She released his lips and sank slowly down, lips trailing down…head back, jaw clenched tight, he waited, prayed, wanted-feared…

She slid her lips slowly over his erection, slowly, deliberately took him into her mouth. Deep, then deeper, until he was sunk to the balls in her wet heat.

Slowly, deliberately, she reduced him to quaking desperation.

And he couldn’t stop her.

He wasn’t in control. He was at her mercy, completely and absolutely.

Hands gripping the posts, unable to see, he had to surrender, cede his body and his senses to her, hers to do with as she pleased.

One heartbeat before the point of no return, she slowed her attentions, then drew back.

His chest heaved; the night air felt cool against his damp, heated skin. She released him, rocked back, rose.

Fingers loose around his straining erection, she reached up and drew his head down. Kissed him, but briefly; drawing back, with her teeth, she tugged his lower lip-refocusing his attention.

“You have a choice. You can have your sight, or your hands. Choose.”

He wanted his hands on her, wanted to feel her skin, her curves, but if he couldn’t see…“Take off the blindfold.”

Minerva smiled. His gaze she could endure, but with his hands free, her remaining in control for much longer was unlikely.

And she wanted longer.

The air was heavy, thick, the scent of passion and desire a miasma about them. The salty taste of his arousal was fresh on her tongue; she’d wanted to lure him to completion, but the hollow ache between her thighs was too insistent. She needed him there as desperately as he wanted her sheath enclosing his erection.

They each needed the other to achieve their ultimate in completion.

She reached up as he lowered his head. She picked the knot free, unwound the folds, drew the long strip away and stepped back. He blinked, focused.

His dark gaze burned, scorching, piercing.

She caught it, refused to think about his strength, that it was his control that gave her any chance of controlling him. “Put the insides of your wrists together in front of you.”

Slowly he eased his fingers from their death grips on the posts, flexed his arms, then set his wrists together as she’d asked.

She bound them with the linen band. Releasing the trailing ends, she placed her splayed fingertips on his chest, pushed. “Sit on the bed, then lie back.”

He sat, then let himself fall back onto the crimson-and-gold brocade.

Grasping one bedpost, raising the nightgown, she clambered up, kneeling, looking down at him. “Put your hands on the bed above your head.”

In seconds he was lying stretched out on the bed, hands above his head, calves and feet dangling over the edge.

He lay there, naked, delectable, heavily aroused, hers for the taking.

Trapping his gaze, she wrapped one hand about his erection, with the other raised her nightgown so she could swing her thigh over his hips. Sinking down on her knees, she released the gown; the folds fell to his belly, screening her actions as she guided the blunt head of his erection between her slick folds, then eased back.

Releasing him, she sank slowly back, down, smoothly taking his turgid length into her body.

She shifted, sank further still, until she’d taken him all. Until she sat across his hips, impaled, full of him. He stretched her, completed her; the length and strength of him at her core felt indisputably right.

Her gaze locked with his, she rose slowly up, then slowly sank down.

Fingers braced on his chest, she changed angle, pace, found the rhythm she wanted, one she could maintain, sliding him deeply in, then almost completely out. He clenched his jaw, clenched his fists. His muscles hardened, tightened, as she devoted herself to taking every iota of sensual pleasure she could.

It wasn’t enough.

Wrapped in his gaze, acutely aware of all she could see blazing in the dark depths of his eyes as his body strained, fought his control-as he battled his own instincts to give her all she wanted…

In that moment, she knew. For her, with him, taking would never be enough. She had to give-give him, show him, all she was. All that with him, for him, she could be.

All she could gift him with.

All that blossomed inside her.

She reached down, grasped her nightgown, drew it up, off, flung it aside. His gaze instantly lowered to where they joined. She couldn’t see what he could, imagining was enough; the heat between her thighs flared. Within her, he grew larger, harder; she felt the change in his body between her thighs, deep inside her.

He glanced briefly at her face, then looked down again. His hips undulated beneath hers.

She should have ordered him to stop, to lie still. She didn’t. Breath sawing in her throat, she arched back; head up, arms crossed behind, her hair a wild cascade about her, eyes closed, she gave herself up to the bucking ride, to the overwhelming pleasure, and rode him hard, then harder.

It still wasn’t enough; she needed him deeper.

She sobbed, slowed, desperate…

He swore. Surged up from the waist, his bound wrists passing over her head, trapping her within the circle of his arms. Turning his palms, setting them to her back, his gaze locked with hers, he shifted between her thighs, then thrust up harder, deeper, higher with her.

He settled to a solid, heavy rhythm. His gaze lowered to her lips, inches from his. “You’re still in control.” He glanced up, caught her gaze. “Tell me if you like this.”

He bent, set his lips to her ruched nipple. She cried out. He suckled; she gasped. Sinking her hands in his hair, she held him to her. Held him while he rocked her, pleasured her, while they came together and the sounds and scents of their joining wreathed through her brain, filling, reassuring, exciting.

She wanted more.

More of him.

All of him.

She wanted what he did.

Catching his head between her hands, she urged him to look up.

When he did, dark eyes heavy-lidded, lips rich, fine, wicked, she caught his gaze. Gasped, “Enough. Take me. Finish this.”

His steady thrusting between her thighs didn’t ease. He looked deep. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Surer than of anything in the world. Slowing her own rhythm, she lost herself in his eyes. “However you wish, however you want.”

For one long moment, he held her gaze.

Then she was on her back, flung across his bed, clinging to sanity as with her thighs pressed wide, his bound hands beneath her head, palms cradling it, he thrust into her body, hard, deep-

Sanity fractured and she flew apart.

Royce gasped, fought to hold still so he could savor her release, but the contractions were so strong they ruthlessly, relentlessly drew him on, until with a muffled roar he followed her into oblivion, his release, so long denied, rolling over and through him, powerfully raking him, wrecking him, leaving him drained, a husk buoyed on a welling emotional tide, coming back to life as glory seeped in, and filled him.

As his heart swelled, and he drew in a shuddering breath, through the haze in his brain, he felt her lips caress his temple.

“Thank you.”

The words were a ghost of a whisper, but he heard, slowly smiled.

She had it arse over tit; it was he who should thank her.


A significant time later, he finally summoned sufficient strength to lift from her, roll onto his back, and with his teeth pick apart the knot at his wrists.

She lay slumped alongside him, but she wasn’t asleep. Still smiling, he scooped her up, dragged down the covers, then collapsed on the pillows, arranged her in his arms, and tugged the covers over them.

Without a word, she snuggled against him, all but boneless.

Pleasure, of a depth and quality he’d never thought to feel, rolled over and through him. And sank to his bones.

Tilting his head, he looked into her face. “Did I pass your test?”

“Humph. Somewhere through all that”-she waved weakly toward the end of the bed-“I realized it was a test for me as much as you.”

His lips curved more deeply; he’d wondered if she’d seen that.

Curiously clearheaded, he revisited the events, and even more the emotions-all they’d broached, drawn on, used, revealed, over the last hour.

She was still awake. Waiting to hear what he would say.

He touched his lips to her temple. “Know this.” He kept his voice low; she would hear all he wanted her to hear in his tone. “I will give you anything. Anything and everything I have to give. There is nothing you can ask for that I will not grant you-whatever I have, whatever I am, is yours.”

Each word rang with absolute, unshakable commitment.

A long moment passed. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation.

“Good.” Lips curving, settling his head on the pillow, he closed his arms about her. “Go to sleep.”

He knew it was a command, didn’t care. He felt her sigh, felt the last of her tension fade, felt sleep claim her. Taking his own advice, contented to his toes, he surrendered to his dreams.

Nineteen

A t a smidgen before dawn, Minerva floated back to her room, flopped into her bed, and sighed. She couldn’t stop smiling. Royce had more than passed her test with flying colors; even if he couldn’t promise love, what he had promised had more than reassured. He’d given her everything she’d asked for.