My Lady of Misrule: Wicked Winter Nights, Book One

by Amy Rose Bennett

  “You wish to spank me,” Minerva said in a husky whisper, alternately thrilled and vaguely terrified at such a singular prospect.

  Tristan didn’t deny her assertion. Instead, he tossed back the rest of his drink, put his glass aside, then said in a dark velvet voice, “How does that make you feel, Minerva? I’m not going to deny that the thought of spanking your delectable arse until it’s pink arouses me like nothing else.” He pushed his lean hips against her and there was definitely no mistaking the thrust of his rock-hard shaft against her belly. “But I assure you, I won’t do anything unless you agree to it. Flagellation or le vice anglais might be one of my predilections but that doesn’t mean it has to be yours.” He ran a finger along her collarbone, then brushed her nipple through the thin silk of her gown. “I can show you innumerable ways to fuck, but what we do when we’re alone tonight is ultimately up to you.”

  Burning desire swirled through Minerva, making her tremble. Biting her lip, she considered all that Tristan had said. When she’d set out to broaden her knowledge of amorous pursuits, she’d never anticipated that there were so many different types of sexual acts. If she were being truly honest with herself, the wanton side of her was intrigued. The thought of Tristan’s large hand marking her naked behind made her insides quiver and her quim throb.

  How wicked she was becoming. Or was it the case she’d always been wicked yet it was only now, with Tristan, that she could let the wilder side of herself emerge?

  She drew a steadying breath. “The idea of you wanting to do such a thing does strike me as a little strange. Yet I also can’t deny that I’m madly curious. When I watched Lord Preston spank that cyprian, I was shocked but also aroused by the spectacle. And I hadn’t expected that. So to clarify my position, I will admit that I’m ready to try something new. To explore other aspects of erotic pleasure. Both in the giving and receiving of it.” She placed her hand against Tristan’s marble-hard chest. “I’ve known you for the longest time and I trust you.”

  Tristan’s slow grin was the most breath-stealing sight she’d ever seen. “Well then, finish your champagne, my irresistible Lady of Misrule. Both of us have fantasies we need to satisfy. And I’m not willing to wait a moment longer than necessary to fulfill mine.”

  The command in his tone, the heat in his blazing eyes were unmistakable.

  Tonight was all about playing wicked games and Minerva most definitely wanted to join in.

  Chapter 7

  The guest bedchamber was on the third floor of Emberfield House.

  As Tristan ushered Minerva through the door, her gaze was immediately drawn to the sumptuous four-poster bed. The candles and firelight illuminated the carved oak bedhead and hangings of antique gold and rich cream damask. Even though it was an inviting tableau, Minerva crossed the thick Aubusson rug—also in warm tones of gold, cream, and soft brown—and took up a position by an amber velvet settee as Tristan turned the key in the lock.

  “We don’t want to be disturbed,” he said, prowling toward her, a hungry predator all in black. He tossed his hat onto the end of the bed, his eyes never once leaving hers.

  “No, we don’t,” she agreed, curling her fingers around the back of the chair. Tristan’s intent gaze was making Minerva’s insides tumble with a strange combination of nerves and excitement. He exuded an air of power and danger she’d never quite associated with him before. But she liked it. Very much.

  “Would you like a drink? Brandy or Madeira perhaps?” Tristan gestured toward a tray of decanters and glasses upon a small oak sideboard by the fireplace. He must have guessed she was a little edgy.

  Minerva shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  How should they begin? Even though desire danced through her veins, it had seemed easier to let go of her inhibitions in the darkness of Tristan’s town coach.

  Tristan, on the other hand, did not appear to be nervous in the slightest. After shrugging off his black coat, he draped it over the back of a nearby wingchair then took a seat on the opposite settee. As he leaned back against the velvet cushions, he stretched his long, muscular legs out before him and rested one arm across the back of the chair. Again, he reminded Minerva of a dangerous beast feigning a relaxed air when he was really about to catch and devour her.

  “I can see you’re nervous, my dear Lady Persephone, so let me make this easier for you.” Tristan’s gaze traveled leisurely over her body before returning to her eyes. “A few nights ago you told me that you like it when I take charge. When I tell you what to do. So that’s what I’m going to do right now. I think it will give you the permission you need—and thus the freedom—to be bold and take risks you hitherto haven’t taken.”

  Minerva released her grip on the back of the settee. Already he understood her in a way David never had. “Yes. Yes, I would like that.”

  Tristan inclined his head. “Very good. Come and stand before me on the hearthrug. Then strip.”

  Minerva’s nipples tightened to hard points and her belly did an odd flip-flop. “Strip?” She’d never been completely naked in front of a man before, not even David. And it wasn’t as though she hadn’t been expecting this moment to arise. Even so, she quailed. What if Tristan didn’t like all her curves? She wasn’t delicately made or overly slim. She was rounded and wide-hipped. Rubenesque.

  But it seemed Tristan would not be put off. “Yes,” he said in an authoritative tone, the kind which brooked no argument. “Everything except for your mask because I think it will help you play the part of Lady Persephone. But I do want to see that voluptuous body of yours. I’ve been imagining what you look like for days, especially when I’ve been alone, stroking my cock.”

  Oh, my. Minerva’s cheeks flamed at Tristan’s bold language and the mental image it evoked. Nevertheless, his confession gave her the courage she needed to fulfill his request.

  Abandoning her spot behind the settee, she took up a position directly in front of him. Bending low, she untied the gold ribbons at her ankles then slid off her slippers. The plush rug was soft beneath her bare feet, the fire at her back, a warm caress. Because she wasn’t wearing any other undergarments—not even stockings—all she had to do was loosen the golden bow at the back of her gown and then slip the garment off.

  If she dared... Holding her breath, she closed her eyes, tugged at the bow, then eased the gown off her shoulders. The silk produced a gentle whisper as it slid down her body and pooled at her feet.

  Apart from the crackle of the fire behind her, there was silence. Until she opened her eyes and peeked at Tristan from beneath her lashes.

  His eyes were a burning blue and the smile playing about his wide mouth was pure sin. “You’re breath-taking,” he murmured. “Utterly divine.”

  “Do... do really mean that?”

  His brows suddenly plunged into a ferocious scowl. “Of course I bloody well mean it,” he growled. “Now turn around.”

  “What?”

  “Turn around so I can see your delicious derriere.”

  Minerva complied. Glancing back over her shoulder, she could see that Tristan was sitting forward, eating her up with his eyes. For the first time in her life she suddenly felt powerful. Truly desirable and unafraid to explore the sexual side of her nature.

  Emboldened by her lust and the fact Tristan was enraptured by the sight of her naked body, she said, “So, my good sir, do you still have a throbbing cockstand and a twitchy palm?”

  Behind his mask, Tristan’s gaze sharpened. “Why yes I do. Even more so now that I can see a cheeky twinkle in your eye, my lady. I do not like to be teased. And that’s the second time tonight you’ve done so. Such impertinence should not go unpunished.”

  Minerva bit her lower lip to suppress the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She was beginning to understand this was a naughty game. Beside-the-fire sport. Clasping her hands in front of her, she turned and focused her gaze on the tips of Tristan’s boots. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, sir,” she whispered even though she wasn
’t sorry at all.

  “An apology won’t suffice I’m afraid.” Tristan’s fingers flexed upon his thighs. He had wonderful hands. Strong with long, almost elegant fingers aside from a few scars marking his knuckles. Short, well-kept nails. “It’s time to submit to the spanking you so roundly deserve.”

  A dark thrill curled through her as she watched Tristan unfasten his cuffs then methodically roll up his linen sleeves, exposing the bones of his wrists and corded, muscular forearms with their dusting of fine black hair. She swallowed as he beckoned her over. “Come here,” he ordered. “Lie across my knees.”

  How hard would his slaps be? she wondered as she kneeled upon the settee then folded herself over Tristan’s spread legs. Her breasts rested upon the cushions while her torso, lower belly, and sex were pressed against the hot, hard muscles of his thighs. Surely not too hard. He’d promised he wouldn’t do anything without her consent.

  Before she could think any further on it, Tristan caressed her bottom ever so gently, raising gooseflesh. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” As though reading her mind he added, “I won’t be gentle but I won’t be cruel either considering this is your first time.”

  His fingers teased the cleft between her cheeks, eliciting more shivers and a shuddering sigh. Tristan’s touch was maddening. And the press of his erection against her side was highly arousing too. “How... how many slaps can I expect?”

  Tristan feathered a light stroke over the crease between her bottom and the back of one thigh. “Twelve I think. One for each day of the Yuletide Season.” He teased the top of her other thigh. “One for each day that you’ve driven me insane with lust. Ever since our kiss beneath the mistletoe.”

  “All right.” Minerva squeezed her eyes shut and curled her hands into tight fists. Indeed her whole body tensed and her heart began to race, hurtling against her ribs. Twelve slaps. That wasn’t so many. Surely she could manage that. Although the anticipation was excruciating…

  Just when she thought she couldn’t bear the wait any longer, Tristan placed a hand firmly on her lower back then delivered the first smack.

  Ouch! Minerva gasped as Tristan’s palm connected with her left cheek. The cracking sound of the slap was more startling than the actual sting of it.

  “One,” he said softly then to her surprise, she felt the gentle but firm press of his lips against her tender flesh. The flicker of his tongue. Heavens, she was sensitive down there. Moisture began to well between her thighs—

  “Two.” Tristan slapped her other cheek, harder this time. Minerva bit her lip and whimpered. Ooh, that one smarted. Would he kiss her again—

  “Three.” No, no tender kisses this time. And this third slap had been just as hard as the second. But it was still bearable and Tristan seemed to be enjoying himself given the determined thrust of his cock against her waist. She squeezed her burning cheeks together, waiting for the next smack, but then Tristan surprised her again. He stroked her, soothing her abused flesh with gentle fingers. “You have no idea how beautiful your arse looks right now,” he murmured in a voice roughened with lust. “How it glows like a perfectly ripe, pink peach. The question is, is your sweet cunny slick with nectar? Let me see...” One of his fingers pushed between her cheeks, delving until he found the seam of her sex. “Ah, yes, it is,” he murmured, sliding the finger between her folds. “Swollen and oh, so wet. Very good, my wicked Lady of Misrule. Very good. It appears as though you like being spanked.”

  “Yes,” Minerva breathed. To her astonishment, she did. She raised her bottom to allow him easier access, then moaned as his fingertip lightly grazed her throbbing clitoris. Scintillating sensation spiraled through her. She was very close to coming off. How... odd. She hadn’t expected a spanking to increase her arousal. That pain could heighten pleasure.

  Oh, sweet Lord. Tristan began to rub her clitoris in small, fast circles and Minerva opened her legs a little wider. If he would just keep touching her precisely like that—

  Tristan suddenly withdrew his hand then administered six sharp slaps, counting as he went. Alternating between each buttock cheek, each burning bite of his palm stole her breath, but no matter how much she gasped and bucked and moaned, he gave her no quarter.

  “Only three more to go, sweetheart,” Tristan murmured as she tried to catch her breath. Trailing kisses over the small of her back and the flaming flesh of her bottom, he simultaneously played with her drenched, excruciatingly sensitive quim. “If you concur of course...”

  “Yes... Please, yes.”

  Tristan breathed an internal sigh of relief. Undoubtedly it had been a risk showing Minerva his darker side and his singular tastes in the bedchamber. His desire for control. But thank God she was aroused by the sport just as much as he was. That she hadn’t run screaming from Emberfield Hall in horror when he’d suggested he’d very much like to pinken her arse with his palm.

  It was true he was pushing her further than he’d originally planned. Twelve smacks was quite a lot for a novice of le vice anglais, but she was handling it well. More than handling it actually. She was enjoying the hell out of it if her moans and the slickness of her quim were anything to go by. Her breathless plea to continue...

  “Very well then.” Tristan swiftly administered the last three slaps with a cupped hand, relishing the feel of his palm kissing her rosy cheeks. With each smack, Minerva’s body jerked against his groin, sending a frisson of exquisite agony straight to his balls. Indeed, he was almost at the point of spending in his silk breeches.

  He knew it wouldn’t take much to push Minerva over the edge either. But he didn’t want her to come yet. Not when there was so many other things they could do. So much he could teach her. And keeping her in a state of acute need was sure to heighten her pleasure when she did reach orgasm.

  Instead of teasing her cunny again, he bestowed a reverential kiss to each buttock before assisting her to rise. “I imagine it will be uncomfortable to sit at first, so kneel at my feet, my lady. Between my legs.”

  Minerva was a little shaky on her feet but she complied with his request and sat on her haunches. Even though her mask was still in place, it didn’t obscure her expression. Her rich brown eyes were heavy-lidded, the pupils dilated. Her cheeks were flushed and her delightful, apricot-hued nipples were as hard and round as pearls. And her curves. Good God, her bountiful tits, her hips, her arse, they were the most magnificent he’d ever seen.

  And then there were her fine red lips as ripe as raspberries, her smooth-as-cream skin, and her rich auburn hair. Hair that he wanted to run his fingers through, bury his face in, wind around his fist as he took her from behind.

  She really had no idea how beautiful, how eminently desirable she was. And he wanted her in every conceivable way.

  She was waiting for him to speak, to give her further direction so he said in a voice that was far from steady, “Let down your hair. Then undo my breeches.”

  “Yes, sir.” Minerva licked her lips and Tristan swore under his breath. Sweet Jesus, he had to have her, and soon, or he would erupt.

  Thankfully, Minerva made quick work of her hair. When the fiery tresses were tumbling around her shoulders, Tristan edged himself forward on the settee.

  “Don’t you...” Minerva’s pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips again. Rising on her knees, she placed her hands on his thighs. “Are you sure you only want me to undo your breeches? Because I must confess, I wouldn’t mind seeing a little more of you.”

  Tristan smiled. “All in good time, sweetheart. But I mean to try something else with you first. Something that only involves your tits and my cock.”

  A small crease appeared between Minerva’s finely drawn brows as she started to undo the buttons securing the fall front of his breeches. “You don’t want me to pleasure you with my mouth? Because I very much want to—”

  “Perhaps later on, my wicked la—” Tristan groaned as Minerva freed his pulsating manhood and gave him a gentle squeeze. Fuck that felt good. Fighting back the urge
to grab Minerva by the hair and guide her mouth down to the weeping head of his prick, he instead gripped his shaft and gritted out, “Sweet lady, push your breasts together. I want to fuck them.”

  Minerva’s frowned deepened. “I don’t understand. How—?”

  “I’ll show you.” Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Tristan let go of his cock and instead, gently cupped Minerva’s delectable breasts with his hands, testing the weight and feel of them. Soft as satin yet delightfully firm and heavy in his palms. Lord, he wanted to devour them. He wanted to bury his cock between them. He wanted to worship them.

  When he brushed his thumbs over the taut coral peaks, Minerva gasped and closed her eyes. “Do you like that, sweeting?” he asked.

  “Y-yes...”

  “I think you’ll like this even more.” Tristan bent down and surrounded one of the tightly-furled tips with his lips then suckled. The floral scent of the exotic oil she’d used on her skin filled his nostrils, making his head swim. At the same time, he rolled her other nipple between his thumb and fingers, gently tugging and squeezing.

  Minerva arched her back and pushed forward. “Oh, yes.”

  Tristan laved her other nipple with his tongue before sucking it into his watering mouth. She tasted delicious—sweeter than sugar plums, richer than the finest wine—and he could easily feast upon her for hours but his aching groin was demanding attention.

  Releasing her nipples, he squeezed the plump mounds together before ever so gently pushing his cock into the valley between them. The fluid leaking from his prick’s engorged, purple head lubricated the plush furrow as he rocked his hips, gliding back and forth, relishing the slow, sensual ride. Minerva seemed enthralled too. Her hands covered his own as he cradled her breasts and her gaze was riveted to his gently plunging cock. Her perfect teeth pressed into her full bottom lip as though she was concentrating, memorizing these moments.