Page 45 of Tristan’s Temptation

The hint of an orgasm wracked her at his words. She was helpless before him but not completely helpless. If he tied her legs apart, she would be utterly at his mercy. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t obey. Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit to herself what she really wanted, really needed.

Complete submission.

He shook his head and tsked, setting the feather down on the table. He returned to the chair and slowly unfastened and lifted one of the wooden arms. Though she fought him, he took her leg and slipped it far to the side and set the heavy arm back in place, securing her thigh exactly where he wanted it.

To her fascinated mortification, he did the same to her other leg.

Now she was completely restrained. Her hands were tied over her head and her thighs were trapped on either side of the chair. Splayed wide.

The realization made her quiver. He could do anything to her—anything. She couldn’t stop him. And she delighted in it.

He returned to the table. This time he brought the feather but he brought something else as well. A thick leather strap.

She swallowed. “What’s that for?”

He ignored her and began his torment with the feather once more, starting at the very beginning and making his way down her body in agonizing increments. First with the soft side and then with the torturous point. He ended at her cunt, rubbing the dampening feather back and forth against her tender flesh until she wept and begged and pleaded for more.

Her orgasm was almost upon her, hovering, imminent, when he stopped.

She cried out, “No! Please. No.”

Tristan was close, kneeling before her as he worked. He wiped the sweat from his brow and met her gaze with a smile.

“Please, Tristan. I am almost there.”

Again, the smile. It was wicked. He was wicked. He picked up the strap and showed it to her.

A delicious shudder licked through her body. “W-what are you going to do with that?”

“Tenderize the meat.”

She put out a lip. “The ‘meat’ has been tenderized all day.”

Without warning, the strap came down, right on her throbbing clit. Agony. Ecstasy. Lashes of pleasure. Lashes of pain. Every muscle in her body clenched deliciously.

She didn’t come, but just barely.

When he followed the slap with a swipe of his tongue, shivers of impending orgasm slashed through her. But his touch was tantalizingly brief. And before she could grab hold of the bliss, he was gone.

“Ohh. Tristan!” she growled, throwing back her head in agony. “I’m going to make you pay for his!”

He chuckled. “I do hope so.”

She stilled as something wonderful and fat nudged at her opening. Two fingers eased in and Shannon convulsed around them. “Yes. Oh yes. Please.” But then they withdrew and she changed her tune. “No. No. Please.”

“Don’t worry, my sweet. It’s coming. It’s coming.”

And then his mouth was on her, his fingers in her. He sucked and stroked, plying insanity upon her. She arched madly, trying to force him deeper, harder, more, more. She was supremely aware of the straps binding her hands, aware of the restriction over her thighs, aware she was helpless to do anything but come. To be anything but his.

And she did. She was. For one brief, beautiful eternity, she was completely and utterly there.

When she came back to herself, he had already released her from the chair. Already carried her over to the divan. Was already stroking the lust back into her. He urged her, with heat and hunger, to unbearable heights until she wanted nothing more than to open for him, allow him in.

Fortunately, Tristan was not a tentative lover. He knew when she was ready and he knew what she wanted, needed, more than breath itself. He levered himself over her dampened body and spread her legs and eased himself in. And…

Ah! Bliss.

The moment he entered her, the very second he filled her and stroked her and took her, she came. Again. And again. Each thrust took her further and further into the bliss he’d drawn upon her with a feather quill.