The Queen's Tale Read Online Free

the word “—my private thoughts. ”
    “Tell me more,” the handsome stranger tied before her whispered. “Tell me your private thoughts, Philomena.” He jerked his arms downward, reaching for her. The silver cuffs jangled against the rope.
    The sound startled her. She stepped back, down off the stool.
    A growl rolled in Dante’s throat. He tipped his head and narrowed his eyes as if assessing a target.
    “Where are you going? I’m chained. Helpless. Come back, Your Highness. Touch me again.”
    “Touch you?” She concentrated on his blue eyes. “Where?”
    “Where ever you like. I can’t stop you, can I? It’s all up to you.”
    Heat whipped up her spine, flushing her face. So many tiresome things were all up to her. For once, it was wonderful to be the one deciding. She glanced down. Swollen and flushed, the tip of him was a deep royal red. She had never seen anything like it.
    “I wish to touch your…cock,” she whispered. Moving back onto her stool, she tenderly laid her hand, wrist to fingertip, against the long, hard rise of his penis, pressing as if it were a wound to soothe.
    Dante’s answer was a slice of indrawn breath.
    “Still hurts?”
    “Mmm,” he answered, closing his eyes.
    “Poor thing,” she murmured.
    He rocked his pelvis into her palm, a sound vibrating from deep inside his chest. He pushed at her so strongly, Philomena had to reach up and grip his shoulder with her other hand, steadying herself as she might with a demanding waltz partner.
    The movement brought them chest to chest. Dante strained forward, nuzzling her ear with a whispered kiss.
    Philomena began to curl her fingers one by one around his thickness. He made a handful, all of it warmer than she’d expected. She tested firmness and length with a long, slow, heart-stopping tug.
    Dante strained as far as the rope would allow to press his lips to her throat. Philomena recognized the sharp nip, immediately swallowed by the same hot pulling comfort she’d felt on her palm. She released him immediately and stumbled backward off the stool again, twisting herself in a circle of confusion, once, twice.
    His chains clanked with frustrated restraint. “Your nipples. They’re darker now…and so tight.” Dante’s voice dripped honey over her thoughts. “Do they ache? I can help with that, if you’ll come back. Come to me.”
    How did he know? Her hands twitched with the need to press and soothe her aching breasts, to bind them tightly into her corset, anything to end that burning distraction.
    Her expression seemed to amuse him. He shook his head, half-laughing. A shock of blond hair dropped across his brow. “I know what would help.” Disheveled, he was even more appealing, more approachable. “Let me suck them, Philomena. It’s good for the ache. It makes it so much—” he stretched the rope to its limit, looming over her “— worse .”
    She almost jumped. Embarrassed, she pushed hard at his chest, setting him back on his feet. “Behave, or I’ll call the guards and have you gagged.”
    “You wouldn’t,” he said, assessing her with a narrow look.
    “Oh, I think I would.” Throwing her shoulders back, she asked, “But now you have me wondering, would sucking ease your ache or make it worse?”
    She’d heard of such things, hints and jokes and whispers. That men liked a woman’s mouth as much as other parts.
    His eyes glittered. He seemed to be struggling with the urge to laugh or lunge for her.
    The air prickled with possibilities. Philomena sank down onto the stool. His penis bobbed right under her nose, a thick, rosy flower. Taking him in hand, she inhaled the scent of the dewdrop at the tip. Sugar musk. Sweet spice.
    “Just a taste,” she whispered. Her tongue slipped out and ever so lightly touched the tip of him. The skin was smoother, softer than the rest of him, closer to the feel of his mouth when they had opened to each other. She licked again. Again.
    “Perhaps a little more.”
    It felt odd