Taboo Page 13

  “Certainly, master.” She put a hand on each thigh and drew them apart, revealing her innermost bounty, moist and pink and utterly delicious.

  “You naughty girl,” he said. “It appears you’ve ripped your knickers.”

  As he spoke, he slipped his hand between her thighs and stroked the soft white skin that tempted him, before burrowing deeper and lightly sleeking the soft, pouty lips of her femininity.

  She gave a half sigh, half murmur of approval.

  “There are scissors on the nightstand,” he said abruptly. “Fetch them.”

  “Yes, master.” Removing her foot from its perch, Fallon turned and sashayed away, an exaggerated swing to her hips. He enjoyed watching the way the fabric pulled across the lush fullness of her curves.

  He was harder than he’d ever been in his life, yet he had no intention of rushing the pleasure he knew awaited them both.

  She returned with the scissors and passed them to him, handle first.

  “Now lean close.”

  Very carefully he tucked his free hand down the front of her chemise, fingers guiding the pathway of the scissors as he cut out a small piece from each side, just large enough for her nipples to poke through.

  She glanced down at herself. “Now look what you’ve done. Fair ruined my undergarments.”

  “Let’s think of it more as ‘enhanced’ your undergarments, my dear.” He stood, lifted her up, and brought her into the tub alongside him.

  “Oh,” she said. “Now my stockings are all wet.”

  “Indeed,” he agreed pleasantly. “Allow me to remove them for you.” Reaching beneath the ruffle edging her pantalets, he rolled down her stocking. She balanced by holding on to his shoulder as she obediently lifted first one foot, then its mate. Soggy stockings joined her discarded dress.

  “I do believe you’re in need of a wash.” Bridge brought up the soap between them and made a point of thoroughly soaping her exposed nipples. She made a low, approving noise far back in her throat. Water dripped down across her ribs to her waist, dampening the front of her chemise and revealing the soft pink skin beneath.

  Then Bridge settled her on the rim of the tub, pushed her knees wide apart, and knelt between them. He paused, looking his fill. Had he ever even dreamed of a sight so exciting as Fallon, in half-damp underpinnings? The provocative hide-and-seek peek-a-boo of her nipples and her pussy, coupled with her bare legs and ankles, was a powerful enticement. He placed his hands on her knees and buried his face between her legs. She gasped at the first touch of his lips to her flesh, then shuddered as his talented tongue found the hidden pearl of her woman’s pleasure. It danced beneath his ministrations, grew harder and more engorged with excitement, like the tiniest of penises. Her juices filled his mouth with ecstasy as he twined the tiny nub, his tongue lashing it with dizzying swirls, until with a final, gentle suck, he felt her release. Heard her scream of triumph as her entire body shuddered and finally grew still.

  He sat back in the tub, the water long grown cool, and pulled her down with him so she was settled on his lap.

  “What else happens to ladies who rip their knickers?” he inquired pleasantly.

  “Nothing until you kiss me,” Fallon said. “I die for your kisses.”

  “And I die for your pussy.”

  She pushed out her lower lip in a mock pout. “The water is cold.”

  “So it is. I am a very bad host.” He rose and steadied her as she stepped from the tub. “Let’s get you out of those wet things,” he said, tossing a towel in her direction.

  He dried himself quickly, then helped her peel the ruined undergarments from her body. Gooseflesh pebbled her skin. “You’re cold,” he said. “Come sit by the fire and I’ll pour you a brandy.”

  He tugged a covering from his bed and wrapped it about her shoulders. Then he placed a snifter of brandy in her hand.

  “Now then,” he said. “Now that you’ve had your fun and games, what exactly are you doing here? How did you even know where to find me?”

  “One with your reputation can hardly remain incognito, Bridge. Even in a city the size of Boston.”

  “I see. Well, I believe you said you’re mine for the night.” He waved a hand toward the bed. “I expect you there when I return.”

  “When you return?”

  He rose and began to dress. “When I return. For you see, I have an engagement this evening. And just because it suits you to appear on my doorstep in a trollopy mood doesn’t mean it suits me, as well.”

  Fallon pressed her lips together tightly and appeared to hunch down beneath her lone cover. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”

  “But you were.” Bridge finished dressing and left her sitting by the fire. Fallon finished her brandy in solitary misery. Part of her longed to flee back to the country. Bridge in the city was a far cry from the Bridge she’d painted in her studio. But she also knew that this was part of a test. Bridge expected her to flee, as the Fallon of old would have. But she’d promised him herself until the sun tinged the horizon, and she determined to remain with or without his presence.

  She refilled her empty brandy glass, feeling its burning warmth chase all the way to her inner organs, a sad second place to the heat Bridge kindled inside her. But the brandy made her feel less lonely and she topped her glass a third time, and then a fourth.

  Bridge had made his point very well, she conceded as she climbed into his bed, her eyes far too heavy to remain open. She’d shown up professing subservience, yet still had presumed to be holding the reins. While this new version of Bridge was different, stronger, more in control, she couldn’t help but feel she preferred him this way. She’d been expecting to find him moping about, drinking too much, and generally acting a lily liver, when the exact opposite was true.

  Later, something disturbed her dreams and eventually pulled her from the warm safety of sleep. She stirred and tried to turn and stretch, only to find her movements severely restricted. When she opened her eyes, all stayed black. She was blindfolded, she realized with a start of fear. Her hands and feet were bound, not together, but secured apart, toward the bedposts.

  “Bridge,” she said. His name came out a frightened croak. “Bridge, I’m afraid.” Dear Lord, let it be Bridge who had rendered her thus, and not some maniacal madman.

  “I’m here, my dear. No need to be frightened.”

  “Please untie me. I don’t like feeling this way.”

  She felt the mattress dip beneath his weight as he joined her.“

  And how do you feel?”

  “Helpless,” she said.

  “Have you felt helpless before?”

  She nodded. Of course she had. When her parents died. When her newborn infant struggled for breath, then gave up the struggle. When her husband’s absence at sea stretched so long, she faced the fact that he would never return.

  “What else do you equate with helplessness?”

  “Loss.” Her answer was automatic.

  “So tonight, you shall have a new experience. Helpless perhaps, yet with nothing to lose. And everything to gain.”

  “Bridge, please untie me.”

  She felt him then, all of him, naked, stretched atop her. Kissing her the way she longed to be kissed. With passion, hunger, need, skill, love.

  Not love, she told herself. Bridge didn’t love her.

  “Fallon, I promise you I would never hurt you. I shall untie you whenever you wish. But think carefully before you ask. Think if you are willing to take a chance. To learn that helplessness does not always follow loss. To accept that helplessness can simply be the means to allow someone else to take charge, just for a short time.”

  “Like you did with me at my studio,” she said.

  “Exactly the same. I have no desire to frighten you. But I do feel you came here tonight to experience something new, if only something you can carry back and explore in your paintings. A new depth of passion as, together, we explore waters yet uncharted. Are you with me? Or do I unbind you an
d send you on your way?”

  Fallon was torn, poised between two worlds. Old and safe. New and exciting. The choice was hers.

  “You’re right,” Fallon said. “I told you I was yours to do with as you wished, until the sun stained the horizon with tomorrow’s dawn.”

  “Very good.” He trailed his fingertips across her lips, outlining their shape, dampening his skin with her saliva.

  “Am I allowed to taste you?” she asked.

  “I am yours to sample.”

  As she sucked his fingertips, one at a time, she became aware of a soft tickling pressure across her abdomen and thighs. “What is that?”

  “Can you guess?”

  “It’s softer than your fingertips; they’re quite callused.”

  “You’re right. It’s not my fingers.”

  “A bit of lace?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “I know,” she said triumphantly. “A feather.”

  “Not a feather, either.”

  The sensation continued. Across the sensitive crease at the top of her inner thighs. Over the jutting ridge of her hip-bone, trailing across the concave line of her stomach before easing lower to her pubes. Her skin prickled and grew moist. She felt her vagina lips swell, her clit begin to pulse as she tried to imagine what Bridge used to stimulate her. Whatever it was, it grazed her labia lips, lighter than any lover’s kiss.

  “Do you give up?” Bridge asked. His stimulant had now found its way to the sensitive skin on the underside of her arms. From there it traversed to her breasts, circled round and around her nipples.

  “It reminds me of the time you painted me with the dry brushes,” she said. “But this is softer than the softest sable. May I smell?”

  The object was whisked beneath her nose, across her upper lip.

  “Not a rose,” she announced in disappointment. “Nor any sort of flower.”

  “It is a hard one to guess.”

  “Give me more clues.”

  “It’s something I carry on my person at all times.”

  “That’s not a clue,” Fallon said. “That’s a red herring. Men don’t carry soft things . . . Wait. I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Shall I remove the blindfold so you can see if you’re right?”

  “No. I trust you to tell me if I’m right.”

  “You trust me? That’s good.”

  “I have to trust you. Otherwise this little game we play would terrify me.”

  “I would hate to terrify you.”

  She felt the mattress shift, knew he knelt above her, straddling her. “I long to touch you, you know.”

  “All in good time.” She could feel his erection brushing against her mons, seeking her inner heat. His fingers replaced his toy against her taut inner thighs.

  “I’m waiting for your guess,” he said with a throaty laugh. “You get rewarded if you’re right. And punished if you guess wrong.”

  “It was a rabbit’s foot,” she said triumphantly.

  He laughed. “You’re good at this game.”

  “And what’s my reward?”

  He leaned forward and gently tweaked her nipples. She caught her breath at the instant rush of heightened sensations, fueling the damp, needful heat of her loins.

  “Bridge,” she said with a half gasp.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it? Your reward has just begun.” He pinched her nipples with more vigor. “Tell me if I’m being too rough.”

  She rolled her head from side to side, longing to open her legs wider, longing to feel him embedded inside of her, quenching the fiery need.

  “More,” she said. “I want more.”

  “You want me to pet your pussy?” he said. “Like this?” His clever fingers parted the outer lips and stroked the hot, wet softness within, studiously ignoring the pulsing nub of her clit.

  She moaned.

  “You’re at my mercy, you know.” His cock replaced his fingers, rooting around near the opening to her sex.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Tell me to fuck you.”

  “Fuck me,” she begged. “Fuck me now. Fuck me hard.”

  She felt his smooth, slow entry and nearly sobbed in relief.

  “Does that feel good inside you?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “In and out like this?”

  Withdraw. Reenter. With maddening slowness that was effectively driving her crazy with need.

  She panted, whimpered, moaned, chafing against her bonds. Uttering guttural sounds she didn’t even recognize as belonging to her.

  “I need to come. Lord, I shall go mad if I don’t come.”

  “Indeed,” he said pleasantly.

  She felt him shifting positions even as the rhythmic penetration continued, then swelled as he slipped his pinkie finger inside her anus.

  “Oh,” she gasped.

  “You like that more this time, I take it.”

  She was too overwhelmed with new sensations to answer. Gaining release paled in importance.

  “Still want me to make you come?” he asked.

  “No,” she surprised herself by saying.

  “Too bad.”

  She felt his hot breath against her mound, his talented tongue and lips finding her clitoris, and sucking in time to the in-out motion in her vagina and her anus.

  Fallon screamed. She came and came and came again, so many times she lost count. Orgasm piled atop orgasm, a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. And still he kept eating her. Licking, sucking, tasting, as if he would consume all of her and leave nothing but a shell. She was existing in a world where nothing mattered but sexual ecstasy of the most intense extremes.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly climax again, she felt his penetration and rode a fresh wave of release.

  He withdrew and lay alongside her, panting in rhythm with her. He reached across, removed her blindfold, and kissed her with a gnawing hunger.

  “You’re still hard,” she said wonderingly, feeling him ramrod stiff against her.

  “I am.” He shifted about, untying her wrists and ankles.

  Freed from her bonds, she felt too limp to move.

  “How can that be?”

  “I haven’t been in you yet.”

  “You haven’t . . . What was . . . ?”

  “A prop I make use of from time to time. Very lifelike, is it not?”

  “May I see it?”

  “Later,” he said. “Right now I have need of you. Make love to me with your mouth.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  She settled herself between his legs and took him slowly into her mouth. He groaned in pleasure and she grew more bold, moving her lips and her tongue in similar fashion to his actions with her earlier. She moistened her pinkie and slid it inside him as he had done to her, gratified to hear his deep, approving moan of pleasure.

  Emboldened, she used it to pleasure him as her tongue and lips tortured his swollen member. She heard him panting, groaning; then his hands tangled in her hair and pulled hard as he exploded inside her mouth.

  She swallowed convulsively, then turned him over and continued to lick and suckle his anus and balls. Within minutes, he grew hard again. She crawled across the bed, positioning herself before him, derriere in the air.

  “Doggy-style, if you don’t mind. I quite enjoy it that way.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Still slick and wet, she felt him slide snugly inside her and begin pumping away with gusto. She reached between them to play with his balls and rub her clit. They came together in mutual ecstasy as, outside, the first rosy petals of dawn lightened the summer sky.

  She rose almost immediately. Her turn to leave him, and she’d do it in style.

  He rolled to face her. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s sunrise. Your time with me is up.”

  “I gave you a full seven days and seven nights. Yet you’re giving me only one night?”


  “My gift to you, in exchange for yours to me. The renewal of my passion for my art.”

  “And what of our passion for each other?”

  “I’m painting again, making something of my life. As you must make something of yours.”

  Chapter 13

  Bridge sat staring at the papers before him, unable to focus. Two weeks since that night Fallon had come to him, and nothing had been the same. He missed her with a consuming need that rendered him near useless in all other aspects of his life. For the first time since the war, he was consumed by fear. What if he approached her, only to suffer her rejection? Everything was at stake, his life, his future, rendering him nearly paralyzed. He was accustomed to pursuing what he wanted and devil take anyone who got in his way. But this time the stakes were too high. He had to make something of his life. Prove himself worthy of her.

  There was a knock at his study door, followed by the appearance of his sister, Marabell.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “Happily.” Bridge rose and gave his sister a hug. “Bell, what brings you here?”

  “I was concerned. My sources report you rarely leave the house, and haven’t been seen around the college in weeks.”

  “My work with the college is done. I’m looking toward a new venture or two.”

  “That’s good news. I was afraid your reclusion might be due to the fact that the entire town is talking about you and that Gilchrist woman and her painting of you.”

  “What?” Bridge gripped her shoulders urgently.

  Marabell patted his hands. “I’ve just come from the Athenaeum. You would know what’s going on, if you ever left your home.”

  “What about Fallon’s painting?”

  “Paintings. The Gilchrist woman has an entire exhibit at the Athenaeum, and is causing quite a stir with it.”

  Bridge released her. “How so?”

  “Well, the series on display is unusual enough in itself. Particularly for a first exhibit. Striking, boldly dramatic—quite risky, actually. Not the usual boring still lifes or landscapes so many artists paint.”

  “So she’s changed her style,” Bridge murmured, more to himself than to his sister.

  “I wouldn’t know about that. But I must say the entire town is agog over the portrait of you which she has included with her works.”