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"But you’re not."
"I’m not. Because I’m not letting myself or you come. Not until I’ve taken you to the edge many times over." His dick throbs as if to punctuate his words.
I swallow. "Sounds painful."
"Oh, it will be." There’s an evil glint in his eyes.
"Are you trying to scare me off?"
"Am I succeeding?"
I want to say yes, but honestly, I’m dripping. And his veiled threat heightens my need for him and turns my core into a mass of quivering anticipation.
I shake my head.
This time, his lips twist in a smirk that causes those constellations in my body to glow brighter. Moisture bathes the flesh between my legs. My breasts hurt; my scalp tingles. I'm a mass of burning need. The car comes to a stop—thank God! He pulls his hand out from under mine, pushes the door open, and steps out. He helps me to my feet, then sweeps me up in his arms.
"Whoa!" I wrap my arms about his shoulders and, because I can’t stop myself, I bury my nose in the curve of his neck. I should protest, but there’s something very romantic about being carried bride-style by my husband up the steps of his townhouse— Wait, it’s not a townhouse, it’s a Victorian-built manor that wouldn’t look out of place in Downton Abbey. I look around the unfamiliar rolling gardens that surround the house. As far as I can tell, there are no other buildings around us for miles. Only a tree line in the distance, and beyond that, the gates through which we drove. He distracted me so well, I didn’t notice we were headed toward an unknown location. The car that dropped us off begins to turn down the driveway. "The driver’s leaving?"
"He is." My husband reaches the door, where he manages to key in the code while holding me in his arms, then he shoulders it open.
"B-but it looks like we're far from anywhere."
"That's the idea."
"Are we in London?"
"We’re in the countryside, actually."
The door snicks shut behind us and he stalks across the grand foyer and toward a large double staircase that sweeps up to the second floor. I have a fleeting glimpse of stained glass high above us.
"I thought we were heading to your place."
"This is my place."
"Oh!” This is incredible. I take in the soaring ceilings, embellished with intricate plasterwork, a striking chandelier hanging above, and gleaming wooden floors below. Rich, wood wainscoting lines the walls, lending an air of warmth and sophistication.
Plush sofas and wingback chairs are upholstered in jewel-toned fabrics. They encircle an impressive fireplace that's almost as tall as him in height. Large bay windows frame views of the manicured gardens outside. On the walls are paintings—all of which, I have no doubt, are originals.
On one side the living room leads to a conservatory, and through an open set of pocket doors on the other side, I can make out a formal dining room with a long trestle table surrounded by high-backed carved chairs.
Whoa! The overall impression is both intimate and sophisticated. There’s a feeling of elegance and grandeur, but underlying it is a hint of austerity. This place is so Q. I’m so grateful he brought me here. It’s like getting a peek into his psyche without words.
I cuddle into his chest as he takes the steps two at a time. Whoa! He’s carrying me, and I’m not particularly thin.
I tend toward the curvy side, but the way this man carries me, I might as well weigh nothing. His biceps tauten under my touch, and his heart beats steadily. He reaches the landing and walks down a corridor. We pass a few rooms, and when he reaches the double doors at the end of the corridor, he shoulders them open. He steps inside and into a large, carpeted room. He walks toward the center of the room and sets me down.
I take in the soaring fireplace, which takes up a big part of one wall. There’s a rug in front of it and a sofa on one side. On the opposite wall are French windows, beyond which is the view of the sweeping countryside.
"The view’s amazing."
"It is."
I glance sideways to find him staring at me.
"I meant the view from the window." I blush.
He watches me with interest, and that turns my cheeks fiery. "Stop looking at me like that." I brush past him and head toward the windows. I can’t help but sneak a peek at the massive bed which dominates the room. The sheets are white, as are the pillows and the duvet cover. There are iron rings set into the posts… and into the wall above the headboard. Also, are those ropes wrapped around the posts? Huh? I realize I’ve stopped and am staring. He walks over to stand next to me.
