Will giving him a reason to punish me somehow satisfy him? Will it ease that crease in his brow, and the tightness that holds him hostage?
“Are you going to do as you’re told, lass?”
I shake my head from side to side.
“Fine, then,” he says, his voice hardening as he drags me over to the sofa. “Then it’s time you learned what happens to wee lasses who don’t obey.”
My legs tremble, but a new feeling altogether overshadows fear. This is nothing like the paralyzing fear I feel when my brother comes home drunk and I know I’ll feel his wrath. It’s nothing even like the fear I felt the night in the cemetery, not knowing what they’d do next. This is a fear that thrills, that sets my heart beating faster and a strange, unfamiliar tingling low, low in my belly.
He sits heavily on the sofa, and though it’s sturdy leather, it sags beneath his weight. Will he tie me up, like he did the day before? Why am I not afraid of being hurt by him? And the better question is, why does my body hum with excitement?
“First,” he says, his accent thickening with the rolling r’s of the north. “I’ll remove this cumbersome clothing you so stubbornly refused to take off yourself.”
I swallow hard, my mouth so dry it feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. I quickly run over my options.
I could push him away, but that might make him angry. And something tells me I’ve only seen the very precipice of his anger, that it runs far deeper than I’ve witnessed. Or worse, still… he could stop.
And I don’t want him to stop.
But when his hands come to my waist and he begins to roll down my leggings, I begin to shake. The moment’s so intimate, so undeniably erotic, I don’t know how to process what’s happening. I’m shaking my head from side to side in a futile attempt to stop this, but he doesn’t even notice, he’s so intent on stripping me.
He’s whispering words in Gaelic… something about unwrapping a gift sent from above… that a man like him’s unworthy. And that? That makes me eager. Eager to please him. Eager to watch him. Eager to give him whatever it is he wants from me.
So when he lifts my leg to tug off my leggings, I help him. I brace myself on his sturdy shoulders and lift my foot, then switch to the other foot so he can finish the job. He tugs down my knickers next, and quickly divests me of those as well. In no time at all, I’m standing before him in nothing but a bra.
He reaches for my back and nimbly unfastens the latch, so the silk falls to the pile on the floor like a string of pearls. I’m standing before him naked, but I’m not afraid. I’ve been fully clothed and more terrified than I am now.
I don’t understand why I’m not afraid at first, until I realize how deeply excited I am, how eager I am to see what he’ll do to me. The threat of punishment and meeting his wrath is nothing like what I’ve experienced before. And I don’t care why or how I feel this way. My body is starting to overtake my mind, and logical assessment of the situation quickly flees when I feel his hands on my naked skin.
Yes.
Yes.
More.
He runs his hands from my shoulders, down my back, then palms my naked bottom hard, so it’s painful but sends an erotic pulse to my lower belly. He squeezes and groans, such a soft sound but I immediately know he’s affected by me, exercising self-control. He runs his hands lower to my upper thighs, and parts my legs.
“I wish you could speak to me,” he says, surprising me with his blatant honesty, not a trace of anger or command. So simple, it’s almost boyish. “I want to hear your voice,” he whispers. “I’d want to hear you beg. I’d want to hear you moan.”
I close my eyes, overcome with emotion so intense it rattles me.
No one’s ever wanted those things from me before.
I can communicate, though, in ways only a few will understand. I reach behind me and grip his wrists between my fingers, bringing his hands in front of me. His eyes widen in surprise as he looks at me. I bring first one hand to my mouth and kiss his palm, then fold his fingers across the kiss. I do the same with his second hand, thanking him for touching me so tenderly. For making me feel beautiful with no more than a touch.
Thank you.
I reach my fingertip to his lips and trace them. I shiver in delight at the warm, sensual feel of them. His lips part, and he draws my finger in his mouth, suckling the very tip. My jaw drops in silence, as a frisson of awareness and delight courses through me.