Or maybe it was the woman by his side.
He lowered his voice an octave. “He cannot abide struggles, so he ties her hands. A close up, I think, of her hands, bound with rope.”
“Hmm. He doesn’t waste any time, does he, our brigand?”
He did not comment on the way she said the word. Though it annoyed him. It also provoked him. To mischief. She really should have known better than to provoke him.
Then again, she didn’t know who he was. Not really.
He glanced at the sketch. It was perfect. Still, when she looked up at him he shook his head. “No. Not quite right.”
Her face puddled. “What do you mean?”
“The angle of the knots… Here. Let me show you.” He crossed to the armoire, where he kept his playthings. He let the door swing wide. So she could see the whips and quirts and paraphernalia. He selected a length of rope and turned back to the table. As he had hoped, she’d noticed. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape.
He smiled wickedly. “I find it helps to have aids.”
“A-aids?”
“Yes. For visual cues, don’t you know.” He knelt before her, excitement humming in every thread of his being. He was dying to see how far she would go—how far she would let him go. “Put out your hands.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Put out your hands. I’ll show you how it should look.”
Her lips twisted wryly. “Doubtless, it will be difficult for me to draw with my wrists tied.”
“Please. Indulge me.”
To his delight, and his chagrin, she did. He wrapped the rope around her wrists and secured it with his favorite knot.
“There. Try to get free.”
She turned her hands this way and that. As he’d known—from years of experience—she could not slip out. Ah. Once a man had her hands, he had it all. Silly girl.
“You see the difference? Between this and the knot you drew?”
She studied her sketch. “N-no.”
He placed a hand on her knee and grinned up at her, attempting to make it the most evil grin he could manage. “This knot is real.”
Her lips made a charming little “O”. “Lord Hedon, I don’t think—”
“No. You didn’t think, did you? Coming here, to my rooms, unescorted, thinking a silk mask would protect you.” He stood and stepped behind her, lifting her arms over her head and back, quickly lashing the end of the rope to a ring on the back of the chair. This thrust her breasts out at a tempting angle.
“Lord Hedon! What are you—”
“Hush, darling. You’re in my power now.”
“But what about our work?”
Seriously? That was all she was worried about? She was about to be ravaged by the biggest rake in Christendom and all she could talk about was her sketches?
He cupped her breasts, both of them. Tweaked twin peaks. “Hush.” This, he whispered in her ear. “I wouldn’t want to have to gag you.”
A flush crept up her cheeks. She wriggled and writhed and tried to get free, although he fancied she didn’t try too hard. He didn’t know if he should be gratified or annoyed. He chose annoyed. Because, damn, this was some other man as far as she knew. Some stranger. Some feckless villain!
He yanked up her skirts and she squealed.
She didn’t yell or holler or bellow. She squealed.
As though she liked it.
His mood darkened.
He stormed back to the armoire and found two straps and a quirt, the one he’d used as inspiration for Asha’s whipping with the sheik. He lifted one of Kaitlin’s thighs over the arm of the chair and strapped it in place. And then the other. Pushing her annoying skirts out of the way—God, he should have stripped her first—he exposed her cunt.
Beautiful.
He teased her curls.
She was wet.
Rage snarled through him. Because she was wet. For another man.
He glared at her. She gazed at him with dewy—yes, fucking dewy—eyes. Her lips were parted. Her breath came out in pants. With rough fingers he held open the folds of her labia, exposing her clitoris. It was swollen, slick.
Rage and arousal battled within him. They both won.
He brought down the leather tip of the quirt, straight onto her nubbin.
She groaned, arched, writhed against her bonds. “Oh, yes. Yes.”
God. He hated this. Also, he loved it.
Again and again he smacked her pearl, alternating with swipes of his questing tongue. Her taste, her scent was delightful, excruciating.
He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t. He took her into his mouth and sucked, nibbled, nipped. She cried out again, angling her hips up toward him as far as her bonds would allow. With her legs lashed to the arms of the chair and her arms bound behind her, she was not able to wiggle much. He loved that she tried.