The Bound Heart by Elsa Holland Page B

her. She ground down on the cushion again, the fabric brushing her aching flesh, then pushed back up against his fingers.
    Her head spun with sensation, with the forbidden touch, the heat of him at her back, the tight pull of the rope.
    “That’s it, that’s it.” His voice a murmur of encouragement as his fingers moved in her, building, building heat as she gyrated down on the soft cushion between her legs.
    And for the second time she screamed, as pleasure exploded through her again. He was still murmuring, moving somehow, as her body convulsed and pumped pleasure through her.
    Through the waves, she felt him. A thick, hard push against her opening. She tensed, and he pressed again; and the pleasure was replaced with a dull unfamiliar heaviness that spread through her sex and bottom.
    “Relax, Olive, it’ll be all right.”
    But the pressure built.
    She froze.
    Instinct made her try to pull her legs closed. The image of how large he was, how thick he was, and her fingers curled into the carpet.
    “Push against me.”
    She couldn’t breath.
    It didn’t make sense. Instinctively, she tried to wriggle away.
    “No,” she whimpered. The strange feeling didn’t shift; instead, it radiated out and up inside her.
    Jamie didn’t move away.
    This couldn’t be what he wanted. People couldn’t do this. Woman couldn’t want this.
    “Jamie!”
    The panic in her voice was real. He shifted and lifted and the pressure was gone.
    He rolled off her and to the side of her, but took her with him so he held her to his chest as they lay on their sides. Both of them were breathing hard. The pillow was half under her.
    “I have you. It’s all right.”
    But she didn’t feel all right.
    Her eyes open wide, her mind as clear as a crystal spring.
    What was she doing?
    She wanted to get free and dressed.
    Olive tugged at her hands.
    “Let me loose. I can’t use my hands.” Tightness pinched around her chest as shame washed through her.
    He leaned over her and in seconds he’d cut through the cords and started to pull the rope from her.
    Moved back again and pulled her against his chest. Rubbed at her wrists.
    Olive lay there her heart beating so hard it was hard to swallow.
    “See, Olive this… me… this is a world you don’t need to be in. This is the man I am. I don’t want to fuck you the way another man would. I want your mouth or your ass; now, do you understand?”
    Her face burned.
    She couldn’t hide that she hadn’t wanted it. What could she say? She’d failed him. All her fantasies of pleasing him washed away in her failure to give him what he wanted.
    The weight of him lifted away as he stood. The air-cooled her sweat-dampened skin. He gently tugged her petticoat and skirt down.
    “Give me a moment, Olive.”
    When she twisted round and sat up, he had his back to her doing up his trousers.
    “Would you like to wash?” his voice was flat, ordinary as if they were talking in the workshop not after a failed chance to tup.
    She shook her head no before she realized he couldn’t see her.
    “No,” her voice croaked.
    Olive straightened herself and stood. Her underclothes were useless cut off her. She picked them up and rolled them up. They were the ones with the foxes, she wore them thinking he’d like them. Yet he’d cut through them without a moment’s thought. She was so naive he must think her foolish.
    He turned.
    Mr. Edwards looked across the room at her; hungry Jamie was gone.
    “I’m going to take you home.”
    Jamie left the room. In a short while, he’d flagged a cab and they were sitting next to each other as they headed to her sister’s house.
    He hadn’t said anything; just looked out the window, his face closed.
    “It’s all right. I understand you want her, don’t you?” Olive said,
    “Her?” He sounded tired.
    “The woman tonight.”
    “Madeline?” Jamie turned to look at her.
    The cab’s lamps were lit, yet so low, they showed shadows over his face, making him look harsher,