What's better than a Regency Love story? One with a twist!
Silver Silk Ties … Blurb
Araminta knew what she wanted, and being left on her wedding night was not it. Finding her husband in the notorious house on Silk Street, she hoped her luck had changed. Perhaps this would not be the marriage of convenience she feared. If only she could persuade him that she was indeed the sub he needed.
Meeting his new wife at the one place all deep dark desires could be satisfied, Felton wondered if he had been mistaken? Was this a marriage of mutual passion and ideals? Would she truly obey? There was only one way to find out, test her submission.
And an excerpt to tease you…
Ara's skin gleamed with the evidence of her arousal. Her eyes were shining, her breathing rapid. The tantalizing pulse in her throat was beating out a rapid message. 'I'm ready, take me.' He would, and soon.
Felton picked up a soft silk crop and walked towards her. It was designed to stimulate rather than sting, and he knew the touch of it on her body would arouse and frustrate her.
"Take hold of the posts, Ara. I will not tie you. I want to see how you respond to directions. You will not speak, or come until I say so. Are you happy with that? You must vocalize your answer then remain silent."
Were there ever two more glorious words?
He waited until she took hold of each post. It stretched her arms, almost to their length, and her breasts tightened as she did so, her nipples peaked and hard. Then with studious care, Felton rested the tip of the crop at the entrance to her channel. He let the ties trace a delicate pattern on her bare mound, and across her thighs. She squirmed, and her juices coated the silk, darkening the color.
Felton swished and snapped the crop so it snaked over her quim. Ara bit down on her lip. The sensation she would be experiencing would be akin to a feather tickling, or a set of soft wet kisses, creating a trail over her. He would be hard put to make a mark of any kind. For all that, he had no intention of reddening her skin with it. The idea was to raise her awareness, to arouse her to screaming point before he moved on. Again, he snapped and flicked.
"Good girl," he praised her as he watched her struggle not to speak. "It's so hard, isn't it? You want more, don't you? Do you want to feel the sting, Ara, the pleasure pain of something with a little bite to it? Shall I give it to you?" He wondered how she would respond, given he had told her not to speak.
She nodded. He stroked her channel once more. The ribbons of the crop were damp with her juices, and he wanted to lift them to smell her essence, and add his juices to hers.
"Then I shall reward you. Roll onto your stomach." Felton didn't wait to see if she obeyed. He dropped the crop into a bin—he had many more, all made especially for him—and picked up another one. Instead of all silk flails, this had a mixture of silk and leather. It was still not one that would inflict great pain. Felton had long acknowledged he had no taste for that. He preferred a long, slow, teasing arousal, and a hint of pain. This, he knew, would deliver both. It also, produced a satisfying noise when he moved it. In fact, he mused as he walked back to the bed, where Ara was now on her front, the fear of what that noise could mean, was conceivably a greater stimulus than its touch.
"On your knees, and take hold of the bed head." He waited until she had moved and placed a high pillow between her breasts and quim. "Is that comfortable? Flex your hand if it is, speak if not."
Her hand flexed. Satisfied, he moved her hair so her back was uncovered, and trailed a series of nipping kisses down her spine. She arched upwards to seek more, and he pressed her down with one hand. With the other, he spanked her soft rear, and then slipped his fingers between her legs to thrust one finger inside her soaked channel.
Felton looked at his cock now covered in pre-cum and standing out proudly from its nest of dark curls. Soon, he promised himself.
Without warning, he brought the crop down hard on her arse. The sting would be no more than that, but the unexpectedness, he knew, would make it feel more than it was.
She moaned, and he bit back his chuckle.
"Ah, dear Ara, you were commanded not to vocalize. I'm sure I heard a moan. Does that mean you disobeyed me?"
She was silent. Then slowly nodded.
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