Ties That Bind

Kyra rose in one sure motion, a throaty chuckle her only reply to his brief cry of dismay. He could hear her moving about the room again and his mind whirled with possibilities. Her steps returned to the bedside and she waited there for what seemed forever. In the darkness of the blindfold, he could only quiver, not knowing what she might do, or where her next touch might descend.

A tickling softness found his ear. He started, gasping again, and recognized it as a feather. A silken plume of some sort, fluttering against his ear rim. With agonizing slowness, Kyra stroked the feather over every inch of him. And then it was lifted away.

Before he could begin to wonder what might happen next, her velvet-gloved hand closed firmly around his rigid length. He cried out aloud from the sudden lovely shock. Her other hand joined the first, one curled snugly around the base while the other massaged in lazy strokes.

"Someone seems to be enjoying his punishment," she whispered. "Are you, my naughty boy?"

"Very much so," he said thickly, barely able to form words because of the waves of pleasure spreading through him in time with the stroking of her hand. "And if you keep on like that, you'll soon have proof," he added in warning, clenching his jaw and trying to forestall the building climax.

"We can't have that, now, can we?" She released him, the cessation of sensation a sweet agony all of its own, and the bed shifted as she repositioned herself.

She presented something rounded and full to his lips, the full ripe swell of her breast. He accepted the gift almost greedily, suckling the pert pink nipple that memory told him was the color and succulence of a just-ripening strawberry. Kyra began stroking both of his ears with the same lazy rhythm she'd used only moments ago.

He switched to the other breast, which pressed against his cheek. He would have smothered himself in that abundance of flesh, gladly done so. Her hands slid along the back curves of his ears, but then she was shifting again. Letting go of him. And lowering herself with a stockinged thigh to either side of his head. Gossamer silk rubbed his ears with maddening friction.

A crisply silken tuft like a fox's pelt brushed his face, redolent with the musky scent of her arousal. He raised his mouth to her, eagerly, desirous to please. His tongue ran along the damp cleft, tasting her, parting her, delving into her hidden depths. Kyra's voice, from somewhere above, uttered a low wavering sigh. She rolled her hips in unhurried circles, each movement causing those stockings to rub against his ears all the more.

She trembled, and Tavelorn knew she was close. He forged on, his own needs sublimated by the overwhelming wish to bring about her release. But just before that penultimate moment, she moved away from him, sliding down the bed to kiss him, a deep and possessing kiss.

"Oh, Kyra," he moaned against her mouth.

Her leg swung up and over, imprisoning his hips, and never had there been a more willing prisoner! One gloved hand reached back to guide, and then she was easing down onto him, taking him into herself, embracing him in that snug, moist warmth that enveloped him fully. He arched to meet her, their cries overlapping in harmony.

Their motion was a slow and gentle rocking. At one point Kyra leaned forward, her breasts pushing against his chest, and he felt a tugging as she freed the cuffs. His hands closed around her slim waist, holding her as she rose and fell, rocked and swayed. Her next act was to strip away the blindfold, letting him revel in the sight of her kneeling astride him, that fabulous hair tumbling over her like a shawl, her eyes half-lidded but fixed upon his.

The trembling began again, quaking through Kyra. She quickened her pace, and Tavelorn matched her. He didn't want it to be over yet, but knew there was no stopping it this time. It had been too long denied, this passion, and he knew they still had the rest of the night, and a long carriage ride. So, with a groan of surrender, he strove against her, driving deep, feeling the walls of her passage, walls that seemed to have been made from oiled satin, contract around his in a series of wracking spasms. Her chest heaved, a flush turning her pale skin to misty rose.

He pulled her down, held her to him with diamonds caught between them. He nuzzled at her ear and breathing her name again and again, almost chanting it with a reverence akin to that he might have shown a goddess. Their bodies were locked together, slick with perspiration that cooled them as it melted away into the air. Neither of them were inclined to move for quite a while, and when at last Kyra did, it was only to curl against his side, her head resting on his chest, the tip of her ear poking affectionately against his neck each time he inhaled.

"Remind me," he said when he trusted himself to speak again, "to be naughty more often."

"I will," she said, and he felt her smile against his skin.

At some point, she moved from him long enough to retrieve the silkmole fur coverlet that had fallen to the floor during their encounter. She drew it over them, snuggled contentedly against him again, and they drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.