by EM BROWN
Whack!
The crop stung her buttock. He allowed her a moment to register the sensation before landing another. The pain was sharper, more concentrated, than the blows he had delivered by hand. He struck her three, four, five more times, his backhand as potent as his forehand. She gritted her teeth against the burn. Her entire arse felt as if it were on fire. On the twelfth whack, she cried out and tears stung her eyes.
“I will release one of your hands,” he told her. “You will pleasure yourself.”
Pleasure herself? In front of him? But masturbation was the most private of acts. The notion of touching her genitals before him was horrifying, lewd, sinful, wicked…provocative.
He coaxed her into action with a strike that made her wonder how she would ever be able to sit again. Her hand flew to her mons and she rubbed two fingers against her clitoris. It was awkward with the post in the way. She had to arch her derrière to provide her hand enough access. At first she felt only shame. There was nothing pleasurable about fondling herself before Lord Cadwell. He had sauntered to the side for a better view. But when she chanced to meet his smoldering gaze, saw the slight ripple of muscle above his jaw, desire flamed in her loins. She rubbed herself more purposefully, making the anticipation quiver down the length of her legs.
The crop fell against her buttocks once more, raining an agonizing yet endurable pain, but she continued to fondle herself. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. The pleasure. The pain. One seemed to fuel the other. The agitation blazing in her body was ten times stronger than what she had felt earlier. She did not care if he ordered her to stop this time. She would not do it. Her body deserved to spend this time.
And spend it did. She jerked against the post as her wave crested, rolling her beneath it, into the glorious turbulence of release. It flared deep in her groin, shot down her legs. A wrenching cry tore from her throat. When at last she surfaced for air, she felt weak and ragged. Her legs collapsed beneath her just as he swept her into his arms and undid the last of the bonds. He tossed aside the bodice of her gown and laid her across the bed.
With her eyes closed to contain the intensity of sensations that had just assaulted her, she breathed in the relief of her accomplishment, her body satisfied and content despite the ache in her limbs and the tingling of her buttocks. His hand caressed the welts on her arse with a gentleness she would not have thought possible given how forcefully he had wielded the crop. She felt something cool and moist—a salve of some sort—applied to her. It eased the burn and soothed the ache.
“You did well, Heloise.”
“Mmmmm,” she acknowledged, relishing the sound of her name upon his tongue.
She thought he might now put his triumph into words, and she would not have cared much if he did. Lord Cadwell had known somehow that she had wanted this. To attempt denials now would prove a futile exercise. But he said nothing. Instead of proclaiming victory—she expected some level of smugness from a man as arrogant as he—he had praised her. She felt proud of herself. Her body had been pushed to limits she had not thought possible. And it felt magnificent.
His gentle rubbing lulled into her a state of peaceful bliss but a gradual arousal also began to build. She could feel the curve of his body behind hers. She was becoming sensitized to his touch in the most alarming and thrilling ways. How was it he could awaken her body with the simplest of caresses? Wetness pooled between her legs once again, desire welling in her veins. She hoped that he would touch her more intimately.
Just as she was about to beg him, his hand circled around her thigh, grazed the soft curls at her mons, and reached for the supple folds of her quim. She could hardly wait to see what he would do next.
Sebastian was not surprised at how well Miss Merrill had handled the crop. Wild thoughts ran through his head at the possibilities. There was so much he could do to her. So much he wanted to do to her besides fuck her against the post. How exquisite she would look with her entire body bound in ropes—her arms pinioned behind her, her calves tied to her thighs, her breasts captured and squeezed. Thus tied, she could learn to take him into her mouth and down her throat. It would not be easy, but with the proper incentive, he was confident she was not the sort to give up easily. The vision of his cock gliding between those plump, tender lips was nearly his undoing.
Containing the force of his lust had been like pushing a coach and four up a steep slope, but after she had finished convulsing against the post, when he knew the soreness in her limbs would come alive with a vengeance, a flood of tenderness had filled him. The sense of satisfaction as he cradled her in his arms was greater than he could ever remember it being. He knew not why he felt such a strong desire to protect her. And claim her as his.
Marguerite had been surprised by Miss Merrill, but no more surprised than he. He had taken dozens of women far comelier and more practiced than Miss Merrill. How was it then that he felt driven to madness by her? A cautionary bell rang in his head, one that questioned the wisdom of pursuing anything further.
Her arse had an alluring glow of rose about it. Ignoring the bell, he palmed her buttock and wondered if she was still a virgin here. Marguerite was correct—he didn’t do virgins. But hers was such a delectable arse, he found himself considering the prospect, intrigued at being the first to plumb her nether hole. His cock swelled its support for the idea.
Her coiffure had mostly come undone, and tendrils of hair curled about her face and down her neck. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her nose. He liked her look of disarray. Liked that he was the one who had placed her in such a state. The flush in her rounded cheeks added to her loveliness. His hand wound its way to her mons, brushing her curls and feeling for the dampness between her thighs. A soft moan escaped her lips when he brushed past her clitoris.
He nibbled her ear. “Tell me now, Heloise, how you enjoyed your submission.”
“I suppose rather well,” she murmured.
Impudent chit, Sebastian thought to himself. He plunged his fingers into her wet folds and jarred them against a raised area of nerves.
“Ahhh,” she gasped.
“Only ‘rather well’?”
“Extremely well—much—I much enjoyed it.”
That is better. He pressed his groin against her buttocks as his fingers continued their assault. She arched herself into his hands.
“Do you desire more, Miss Merrill?”
She paused but a second before nodding her head affirmatively.
“Say it.”
“I wish for more.”
“More what?”
“More of what you would do to me, my lord.”
“Do you wish me to frig you with my fingers?”
“Mmmm.”
“Fuck you with my cock?”
Her eyes flew open. Lust smoldered in her countenance.
“Yes, fuck me,” she declared in no uncertain terms.
This time it was he who groaned. With one hand still trapped between her thighs, he tore the buttons of his pants loose with the other. His erection sprang out, famished for contact. Too impatient to pull his breeches down, he glided his cock between her legs from behind, then slid an arm beneath her.
He reminded her, “If you wish to put a stop to this, you must utter the word Ma—”
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted. “Be a gentleman and pray do not keep a lady waiting.”
He ought to punish her for her audacity, but he hungered too much for her at the moment. Without ceremony, he plunged himself into her. It was the best alternative to a sound punishment. She cried out in shock as most, but not all, of his length filled her. Sebastian closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, longing to push himself deeper but wanting her to adjust to the sudden invasion. He knew not how long it had been since last she had been filled. His fingers played her clitoris while the other hand grabbed a breast.
She flexed against his cock. He sank himself deeper into her wet and glorious heat. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough for him to be pulsing deep
inside her cunny. An insatiable desire to have his body completely merged with hers took hold. He grabbed her chin and turned her mouth toward his, then clamped his lips to hers. At last. How supple, how yielding her lips felt. And he plumbed the depths of her mouth as vigorously as he would plumb the depths of her quim.
She attempted to return his kiss, but he was too busy tasting her, feeling her with his tongue, taking in her air, breathing in her essence. His mouth worked her over, and he felt a rush of her hot liquid encasing his cock. When he finally pulled his mouth from hers, her breath was heavy and she looked dazed. Perhaps he had been a little too fierce in his kiss. He knew not the source of this unexpected ferocity, but he had to sample her mouth once more.
Muffling whatever she was about to say, he pressed his mouth hard to hers. He kissed and sucked her until her lips swelled with lust and the lines of her mouth flushed from the attention. It was maddening, this dueling desire between his mouth and his cock. But the grinding of her hips against him recalled the arousal between his legs. Slowly, he pulled his cock out. She moaned as his shaft grazed her engorged clitoris. He plunged back into her and closed his eyes to concentrate. His sac boiled, greedy for release. A tremor threatened the control of his legs.
She let out a delicious cry as he plunged himself back in. He returned a hand between her legs and began a rhythmic thrusting.
“Oh, God,” she pleaded, circling her arms behind her and wrapping them about his neck.
A mirror strategically placed opposite them showed two bodies, one darker than the other, writhing in unison, their purpose common. The light of the candles flickered a warm inviting glow upon her milky skin. Her tousled hair was damp about her face from perspiration. He saw his hand fondling her breast. Despite the hardness of her nipples, her areolas remained large, dark discs. He captured the vision of her, of them, in his mind. The image fueled the rage in his cock, and he began to pound her as his fingers plied her with increasing energy and speed.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she cried before a scream split their grunting sounds and her body spasmed violently against him.
He continued to piston in and out of her until he had wrung the last of her orgasm out of her. And then he succumbed to the needs of his own body. The scalding desire roiling in his abdomen exploded out his cock, blending into her wetness. With a roar he pumped himself into her. Her body was his. Meant to serve his desires now.
Tremors shot down his legs as his climax peaked. He did not realize how hard he was squeezing her breast until she cried out. He let go and wrapped her in his arms as his lust finished draining into her. The blood pounded relentlessly in his head, but he managed to kiss her gently on the temple. She nestled closer to him. This too was glorious.
And as he cradled her in his arms, he found himself wishing that what she had said was true. He wished he was indeed devoid of morals.
Chapter Four
Heloise awoke to find Lord Cadwell gone. At first his disappearance did not trouble her. The pleasure of her experience still lingered and as she stretched her arms overhead, she recalled as much as she could, not wanting her memory to forget the smallest detail. Strange as it seemed, it was not merely the havoc he had wreaked upon her body—she had never thought her body could react as intensely as it had—that she cherished the most. The overwhelming sense of freedom, of trust, was what had elevated her experience to the heavens.
She also recalled with fondness their dialogue. That was how he had seduced her. Despite her belief that his philosophy was self-serving—it had to be, for how could someone genuinely believe such radical liberalism?—she had found their conversation stimulating. And he seemed perfectly at ease having such a discussion with her when others would have scoffed at her as some bluestocking. Thus, she did not mind that he might have proved her a hypocrite. She would be more than content to have him prove the point over and over again.
The yearning between her legs began to simmer at the thought. Looking about the room, she wondered what else he might have in store for her. Would he try the nine-of-tails next? Stirring in the bed, she relished the tenderness of her bottom and the ache between her legs, wondering how much more she could take. The thought frightened and intrigued her.
Annabelle appeared at the door with a tray. “His Lordship asked me to bring some victuals.”
Eying the thinly sliced ham and colorful sweetmeats, Heloise realized she was famished. Annabelle set the tray upon the bed and poured a glass of wine.
“Your gown is being ironed, madam,” Annabelle said, “and I shall return shortly to attend to your toilette.”
“Thank you.”
After a quick bob, the maid left. As Heloise buttered her bread, she wondered why she should bother getting dressed if she would end up naked again. Oh, but the process of undressing was delightful. She wondered if she would have the opportunity to see him completely naked. The thought made her salivate more than the food.
“The berries are fresh from the garden.”
She glanced quickly to the door. The Earl of Blythe stood on the threshold, dressed magnificently in gray. She had never found gray to be an appealing color, but he wore it well. The hue would have made a pale man look ashen but did nothing to tarnish the bronze in Lord Cadwell’s complexion. He wore his riding hat and riding boots and a light cloak was draped about his shoulders.
“Are you headed out?” she asked. She glanced out the windows to see that the sun had just begun to emerge from the horizon.
“If you leave within the hour, you will be home not long after dawn,” he informed her.
Her brows lifted in reaction—she had not even been here a day—but the tone of his voice suggested he had no interest in prolonging her stay. What had happened? Had she done something to offend? She had thought he approved of her performance. Was that not so?
“You’re letting me go?” she asked.
“It was never my intention to keep you prisoner. I may be devoid of morals, but I am no tyrant.”
Never his intention or not his desire? Would he have felt differently if she were Josephine?
“What of Josephine?” she inquired when he touched his hat to her and prepared to take his leave.
“You may rest easy, Miss Merrill. I will not be extending another invitation to your cousin.”
Because he might end up with her instead? She watched him depart in stunned silence. Was this how he was with the other women? Did he bring them ecstasy, show them a bit of affection, then cast them aside as quickly as possible?
Of course. What a fool she had been to think that he might have taken a fancy to her. Apparently she did not merit even a full weekend with him. He had proved his point and shown her for a charlatan. Did she expect anything else from entangling herself with a rake like Sebastian Cadwell?
The bread, though freshly baked, suddenly tasted stale to her. With a sigh, she pushed away the tray and rose from the bed to prepare for a long and lonely journey home.
* * * * *
“Surely you are not leaving so soon, mon cheri?” Lady Follet asked from the settee where she lounged in a stola.
Sebastian bowed. “I have no reason to stay, and came only to bid you adieu.”
“Adieu? But why?” Marguerite persisted as she plucked a grape off its stem.
He eyed the two brawny men, dressed in togas, who had been servicing her. “I have no wish to trouble you with more than a goodbye, seeing as you are occupied, my lady.”
She waved her pair of Roman servants away. “I am now unoccupied.”
“Nevertheless, I intend a brief farewell.”
Marguerite pursed her lips in a pout. He could not help but compare her wide and thin lips with those of Miss Merrill’s. Parting from Miss Merrill had proved more difficult than he had anticipated—especially as she sat naked in that bed, ready to be taken again. He had considered fucking her one last time, but that would only have delayed the inevitable awkwardness. And he had had a hard enough time looking into her eyes
after what had transpired between them.
“Ah, you offended your lady friend in some manner and she is leaving in a huff,” Marguerite noted. “You will, of course, give chase, prove that she cannot resist you, and fuck her madly in your carriage.”
He swallowed hard, trying not to imagine the scene being played out with Heloise—Miss Merrill.
“I am sending her away,” he explained.
“But why?”
“Because she came in error. She is not suited for Château Follet.”
“Her cries would indicate otherwise. She was enjoying herself—my servants told me they could hear her from down the hall. And, regardless of what Anne Wesley would say, no woman has been known to be dissatisfied in your hands.”
Sebastian let out an impatient breath through his nose. He had little desire to discuss the matter with Marguerite, but she was the hostess, and his manners would not allow him to dismiss her easily.
“The misgivings lie with me.”
“She displeased you.”
He wished that were the case. He wished that he had not found her courage and attempts at boldness endearing. Nor her vulnerability so alluring. Her body so intoxicating.
“She pleased me well enough.”
Marguerite arched her brows. “Pray tell you are not developing a conscience, mon cheri?”
Women. They could be damnably clever at the most inconvenient times.
“She would not think it possible,” he replied wryly, “having denounced me as a libertine devoid of morals.”
“But why would she…? Strange words for a woman who came here to experience the pleasures of the flesh.”
Sebastian could see Marguerite would not relent until she understood the situation. Only women had such propensities.
“She did not come here to indulge her carnal desires,” he divulged, “but to rescue her cousin from ruin at my hands. Her cousin was my intended guest.”
“Mon dieu. She took her cousin’s place? What a peculiar mademoiselle.”
He took this opportunity to raise her hand to his lips. “And now, my dear, I bid you a fond farewell, until next we meet.”
