CHAPTER TWELVE
She lay quivering on the bed, curtain drawn across a falling sun; a candle jumped about in the shadowed corner, its flame dancing across her body. She lay nude; her dress pulled from her body, luscious feminine flesh basking in the glow of the fire and the heat of his body looming over her. She could watch him, this time - he had given her permission to lay, and to watch - to watch his body writhe in pleasure, his muscles sizzle as he removed his jacket; as he undid one button after another, erotic and slow and utterly titillated by the sight of her shaking amid his sheets. She holds back a gasp, cupping her mouth when she sees his glistening abdomen exposed; sweat already dripping along his form; the summer heat bore down all around them, the windows pulsing with steam from the warmth of their bodies breathing; twitching, longing lustily for one another.
She didn't understand why she enjoyed being denied - especially, denied by a man like this. Perhaps she thought him a man of loose morality - and the feeling of one so virile denying her, when she could have a hand in marriage so easily... or perhaps she simply enjoyed the feeling of being commanded; of being told what to do, when to do it. But only from her master... only from the man whom she owed everything to. The man she thought she hated - the man she still wants to hate.
But when his hands rolled along the insides of her thighs and squeezed the soft and succulent, pouting flesh of her legs, until his fingertips dug deep and forced her to shake, none of that mattered; the shackled world outside the walls of Lord Brighton's bedroom melted away like sweet, creamy butter lain in the burning afternoon sun. His fingers teased against her blushing folds; she squirmed her legs together, denying him, but when his fingers dug deep into her thighs she felt that pain radiating through her neck - the pain of the brand he had left on her, his claim to her; he was the master, and she, his prey. The thought enticed her, and with a quaking moan just the thought of him parted her legs wide, her breath ragged and her eyes closed, imagining all the thousands of filthy dreams she didn't even know she had, all surfacing now; all the things she secretly wanted this irresistible, gorgeous lord to do to her.
She hesitated to speak; she didn't know if all of his bedroom rules had been suspended. She was allowed to look at him, after all - and every inch of him she saw she wanted to exclaim in hunger how much she longed for his body. His fingers moved swiftly to the leather and copper buckle of his belt, unclasping the garment; he slickly removed it from its loops and lashed it around Isobel's ankles, pulling the band tight, tight enough she could feel the leather chafing hard against her soft skin. He clasped it shut, leaving her legs bound; the sensation struck her oddly at first, but as his fingers ran tantalizingly along her calves, across her hips, onto her inner thighs, she immediately surrendered her inhibitions, barely able to breathe at how amazing it felt to be clasped and teased this way.
"I hope you've enjoyed watching me," he smirked, leaning over her, his kisses leaving a hot and steamy trail across her stomach, following her every dip and curve with his devouring desire, his tongue rolling around her left nipple. It stiffened and her back arched out; it felt so intense, her mind burning at the feeling of his lips lavishing praise on her skin while his breaths teased the sensitive, cold pink dollops of flesh atop her breasts. She opened her mouth to speak, her eyes wide as she realized her bedroom transgression, swallowing her words and watching him with bated breath. Satisfied that his lovely debtor had begun to learn to whom her hot body belonged, Lord Brighton grinned devilishly, pushing some of his wild, sweat-tinged hair from his brow, finally giving her a nod.
"You can speak... for now, love," he whispered, sending a cool breath down her shivering skin as he crawled off the bed, standing once more expectant, tall and triumphant before his quaking quarry.
"L... Lord Brighton—"
"Ellery, I told you," he waggled a finger. "Remember the rules, love..."
"E... Ellery," she said hesitantly, swallowing hard; swallowing in nervous embarrassment, closing her eyes and looking away. "Please—"
"Please," he repeated with a sigh. "A good word to start with, my pet... but I'd open my eyes, if I laid in your position, darling. From the look in your eyes, I get a mite feeling you enjoy seeing my body," he exhaled deeply. "You'd better see what you can of it before I play my next game with you." Her eyes shot open in mild, lustful panic.
"M'lord, please, wh-what do you mean?" her voice shook. She glimpsed him in the candlelight, a faint glow of sun cresting along the chiseled surface of his abs, rippling along his handsome skin. He taunted her with silent promises, fingers slipping into the waistband of his slacks, playing with the button, telling her fiery body that he'd give her what she dreamed of, seeing all of him, so soon... instead, he only teased, pulling his fingers away, leaving her breathing hotly.
"Pl-please, E... Ellery, I..." she felt so ashamed saying it, but she couldn't hold back; and here, in this little sanctuary of theirs from right and proper society, she finally felt hot enough to just blurt it out. "I want to see you, I want to see all of you, I want to watch you as you enter me and stretch me and please my young body," she mewled; she shivered from head to toe hearing herself speak those erotic words, and she couldn't even believe she had them hidden somewhere inside of her.
"So," he laid down across her body, kissing her on the ear, "...was that you admitting you like this, then?" he teased. She bit her lip, scoffing with frustrated vitriol.
"St-stop teasing, you animal," she breathed hotly into his ear.
"You'll not see more of me... or any of me," he growled to her; confused, she squirmed, looking damnably up to her hands - when he'd laid her down, he made sure to bind her wrists, and she'd laid prone with those chafing silver chains leashed around her hands.
"M'lord—"
"Master," he breathed against her skin. "Ellery... or master."
"M... master," she said it reluctantly... but god, it felt good. She didn't know how good it could feel, or why it felt good, but it gave a rush of pleasure, a surge through her blood, when she said it aloud. "Master..."
"You've lost yourself again, love..." he purred salaciously; with a sexy swagger to his strut Lord Brighton moved o the bedside table; deftly he found a key hidden in a vase next to the table, clicking the locked drawer open. Isobel struggled to look, seeing only layers of black; then, he slammed it shut, having retrieved just what he wanted from the drawer.
"M... master, what..."
"I told you... warned you, even, to savor the sight of me while you could," he said, his smoky tone salaciously chastising the innocent but wanting little maiden. "I hope you did..." Isobel wanted to speak, but before she could protest whatever his devilish mind had dredged up to do to her, she felt her sense of sight enveloped in darkness; he moved quick, securing the thick black cloth across her eyes and leaving her shut out in the dark. She gasped, unsure; unsteady, and completely taken aback by the sudden darkness and denial. She couldn't see him, or anything, and it scared her, a shiver along her spine.
It scared her... and it completely, utterly enticed her.
"Master..." she murmured, the word giving her a rush down her spine. She could see nothing, and in that darkness instead she listened; she held her breath so tight; she laid perfectly still, not wanting the rustle of the bedsheets to interfere with her ears. She shook, her skin sensitive to every single brush of air; every winding wind, every squirming sensation. Everything went dark; everything went silent. His tongue didn't tease her; his breath, his hot words didn't please her. She swallowed hard... hoping.
Time passed so painfully slow. Where had he gone? She didn't hear his breaths; his voice. He deprived and denied her completely, and her nerves began to fray; her muscles began to shudder. She could hear only her own deep, quavering and nervous breathing. She begged quietly to reach out, but her hands squirmed in her chained bonds; she couldn't touch herself, or part her legs to invite him. She laid helpless, denied; she fought every instinct to speak, to call out to him; she tried to feel out with her mind and her heart, but she could sense nothing.
Her lips fell apart, mouth gaping; and just as the pain grew so intense she couldn't stand it, she heard something from the corner of the room. Only a quiet rustling; footsteps across carpet. She held herself still and silent again. She breathed harder. She tried so hard to keep herself together but it felt so wrong - and so good. A hard swallow. A quiet rustle. It could have been anything... curtains, wind. Her own body shaking against the bed. Her breath reaches a fevered pitch as nerves and anxiety and desire and confusion at the unknown fill her completely, and when she finally feels his body heat press against her own again and his tongue tantalizing her breasts, sweeping skilled, wet waves over sensitive skin, she absolutely erupted in a pleasurable scream, her body arching against his. She felt his body atop her for the first time; she couldn't see him, but she could feel every inch; her breasts pressed against his strong pectorals, her thighs split by his powerful hips as he began to piston inside of her tight, dripping slit, his girth pleasing her femme bead and leaving her wide-mouthed and panting.
"M-master!" she shouted; it all felt so much more visceral, gripping at her core, to make filthy, lusty love in complete darkness; in utter denial of what her senses begged and shrieked for. She had wanted so badly to see him, but somehow not seeing him felt even better than she could imagine. She hadn't seen him thrust or pump against her body in their last encounter, but with the darkness shrouding her eyes her imagination gripped her completely, filling her lewd thoughts with sensations unmired by the reality around her.
It felt so good for her body, a prim virgin only days past, to be used; stretched. He gripped at her neck, giving a soft squeeze, and the pain of his brand, still bruised into her neck, made her shudder; the memory of their first enticing encounter brought her breaths coming so fast she felt like she couldn't even begin to keep up with his sinful, sexual vigor. Her muscles, her rear, her neck, it all felt so sore, so used; and so fucking perfect. He pounded against her thighs, the meeting of flesh and shaking skin slapping loud enough that she could hear it over the sound of her pounding heart, her breaths and their symphony of salacious moans. She could feel his shaft tightening inside of her clenching, moistened depths, filling her over and over as his voice grew deeper, a throbbing, possessive and wolfish growl. She squirmed in her bonds, wanting to feel him; wanting to touch him, but to be held as his sizzling, simpering captive somehow felt so much hotter.
"NNn~ Isobel," he exploded in a breath of relief as their bodies ground out to an explosive and enticing climax together, his limbs wrapped around her body, grasping her as she let loose a whimpering and angelic song of orgasmic delight, the sensation rushing through every limb. She felt him fill her hard and deep one final time as his hardened length erupted inside of her folds, filling her with a delectable, lush warmth that filled her stomach, shot like gouts of pressured steam through her legs, down to her curling toes.
She couldn't see him, still; she couldn't even touch him, but still, she could feel him. His heart beat in rhythm with her own, her breaths mingling with the hot honey dripping from his lips as he kissed her deep. After a long moment shared together in sugary-sweet silence, she felt him lay on the bed next to her, his arm still cupped across her back, and with great force he pulled her close, keeping her blindfolded as he kissed her along her neck - and across that bruised brand of his, reminding her who she belonged to.
"Now you're not allowed to lie to me," he said as he kissed her lips roughly; passionately. "You did enjoy that, didn't you? You dirty minx, you," he chuckled. She blushed, pulling away from him and squirming at her bonds.
"Must you insist on taunting me and trying to get me to indulge you?" she said, an anxious giggle in her throat. "I can't even see you. Do you think I enjoy that?"
"I don't think. I know," he groaned against her neck, tonguing her bruise; pleasurable pain flooded her nerves again, but she tried to keep it out of mind. She didn't want to tell him what he thought he knew.
"You're quite mistaken if you take me for... some manner of deviant, who enjoys these games you play," she announced with disdain. "It's... not true."
"You certainly sounded like you enjoyed submitting," he growled playfully.
"I had no choice! You chained me," she scoffed. A long silence followed; she could hear his sigh.
"You still won't face it, will you, love?" he asked flippantly.
"Face... what?" she swallowed hard.
"These chains..." she felt him rattle the silvered chain at her wrist, loosening the clamps; her hands freed, she laid them at her sides. "...these chains, they're not the ones holding you back." She took a deep breath; using her freed hands, she lifted the blindfold from her eyes, seeing his face; mired in conflict, vexed with that coy confidence while still full of doubt.
"You're..." she took a deep breath, her voice thin and willowy. "You're... right. But... I don't understand... I don't know why. And I don't... like, that I like it."
"Of course you don't, because you're not meant to admit the things you like. You're not meant to enjoy life. You're a 'proper lady'," he grunted, looking towards the window; the sun hung low in the sky, daylight beginning to wane, orange colors shifting across their dimly-lit bodies. For the first time, she genuinely considered his thoughts. She didn't want to deny it any longer - that she enjoyed the feelings.
But she had to.
"One of us must maintain our dignity, after all," she spat out, meeting his eyes. She knew her own told the truth to him... as they always did.
"Are you going to live your whole life a prisoner to that? 'Dignity'?" Lord Brighton challenged her.
She didn't answer, only laying in the darkness. She knew the answer, and it scared her. So did he.