Any Wicked Thing by Margaret Rowe

curving. He concentrated on the knot instead of the tempting creamy globes. He’d gotten too proficient in his knots, but managed to relieve her of the gag. The blindfold was simpler to pull over her golden brown hair, although he snagged a strand.
    â€œOw!”
    â€œSorry. There. You’re almost back to rights. Sit down and I’ll work on the ropes. Then we’ll have our late supper and talk.”
    â€œI am not hungry.” Her own right hand worked furiously on her left wrist and he stilled it.
    â€œFreddie, I said I’d take care of it.”
    â€œI don’t want any help from you.”
    â€œBut you’re going to get it.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to a plush velvet chair by the fireplace, one of the few seats in the castle that didn’t have stuffing spilling out of it. A tray with covered dishes had been placed on the table beside it. He settled her onto his lap, his stiff cock seeking the slippery crease of her arse. She tried to pull away, elbowing him in the process.
    â€œI’m only going to talk to you now, although I admit you distract me.” She flinched as he picked up the tiny silver fruit knife from the tray, but quieted when he began to patiently saw through the give on the rope.
    â€œHere’s our new plan, Freddie. As you pointed out, I do enjoy dominating women in bed. But I’m never cruel, and it’s always mutual. It has nothing to do with my ability to fuck you senseless. I believe I could do that even if you tied me up.”
    â€œThat might be diverting,” she grumbled.
    â€œIndeed it might, and should you choose to do that, I will cooperate in every way.” He was fairly sure he would respond to her. His cock twitched at the mental image of Freddie riding him to oblivion. She jerked against him as his words sunk in, the honey from her cunt dripping down.
    â€œYou are truly insane.”
    â€œI beg to differ. It’s not insane to want to experience every sexual pleasure imaginable, Freddie. You might say I’ve devoted my life to it.”
    â€œGod of Sin.” She snorted. She was full of scorn and snorts and sniffs. That didn’t say much for his earlier performance, but he knew down to his toes she was putting up a front. The shrew that Warfield had complained of had returned. No longer was she liquid in his lap, but stiff and prideful. No doubt she was embarrassed by her behavior in the throes of passion. And she had been passionate. Wild. Wanton. If she hadn’t been tethered to the bed, he was sure she would have bitten and scratched him like a little hellcat in heat. It would be delicious to tame her and introduce her to every wicked thing he could think of.
    â€œIndeed. I understand that’s what some call me. I find it a bit blasphemous, don’t you? I’m in enough trouble with the Lord without adding to it.”
    â€œYou are a devil!”
    He bent her leg and held her heel in the palm of his hand. “Such a dainty foot. You’re a lovely little package, Freddie.”
    â€œStop trying to cozen me! Your words mean nothing. You’ve probably got the usual lines of dialogue folded in your back pocket.”
    â€œHas it escaped your notice that I’m not wearing breeches?” He managed to slip the rope from its knot and massaged her foot, tracing the faint pink line that now graced her ankle. Beautiful to see his marks upon her. The scents of citrus cream and sex invaded his senses. He breathed deeply.
    â€œStop sniffing me like a dog. Although you are one. A cur.”
    â€œA devil. A dog. And despicable. ‘Who often, but without success, have prayed for apt Alliteration’s artful aid.’ ”
    â€œNever tell me you were paying attention in poetry class.”
    â€œThey didn’t teach Charles Churchill where I went to school. I read him on my own.”
    Freddie turned to him, her profile visible. Her nose was straight and