The Faire (Harrow Faire #5) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,67

her from the bed, suspending her a few inches over it, knees bent and spread wide. “Simon, put me down this instant.”

“What a glare!” He laughed, flashing her his best and most fiendish grin. Slowly, he began to undo his tie. He was taking his time again. Making her watch as he undressed, leaving her suspended over his bed like a plaything. “What a glare…and what a view.”

She snarled and clenched her fists tight. She could get free. She could. The power that came with her link to Harrow Faire was right there—just at the edges of her mind. If she reached out, she could tear his limbs off.

I have problems. Deep-seated, very complicated problems.

Because she didn’t want him to stop.

Because it was frightening, being at his mercy. She had no idea what he was planning to do. And yet…damn it all if it wasn’t exciting. If she didn’t love the fear.

She looked away. He hummed. “Oh, don’t be so indignant. You’ll have much more to complain about in a few minutes.” He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it aside. She heard his belt buckle rattle, and a second later he slid onto the bed between her legs. He supported his weight on his hand by her side as he bent his head, capturing one of her already pert nipples in his mouth.

She moaned as he began to toy with her, rolling his tongue slowly around it only to bite down, sending a jolt of something that wasn’t quite pain through her. With his free hand, he took her other breast and went about torturing it as well.

She tilted her head back, suspended as she was, and shuddered. And still…he wasn’t in a rush. He lavished her with attention as if he had all the time in the world. She could only whimper and gasp each time he switched sides, kneading and groping at her tender flesh, pinching the buds between his thumb and forefinger or his teeth.

She was writhing, squirming against the strings as much as she could. She was no longer cold from the water of the dunk tank. She was on fire. All she could do was beg him in a single breathless word. “Simon…”

He looked up from his work and grinned from ear to ear. “Why such a rush?” He chuckled. Kneeling between her thighs, he roamed his hands over her body. “Such a beautiful thing you are…so lithe. So tender. So pliable.” He flicked his wrist, and she let out a startled sound as the strings shifted, pulling her legs even wider. He lowered himself down to her again and began kissing a slow trail down her body. “I do love how flexible you are.”

When he ran his tongue up her core, she tossed her head back and swallowed a cry. He chuckled and once more set about tormenting her with his tongue and his fingers. But he never sped up. He never grew more intense. He let her need build, and build. Let it crescendo, only to stop before her pleasure hit the high note.

“Simon, please…”

“No.” He kissed the inside of her thigh. “I said you were going to pay. Did you think you weren’t going to suffer? This is only the start of your penance.” He plunged two fingers into her, and she wailed, arching her back against the strings. He sent them as deep as he could go, but then kept them there, unmoving.

Her cry of pleasure turned into one of frustration.

Simon laughed. “Poor thing. Poor frustrated thing. What do you want? Hm? Tell me.”

She snarled and sighed in defeat. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Very well. I shall do as the Queen of Harrow Faire commands.” He lowered his head again, running his tongue up her in a long, languorous gesture. Mostly just to annoy her, she was sure. “Just not in the way you might be expecting.”

He sat up. And with another flick of his wrists, her world spun around her. Suddenly, she was face-down in the sheets on her knees, her shoulders pressed to the mattress, held there by invisible strings. Her wrists were still over her head. She tried to kick. Tried to do anything. But she couldn’t do much more than squirm.

Simon grunted from behind her. “Don’t encourage me. This is quite the show already without you wriggling about.”

“What’re you—”

He wrapped his tie around her head. Cinched it in her open mouth, gagging her. She could still yell, or scream, but he’d broken off her