Page 63 of The Butterfly
After a moment, he nodded and then gripped her chin, dipping his head to seek out her mouth once more. This time, his kiss was deep and searching, his mouth hard and dominating, his tongue probing deep. She went limp in his arms, the tension leaving her spine in an instant. Melting into him, she allowed him to plunder her mouth, drowning in his taste and the dizzying sensation of his lips moving against hers. Pulling away, he gazed at her once more, as if needing to make certain before going forward.
“Ye trust me, don’t ye, Livvie?”
“More than anyone else,” she told him.
He nodded as if satisfied with that, before lifting her and placing her in the center of the bed. He arranged her upon her knees facing away from him. Then, the mattress shifted and bowed as he began to move, his weight leaving the bed altogether.
“Stay there,” he admonished when she tried to turn to look at him over her shoulder.
She obeyed, glancing down to realize she had begun twisting the bottom of her nightgown in both hands. The feeling, the craving, was as persistent as ever, and it took every ounce of her will not to go barreling from the room and out into the night in search of a bottle of laudanum. She fairly trembled with the urge, but held fast, waiting for Niall. She trusted him to give her what she’d asked for.
Orange light flared in her peripheral vision, and the warmth of a freshly stoked fire reached out to her from the hearth. Niall rifled about for a bit longer before she heard his footsteps coming back to her.
Returning to the bed, he climbed up behind her, remaining out of her line of sight. The heat of his body suffused through the fabric of her nightgown when he came up behind her—pelvis pressed against her arse, chest to her back, thighs spread to rest along the outside of hers. One arm came around her middle, his large hand splayed on her belly with a pleasant heaviness that kept her grounded, present in the moment.
“Who’s in control, Livvie?”
“I am,” she replied, letting her head fall back to rest upon his shoulder.
His touch on her belly moved, his fingers working the buttons closing her into her nightgown with swift efficiency. Once he’d opened the gown, he peeled it from her shoulders and eased it down her body, letting it fall in a pool around her on the bed. The chill of the room had begun to dissipate, though it hardly mattered with the warm, hard body pressed against her, offering all the heat and support she needed.
He braced both hands upon her shoulders, skimming them down her arms until he was bringing her wrists together in front of her. Then, he was using something white to bind them together, tight enough that she could not squirm free, but loose enough that she could still wiggle her fingers. His cravat, she realized. Her wrists had healed enough that the pressure did not hurt. It only itched a bit, though she could not dwell on that for long.
Her pulse kicked up a notch, her breath hitching as Niall laid something over her eyes that blotted out the moon and firelight, casting her back into the darkness. Her chest heaved, but she struggled to keep her breathing under control, sinking into him with a slow exhale. The fabric he tied around the back of her head was long and silken—one of her stockings, perhaps.
The darkness disoriented her for a moment, leaving her dizzy and off-balance. Her stomach dropped as if she plunged into that black abyss, the place where she floated on a river of her own tears.
“I’m right here with ye, Livvie,” he murmured against her ear. “And ye are still in control, aye?”
She nodded, focusing upon the sound of his voice and the feel of his body against hers. It balanced her again, a heady reminder that she was not alone, that she no longer allowed herself to be tossed about by the whims of Fate. She’d taken control of her life, and that meant shunning her dangerous wants in favor of something far more wonderful and far less hazardous to her body.
He took her bound hands and lifted them, hooking them around his neck so her arms were pulled taut. Then, he grasped her thighs and pulled them wider, forcing her to sink down into her posture, every part of her exposed for him.
Then, he was touching her, and the darkness was no longer something to fear. It became a warm blanket surrounding her, comforting her, bringing alive the previously deadened parts of herself. He rested his hands at her waist, then skimmed them upward. He cupped her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples and sending a little fissure of delight arcing over her skin. The sensation sank into her belly, suffusing her with warmth from the inside out. His lips pressed against her temple, then her cheek, his mouth tracing a steady path to her ear.
Olivia held her breath as one of his hands traveled downward while the other eased up. He gripped her chin, turning her head as he also skimmed his way down her stomach in an achingly slow journey toward her cunt. She gasped when he cupped her mons, middle finger pressing into the seam right against her clit. He tilted her head, kissing his way from her ear down the side of her neck, then lingering at her shoulder. Shivers wracked her, the light brush of his lips at the juncture of her neck and shoulder sending jolts of sheer bliss down her spine.
She squirmed in his hold, but he merely tightened his hand against her quim, holding her close against him. He delved between her lower lips, stroking at her hidden inner flesh and coaxing moisture from deep inside her. Her gut clenched, her chest burning as she fought to keep quiet and not let the entire house in on what they were doing. She trembled for what might come next, what she’d be helpless to submit to with her hands bound and her eyes covered.
She trusted him without reservation, eager for more—desperate for it, even.
The hand at her chin moved until he was gently clutching the braid running between her shoulders. Giving it a tug, he bent her head back, his fingers steadily stroking her toward climax while he kissed and suckled at her neck and shoulder. All the while, his hips surged against her buttocks, grinding the evidence of his desire against her, teasing her with what was to come. She nearly begged him for it, moaning and weeping and writhing, but she held back. He would know when she was ready, and despite the fact that he’d told her she was in control, she wanted nothing more than to allow him to set the pace.
He took his time, rubbing at her clit in slow, languid circles, his mouth torturing the back of her neck, her ear, every bit of naked skin his lips landed upon. The pressure and tension built in her core, winding tighter and tighter as she strained toward the elusive ending, her mouth practically watering for it, her legs quivering and her arms tightening around his neck.
Niall waited until she whimpered and squirmed with the first telltale fluttering of her completion, then eased a finger into her passage, the way made slick with her wetness, following it with a second. His other hand clamped over her mouth when she cried out, bucking against his stroking fingers and the busy thumb agitating her clit to heighten the finish. Her cunt convulsed, her insides melting into liquid fire to flood her with a burst of heat that flushed her skin. She moaned against his hand, surrendering to the pull of the darkness and the electric crackle sparking where his hand worked her until the very end. As her climax died away to a light, dull throb, he eased his fingers from inside her and dropped his hand from over her mouth. She had gone limp, hanging from his body by only her tied hands around his neck, the rest of her sinking into the mattress. She was formless and weightless, sated yet still yearning for more. The need had not abated—he had merely taken the edge off.
“Ye’re goin’ to do that again and again before I’m done with ye,” he rumbled in her ear. “However many times it takes until I’m satisfied ye aren’t thinkin’ about that foul poison. And if ye are, ye’ll be lucky if ye can even walk to attempt to go find it.”
She shuddered, her body singing at the promises he made, both spoken and unspoken. The subtle threat of his cock, heavy and hard against her arse, served as a reminder of how completely he could fill her, leaving room for little else.
“Yes, Niall,” she urged. “That is what I want … it’s what Ineed.”
His only response was to take hold of her arms and untangle her from him, dropping her to fall forward on the bed. She landed on her belly, facedown, bound hands stretched out before her. She turned her head and fought against the instant flare of panic that surged within her at the feel of his heavy body coming down on top of her. Her mind flooded with memories of being pinned down this way, a forearm biting against her back, foul words whispered in her ear.
She battled it back down, focusing on the feel of the man atop her, his lips tracing their way down the center of her spine, his tongue laving each ridge as he made his way downward. She breathed slowly, picturing Niall laid over her, his body like a shield against the world, his lips a balm to her agony. There was nothing to fear, not with him handling her so carefully, his mouth both urgent and gentle at once.
With a sigh, she let her body sink into the mattress, her eyes closing behind her makeshift blindfold. Again, she surrendered, letting herself revel and feel. He kissed along the curve of one buttock, then lapped at the sensitive skin where it met her thigh, causing her core to clench with longing.
