Auctioned Virgin to Seduced Bride Read Online Free PDF

slid to her feet, making her arch up to try and watch him. Defeated by the ropes she fell back. ‘Are you ticklish?’
    â€˜No. Oh! Oh, that is my toes —why does it feel so good…’
    He sucked each toe, his clever fingers caressing her instep, her ankles, until she was wriggling, torn between laughter and something else entirely. He shifted until he was kneeling between her feet and then began to lick, slowly, thoroughly, up her legs, his tongue curling hot and wet behind her knees to make her gasp, his hands pressing her thighs apart until she lay shamelessly open to him. She tugged, tried to free her hands and could not. What was he doing? Surely he could not get any satisfaction from this?
    â€˜Patrick! Set me free—I want to touch you.’ And then she understood: he wanted to touch her just as much. He wanted more than simply that final culminating pleasure: he wanted hers as much as she wanted his. Making love. She had never realised why it was called that before; she had thought it just a pretty euphemism.
    â€˜I know. You will just have to be patient.’ He was laughing, she could hear it in his voice.
    â€˜This is torture!’ she protested, gasping with the impossible pleasure of it and whatever was twisting, knotting, inside her. She tugged, but the silk held her fast and that, in itself, was exciting. She was powerless and he could do what he wanted. But he was eager and aroused and she had done that to him—and that was her power.
    The licks turned to kisses and tiny nips as he worked up her thighs, his fingers sifting into the tangle of hot, moist curls, opening her there, too. ‘Oh!’ It felt shamefully intimate. She knew she was blushing, could feel him looking at her. Does he get pleasure from looking at me like this? Do I please him? He will stop now , she thought, come up the bed and… ‘Ahh!’ A long finger slid between the secret folds. She felt how wet they were and blushed deeper, even as she writhed with the pleasure of it.
    The finger slid into her, then another, flexing and stretching and caressing the tight channel. It was almost pain, but not quite. It was unbearable and yet she could bear it—somehow. She want to press down, to tighten around him but did not dare. In a minute it will not be his fingers , she thought, feeling the flicker of fear again.
    Then, as she lay there, quivering with an apprehension that was part pleasure, part trepidation, he kissed her, deeply, intimately, so that she arched up from the bed, sobbing, and his lips and his tongue were at the core of her, driving her up into delight until, when the world stopped spinning, he was lying over her, his lips on hers.
    How long had she drifted? she wondered, floating down to earth to find him freeing her hands, leaving the rope looped over the headboard.
    â€˜I…I came?’ she asked, trying out the new word.
    â€˜Yes.’ He flopped down on the pillows next to her, looking smug. Laurel gradually surfaced through the ripples of pleasure, a wicked idea coming to her. She rolled over onto one elbow and found that his head was resting on his loosely clasped hands. She took one, kissed the pulse point, leaned over and kissed the other wrist.
    Patrick’s lids closed and he made a sound like a purr. Like lightning she whipped one loop over his right wrist, one over his left. He opened his eyes with an outraged roar and she wriggled off the bed, half terrified by what she had done. ‘Let me go!’
    â€˜Don’t you trust me?’ she teased. His eyes as he looked at her seemed strangely unfocused and she realised that he was finding this extremely arousing, whatever he might say. One glance down at the powerful erection rearing up from the tangle of dark curls confirmed it. ‘Methinks you protest too much, sir,’ she said, trailing one finger up the length of him before she ran to the dresser.
    â€˜Of course I— Leave that