Unbound (22 page)

“You’re going to like this,” he answers.

I bite my lower lip nervously as I watch him tie the other end to my right wrist. My mouth has suddenly gone completely dry.

“Are you going to untie me again later?”

He smiles and pulls me down a little, making the silk material go taut. My arms are now stretched out above my head, tied together by the scarf. I have a little bit of room to move, I could turn a little, but nothing else.

“You only have to say the word. But I think you won’t have time to think about that till later,” he says, smiling.

I tug at my bonds instinctively, trying to free myself, but the silk scarf only pulls tighter around my wrists. I take a sharp breath in when I realize that I am now completely at his mercy. And I can’t touch him, which I find a shame. I watch breathlessly as Jonathan’s blazing eyes travel over my body. Then he kneels between my legs and forces them wider apart. His finger strokes my moist slit and circles my small pearl and I pant out loud and press myself against his hand.

But, to my disappointment, he pulls his hand away again. I let out a groan of frustration, and he laughs. Then he bends forward, buries his head between my legs and a second later I feel his breath on my mount of Venus. His hands force my legs even further apart, pushing them upward, and his tongue divides my lips, penetrates me warmly and licks my unbelievably sensitive place. “Oh God.” The feeling is so overpowering that I wrench at the fastenings. I want to put my hands on his head, to somehow retain control over what’s happening. But that’s exactly what he refuses to let me do.

His tongue is merciless, stimulating my pearl and penetrating me by turns, in a rhythm that doesn’t give me a chance to find release.

“Jonathan,” I sob, arching my back when I can’t stand it any longer. “Please.”

“Yes, Grace?” His deep voice vibrates against my most sensitive point, he’s so near me, but it’s too little to make me come. I try to press myself against his lips but he withdraws, blowing gently on my sensitive flesh. “What do you want me to do?”

A shudder runs through me and I moan helplessly, incapable of finding the right words.

“Did you know that you taste wonderful?” he says, when I don’t answer and his breath caresses my aroused bud, which is throbbing painfully. “Shall I carry on?” I nod vehemently.

He absolutely must carry on, to calm the throbbing between my legs. I want to feel him, his tongue, his finger, his cock—I want everything he can give me. But I can’t tell him that. He doesn’t give me a chance to do so, because he lowers his lips to my swollen pearl, surrounds it with warm moistness and begins to suck on it.

Suddenly a thousand colors explode into life behind my eyelids, which I’d closed without thinking, and I cry out as the climax overwhelms me without warning. The fact that I can’t defend myself because I’m tied up makes the feeling even more intense and I sob and jerk uncontrollably as the waves of release roll over me.

As my orgasm is still slowly subsiding, Jonathan pushes himself up until he is directly over me. He reaches for the condoms and tears a packet open, rolls one over his member, and then lifts up my legs till they are resting on his shoulders and penetrates me with a single thrust. I gasp for breath because I can feel him especially deep in this position, and because his size takes my breath away again. My muscles, still quivering, cramp up around him, have to get used to him again—but he doesn’t give me any time to do so. Because as soon as he begins to thrust into me in a fast, merciless rhythm, the unbearable tension begins to build up in me again, driving me toward another climax.

“My God, Grace, you are so wonderfully tight,” Jonathan moans. He places a hand on my pearl, strokes it with his thumb, and I don’t stand a chance, I shudder beneath him and break into a thousand pieces again, even more violently than before. But Jonathan doesn’t come. He withdraws from me, turns me round, and pushes me up a little, onto my knees. The soft silk scarf, which is wrapped around my wrists, lets me move in that direction. But I’m so exhausted and overwhelmed that I have no strength left and my upper body collapses onto the mattress.

I can feel Jonathan holding onto my hips and penetrating me from behind once more. I’m sore and I can’t go on, but he thrusts into me again, gradually increasing the speed.

“Come for me one more time, Grace,” he says, and it sounds like a growl.

I’m certain that I can’t, but his rhythm is irresistible, it sets off new tremors inside me, tremors which grow stronger and stronger until my whole lower body suddenly cramps up and a new, even more intense feeling tears me apart and shakes my whole body.

“Yes,” Jonathan groans and I can feel him coming too, feel his member twitching, pulling me deeper into the abyss. I feel as if the sweet torture, which is holding me prisoner, will never end.

Afterwards, I’m so tuckered out that I fall onto my side. He copies my movement, withdrawing from me at the same time, so that we are lying next to each other, breathing heavily, as our bodies gradually calm down.

It’s takes quite a while for me to be able to think straight again. And to realize the position I’m in, and the fact that I won’t be able to free myself easily on my own.

“Jonathan?”

He lifts his upper body and bends over me.

“Untie me,” I demand, looking fiercely at the fastenings at my wrists, which are still forcing me to lie on the bed with my arms stretched upward.

“As you wish, Madam.” He grins and immediately begins to loosen the knots. I sigh inwardly, because he’s wearing that youthful, charming smile of his, which is so impossible to resist. At least, I can’t resist it. I stand have the ghost of a chance.

“Do you do that often?” Once I’m free, I rub my wrists, making a face. They hurt a little because I tugged at the fastenings so much.

“Didn’t you like it?” he asks in reply and his smile is now triumphant and completely relaxed.

“Yes, I did,” I confess. “It was just so—surprising.”

But not to him, I think, as I watch him get up and go into the small bathroom and then hear the sound of running water. He must have done that often before, if he has silk scarves in the drawer of his nightstand. He won’t have put them in there for no reason. Which reminds me of what he said earlier. I don’t belong to you, Grace, and I don’t expect you to belong to me. I’m only just beginning to fully realize what that means, and what a risk I’m taking by getting involved in this dangerous game he’s invited me to take part in. I swallow with difficulty and smile uneasily when Jonathan returns.

He sits down on the bed, observing me with an expression I can’t interpret. He’s clearly completely comfortable with his own nakedness, as he seems completely relaxed — unlike me. Which is why I would like him to lie down next to me again and take me in his arms. Somehow, I thought that would be part of sex, but it doesn’t seem to be for Jonathan.

Unfortunately, I have no means of comparison, but to me it seems unusual that he’s so unaffectionate. Sex with him is unbelievably good: wild, passionate, and overwhelming. And very satisfying. But he doesn’t caress or kiss me afterwards, and I’m not allowed to lie in his arms, either. And, just as I was about to gently explore his body just now, he tied my hands.

I remember the other times I got close to him. That time on the way back from the airport, and after the restaurant, when I was so drunk. Every time I leaned against him, he seemed tense.

In fact, he only touched me lovingly once: that first day in his office, when he massaged my shoulders. And he clearly only did that because I reminded him of his sister.

“How old is your sister?” I ask, suddenly curious. Jonathan turns his head toward me. “Twenty-four.” Six years younger than him then, I think. And two years older than me. “And what’s she doing in Rome?”

He looks out of the window again and there’s a smile on his face, the kind of smile I wish he had on his face when he talked about me. “Sarah studied art history and is working on a PhD on some old masterpieces right now. Don’t ask me for details—I’m only interested in modern art. But Sarah practically goes into raptures when she starts talking about that old stuff. And there’s plenty of it in Rome.”

“How long was she there?”

“Three months,” he replies. Just as long as I’ll be here, I think, feeling a painful pang when I remember that my time in London is limited. “Far too long,” he adds, and it sounds like a sigh.

“You’re fond of her, aren’t you?

“She’s my sister.”

“But your father is your father, and you don’t seem to be particularly fond of him.”

He looks at me sharply, with that stormy expression of his, as he clearly always does when the Earl of Lockwood is mentioned.

“I have my reasons.”

“What are they?”

“Grace, what is this? An interrogation?”

“I’m just curious to know why you have such a bad relationship with him,” I insist. “I mean, you’d think you’d be especially close, since you and Sarah grew up with him on his own.”

Ever since I discovered how badly Jonathan speaks of his father, I’d spent a lot of time researching his family history online. I came across photos of the Earl and his wife, a very pretty Irish woman named Orla who gave Jonathan his dark hair and bright blue eyes. She died in an accident at the family’s country seat more than twenty years ago. Since Jonathan and his sister were so young at the time and the Earl never married again, you would think the tragic event would have brought them closer together. But that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Jonathan laughs, but he sounds cold. “On his own is certainly the right expression,” he says.

“What do you mean …?”

He grabs me and rolls me over so that I’m lying underneath him.

“Can we change the subject now?” he says with a serious look on his face.

Wow, I think, biting my lower lip when I feel his erection against my leg. He’s up for it again already?

“Can I come with you, when you meet your sister?”

Jonathan frowns. “Why?”

“I’d like to meet her. If I’m allowed to.”

He seems to take a long time to consider whether he should let me or not, but finally he nods. “Yes. I think you’d get on well,” he says, with a smile just a little like the one I wanted him to give me earlier. “Sarah is …as strong-willed as you are.”

Me? Strong-willed? What makes him think that? I’m putty in his hands; he can do whatever he wants with me. And he clearly has a few things already planned, as he starts kissing me again.

“So, let’s try that thing with the window again now,” he says, against my lips, and a tingly sensation runs through my body. But suddenly there’s a loud knock at the door and we both jump.

“Jonathan!” Alexander’s voice is coming from the other side of the door and I suddenly realize that we’re still in the office. I want to sit up, but Jonathan is holding me tightly, pressing me down onto the bed.

“What is it?” he shouts reluctantly.

“I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No, it can’t,” his partner insists, his voice muffled by the door. Jonathan lets go of me and stands up, reaching for his pants.

“Just a moment,” he shouts, and you can clearly hear the anger in his voice. “He’ll pay for this,” he adds in a low voice and then looks at me. “Get dressed.”

This is a completely unnecessary demand. I’ve long since leapt up and am now running into the small bathroom, fixing my dishevelled hair in record time and washing up as best I can. But it’s pointless. With my swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and shiny eyes, I still look like a woman who just had wild, unbelievably good sex. I realize, horrified, that Alexander will be able to tell what I just did with Jonathan right away. But he probably knows about it anyway, after all it’s the middle of the day and we’re not in the office together, we’re in the bedroom. My cheeks flush a deeper red as I hurry back into the room and slip into my clothes and shoes. Jonathan’s already ready and standing by the door. He opens it as soon as I’m fully dressed again. I step out into the big office after him.

Alexander is leaning against the back of the couch, right by the door, grinning at us as we come out.

“Catherine didn’t have the courage to disturb you. She clearly felt it might cost her her job if she entered the office again. So, for better or worse, I had to come in myself because I didn’t feel like waiting until you finally came back out again,” he says, observing me curiously, which I find extremely embarrassing. I’m already beet red and can’t get any redder. Or I would have just now.

“And what was so important?” Jonathan asks, annoyed.

“Sarah just called.” Alexander’s smile softens. “She was already on her way into town with your father. She wanted to know if we could meet her for lunch at one.”

Jonathan is about to say something in reply, but at that moment his cell phone—which is on the desk—rings. He goes to get it, but I stay where I am, feeling uneasy and squirming under Alexander’s gaze. He’s not said a word right now, but somehow I get the feeling that he won’t keep quiet for long. He’s bound to say something about the fact that Jonathan didn’t want to be disturbed because he was in the bedroom with me.

“What?” Jonathan’s agitated voice rouses me from my thoughts. “When? Where?” He listens to the caller and his face immediately turns stony. “How is she?”

He listens again, tense—then after a brief “We’re on our way,” he hangs up and looks at us.

“What happened?” Alexander asks, worried.

Jonathan’s lips are pressed tightly against each other and look frighteningly pale.

“That was my father. There’s been an accident,” he says. “We have to go to the hospital right away.”

Alexander isn’t smiling anymore either. He’s gone pale.

“How’s Sarah? Is she injured?”

Jonathan nods and dials a number on his cell. “They’re about to operate,” he explains, holding the cell to his ear.

“How bad is it?” Alexander immediately wants to know.

“He couldn’t tell me,” Jonathan replies and I can see his jaw muscles working.

Alexander is so shocked that he just stares into space for a few moments.