Devil in Spring

“Punish me?”

“Mmm.” His hands wandered over her slender bare legs. “You can’t learn your lesson properly if I don’t reinforce it.”

“What are my choices?”

“They all begin with removing your drawers.”

A smile deepened the curve of her cheek as he sought her lips. “There’s not enough time before dinner,” she said, squirming as he reached for the drawstring just below her waist.

“You might be surprised at what I can accomplish in five minutes.”

“Based on recent experience, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”

Gabriel laughed against her mouth, relishing her impudence. “A challenge. Well, you can forget all about dinner now.”

Pandora struggled and squeaked as he divested her of her drawers and pulled her fully onto his lap, with her naked legs dangling on either side of his waist. The corset, with its stiffened fabric and stays, forced her back to remain straight. He tugged down the shoulders of her chemise and lifted her breasts from the supportive half-cups of the corset. He kissed the pale curves, leisurely catching the soft pink nipples with his lips, flicking them with his tongue. Her breathing grew labored within the confining grip of the corset, and she reached down to the front hooks.

Gabriel stopped her, gently grasping her wrists and drawing them back around his neck. “Leave it on,” he murmured, forestalling arguments by taking her mouth with his. It was a decoy she couldn’t resist, heat instantly taking hold like flame racing through kindling.

Adjusting her weight, he let her bottom settle between his spread knees, leaving her open and exposed. He kept one arm behind her back, while he slid his hand between her thighs. His fingers tickled and stirred through petals and silkiness and tender wet heat, until Pandora quivered in his lap. He knew what was happening to her, the way the corset redirected sensation below her waist in unfamiliar ways. Pressing a fingertip just above the hidden peak of her clitoris, he agitated it softly. Pandora’s moans grew louder. He circled the emerging bud and slid his finger to the little cove below, and sank it inside her. He felt her thighs and hips flexing, muscles struggling to bring their bodies closer, to close around the teasing stimulation.

Withdrawing the gentle invasion, he continued to play with her idly, making her wait, making her arch and squirm in rising frustration. He caressed her with skillful, circuitous strokes, avoiding the place she most wanted him to touch. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and unfocused, her face exquisitely flushed. He kept her hovering at the edge of release, gentling his touch every time the erotic torment seemed about to spill over into pleasure.

Cupping his free hand behind her head, he brought her lips to his, and she kissed him almost violently, trying to draw his tongue into her mouth. He gave it to her, and covered her sex with his entire hand, savoring the fiery damp softness of her.

Breaking the kiss with a sigh, Pandora let herself fall forward stiffly and dropped her head to his shoulder.

Relenting, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He set her feet on the floor and bent her over the mattress. She braced for him, shaking visibly, while he unfastened his trousers. His flesh was hard and almost obscenely swollen, his groin filled with a savage ache at the sight of his wife laying there waiting for him, so trusting and still. So innocent. He thought of what he’d once told her, that there were certain things gentlemen didn’t ask of their wives. She’d said something about being willing, but it had been obvious she didn’t understand a damned thing about what he’d meant.

His hand moved over her narrow corseted back, hesitating at the bow-knot of laces. Erotic thoughts floated through his head, and he didn’t want to hide them from her. He wasn’t sure whether revealing more about his private desires would change the way she felt about him. But if there was ever a woman who could be both wife and mistress, who might be able to accept the whole of him, including the complexity of secret cravings and foolish fantasies, it would be her.

Before he let himself think twice about it, he untied the knot of the corset laces. Wordlessly he reached for Pandora’s arms, guiding them downward and behind her back. She tensed but didn’t resist. The position drew her shoulders taut and arched her bottom upward. His heart drummed as he deftly tied her wrists to the corset, taking care not to make the cords too tight.

The sight of her lightly trussed on the bed sent a wave of overwhelming heat through him. Breathing unsteadily, he kneaded and stroked her bottom. He sensed her bewilderment and curiosity, and saw her wrists flex tentatively against the cord restraints. She was half-naked and he was the one who was fully clothed, but he’d never felt more exposed. He waited for her reaction, ready to free her instantly if she objected. But she was silent, unmoving except for the quick rise and fall of her lungs.

Slowly his hand wandered down between her legs, coaxing them wider. He grasped the aching stiffness of his erection and stroked the head across her melting flesh, back and forth. The arch of her back deepened, and her fingers began to curl and straighten like delicate anemone fronds. She made a low, vibrant sound, and pushed backward against him, signaling not only permission but pleasure. Clearly she would allow this, and other intimacies in the future, as long as she trusted him.

Suffused with relief and excitement, he leaned over her and groaned out a few words, some of them tender, some crude, but he was beyond controlling anything. The second he entered her, she cried out and began to spasm, her inner muscles tightening while his hips rolled in continuous nudges that almost lifted her feet from the floor. Driving deep into the wet pulsations, he rode out her climax to the last helpless shudder, and when at last she lay still and gasping, he tugged at the laces to free her wrists.