweeping her off her feet while unable to use one—she can’t handle it. She tries, oh God she doesn’t want to give in and yet—
It erupts inside her like a bullet leaving a gun, swift and dangerous. There’s no moment of reprieve, no preparation for the drop. She’s yanked toward him from the inside out. That line between her throat and clit feels plucked and pulled, a livewire that buzzes in her ears in the aftermath of the initial shot. Kate can vaguely make out the sound of him following her, pivoting his hips so hard into her it keeps her orgasm going, curling into her like smoke from the barrel.
“Kathani,” he murmurs as he empties into her, the thumb on her lip slipping into her mouth amidst the chaos of them coming down. She bites into it. “That was…” He exhales as his head drops to her breast.
She cannot speak. So she hums instead.
They share a soft, voluminous kiss before he pulls out of her. She gives a light moan at the feeling of his cock withdrawing, wishing he could remain until the elation has completely passed. However, she can tell he is eager to be untied, as he doesn’t waste another moment before picking at the knot on the scarf to free his other hand. She grins. “I must say, I would not be opposed to doing that again.”
“Mm,” he affirms. “Give me a few minutes, my love.”
“I meant binding you to the bed.”
Her husband scoffs as he steps off the mattress, shaking out his stiff limbs. “I aim to give you the world, Kathani, but you must believe me when I say—it is you who will be at my mercy the next time ties are brought out.”
Although the promise ignites a fire low in her belly, she keeps her face neutral and unswayed. She hopes. “I can be very persuasive.”
He doesn’t even deem that with a response, causing her to frown, but her lips lift back up as she spots him grabbing her plate of strawberries from the balcony to bring back to bed. That perks her up, but as she moves she can feel his spent jostle about inside of her, staining the insides of her thighs. “We will need to change the sheets after I bathe,” she tells him, glancing down at the mess.
“As you wish, my love,” he agrees as he sits in front of her with the treat. His hand reaches out and pushes some of her dark hair from her face, running the thumb that was previously in her mouth down her cheekbone. “You are a glittering creature.”
“Such poetic words.”
“I, too, can be persuasive.”
She rolls her eyes as she plucks a berry from the plate. Biting into it, her gaze finds the forgotten scarves, one on the ground and one on the bed beside her. She picks one up and begins looping it about her wrist. “Did it hurt?”
“Would you like to find out?”
“Do not change the subject.”
Anthony smiles while also biting into a strawberry. “No, it did not hurt.”
Idly, she reaches out and grabs one of his hands, looping the other end of the scarf secured about her to his wrist too. She makes a loose knot before bending her head down to capture the rest of his half-eaten berry with her mouth, right from his fingers. When she glances back up at him, his eyes are dark and wild.
“You are tempting on purpose,” he points out, jaw clenching.
“I have never heard a complaint about it.”
He leans closer and breathes in. She swallows the fruit on a surprised gasp as he uses their tied hands to tug her into him, their chests brushing each other. Her heart pounds for this man, like a staccato note marked with forte.
“To teach you discipline,” he murmurs in a sinful tone, “I might need to invest in some rope.”