by Megan McCoy
Hugh gasped and shuddered, starting to pull away in surprise.
“No, please,” Elena said and kept her fingers still.
Hugh then relented and remained still as well. “Gave me a... bit of a fright, starling,” he said, out of breath, still growling.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to feel you... or try to.” Elena turned her head to one side, staring into the dark as she imagined what it must look like, their bodies as one together. His cock pulsed once more, trying to fill every part of her with his essence, it seemed. “It still fascinates me, sometimes.”
“What’s that?”
“Pleasure. Desire. Lust. All of it.” Elena removed her invading fingers and curled both arms under her head. Hugh once told her how he enjoyed the moments following coitus, the simple pleasure of being physically bound to her, inside of her, even after he was spent. She granted him that, trying to remain still, but there was no reason she couldn’t still speak of such things. “Young orphan girls aren’t taught or told about such things, my husband. You’ve certainly opened my eyes to a great many unexpected things since we met all those years ago.”
Hugh was quiet as he pulled out of her, and Elena carefully rolled to one side on the bed to give him room. She watched him move in the dim light, easing his great weight down next to her; he was half in candlelight, half in shadow, his eyes gone aglow in the late hour. Come to think of it, Elena perked up her ears: the singing had stopped. It likely had long before she’d thought to check.
“Well, I hope it was an enlightening and entertaining education, at least,” the Iron Hand said with his usual, easy smile.
She smiled back. “It was. I might have a better life than a tanner’s daughter ever deserved, but I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, regardless of the heartache and the struggles that came with it.”
The man pursed his lips thoughtfully. “None of it at all?” He reached over one of her shoulders, gently sliding his fingertips down one of the long scars there; Elena often forgot about them, except for the occasional ache before a thunderstorm. They were remnants of the one and only beating she’d ever received by a man, and not by her husband.
Elena shuddered and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand to her chest. “None of it, Hugh. If not for the unpleasant, painful times, I’m certain these better, happier days with you might have never come at all.” She bowed her head for a moment, trying to banish those unpleasant memories away, and only half-succeeding. It was a somber moment, but she fought through it, looking back up at him again. “No matter what has happened, no matter what will happen, it has only been the greatest honor of my life to be your wife, my lord. And soon, I pray, the mother of your son.” As so often happened, she rested a hand atop her belly, only half-conscious of the action. She did manage to smile again and wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m honestly uncertain as to whether to hope for more children or not, however. I’m unsure which would be the greater misery in the long run.”
Hugh laughed, and the awkward moment passed. Elena’s eyes burned from the late hour, but she was in no hurry to sleep. In just a few more months, nights like this one would be few and far between. She understood that it was common for a noble-born mother to use other help - assistants, nursemaids and such - in the raising of a child, but she was resistant to the idea. With so much to plan and prepare for, and given her constant array of aches, pains and other complaints, it was only a happy accident that tonight had happened at all.
Soon they were curled up together in the dark again, blankets pulled over them to ward away the early morning chill. It felt good to feel Hugh curled up behind her, his arm and hand wrapped around her belly. Elena had come to resign herself to others rubbing her belly, believing that it would give both mother and baby a bit of good luck, but she’d never enjoyed it. Hugh was the only one whose touch she always welcomed, who she thought deserved the unrestricted right to touch her whenever he wished. Being with Hugh made her physical discomforts lessen, although he couldn’t banish them entirely.
She was already starting to drift off into dreamless slumber when she felt the warmth of his breath at the curve of her ear. The feel of his kiss at her temple was pleasant, and Elena wanted more. She managed to roll over, her belly nestled between them, and kissed him back. Then one became two, and two became several more. They were kisses for the sake of kissing - more than the chaste touch of lips, but less than spurring him into further action.
When the kisses ended, Elena reached up, gently toying with his whiskers. “I shall never tire of your attention, my love, not ever, but it does come with its own set of hazards.”
“‘Hazards?’” Hugh pretended offense, opening his mouth.
“Hazards indeed, my lord,” she repeated, smoothing the hairs back in place. “You’ve so much hair on you that I wouldn’t be surprised if your son comes out with a full beard all on his own.”
The Lord of Corfe and Dorset County seemed to find that thought quite amusing, given the size of his grin and the sparkle in his eyes. It made Elena smile to see him so happy, and she wanted to soak it in, rub it into her skin and drink it down like the sweetest honey mead until she couldn’t hold another drop, and then drink twice as much after it.
Hugh leaned in close, kissing her brow. “I’ve been thinking, starling. About the boy, our son.” He always spoke of the baby with a mystical, reverent air, as if speaking too loudly might banish him from existence or be carried off by one of the Fair Folk.
“Tell me. Please.”
“I’ve been considering his name,” Hugh said. “He’ll need a good name at the christening - something strong, something a boy can grow up and be proud of having.” He kept that cautious manner as he spoke, as though he was hesitant to say too much all at once. It was a side of him that Elena didn’t see very often, like choosing every word ahead of time before he spoke them into being.
Elena nodded softly, taking one of his hands with both of hers, as if that might give him the courage to go on. “All right. So, what name did you choose?”
He looked at her for a long time before answering. “Well, how would you feel about John?”
Any response, any conscious thought, was banished from Elena’s mind at that instant. It was her father’s name - a fact he well knew.
When she just stared at him, he seemed to take her silence for reluctance; Hugh looked down and continued. “My grandmother, Branwen, was Welsh. Her father - my great-grandfather - was named Ioan.” He pronounced the name Yo-ahn, a name Elena had never heard before. “He died before I was born, but it’s as close to a John in my family as I can find a record of.” There was obvious trepidation in his voice, on his face, in his eyes as he looked down at her. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, confirmed that it’s a good, acceptable Christian name, and... I hope that you’ll give it your blessing.”
“Hugh.” It took effort to say anything at all. Her heart was pounding again. “I... I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he answered. “You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known, Elena of Corfe. Living with you... changes a man. For the better - or the worse, I suppose, depending on who might be asking. I had no time for marriage until I found myself in one; no time for a woman and children until you were my woman, and now, we’ve a child nearly upon us. If something as simple as a name can be my gift to you, I would and will give it, and gladly.”
“I... feel like I’ve cried too much tonight already.” Elena sniffed and smiled, forced to use the blankets to dab at her eyes without another handkerchief to do the job. “You’ve... already given me so much, Hugh. Too much. More than a woman like me could ever deserve or hope to give back.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed kiss after kiss against his face, from his brow to his chin and back again. “I love you, Hugh of Corfe, my lord and husband. I love you. I love you so much it hurts to even think of a time when I didn’t.” Hugh’s arms were a strength and a comfort to Elena, and she sighed a happy sigh after nestlin
g back against him. “It’s a precious thing you’ve offered me, and of course I’ll accept it.” Her hand resting upon her belly stroked low, below her navel, near where she could imagine her little boy’s head resting. “John,” she whispered with a sad, joyous smile. “Our John.”
Hugh didn’t speak, but the kiss he left atop her head was answer enough.
Elena was snuggled up against her husband in the dark, feeling warm, tired and happy. She wondered what time it was. She closed her eyes and delighted in his closeness to her, in the memory of the two precious gifts he’d given her, gifts she never could have anticipated and might never have a prayer of being able to return in kind.
On the other hand, she could love him. She could desire him. She would give him a son, and perhaps more children, if God was merciful and she survived the ordeal, but she was willing to take that risk for him. Elena could live for Hugh Isarnon, give him her body and her heart, support him in his endeavors and never betray him. There was only so much a woman could do, but Elena would do it for Hugh, do it gladly.
Dawn was still hours away. Solitary minutes had passed and Hugh was already asleep, as though her acceptance of John’s new name, combined with just resting his head on the pillow, was enough to give him the peace he needed to fall into a deep, restful sleep. Elena listened to his breathing, felt the heat of it in her hair. She considered waking him up again for a single, selfish instant, but decided against it.
It was the day of Cristes Mæsse - Christ’s Mass Day. In a few hours, they would be roused from their sleep, accompany the rest of the town to the local church for Mass and prayers. Hugh would be burdened down with responsibilities as befitting the lord of the town. Sleep freed him of those burdens for just a little while. Elena promised herself that, whenever she could, she would help to lighten the load for him as well.
Hugh had given her a third, final gift, one he probably wasn’t even aware of: new holiday memories to cherish, an entire night of lovemaking and precious things to ponder in her heart, now so full of love and happiness that it was any wonder she wasn’t glowing from it. Those treasured memories would help her to face whatever the future held for her—for the both of them.
The life they had together was a good one. Elena was sure that more good things were coming.
The End.
Aycee Masterson
Let's jump right into it: I write about sex and romance. But it's not just by-the-numbers, tab-A-into-slot-B sex. I've written about jaded dreamers, dark fantasies and twisted dreams. It's the sort of sex that you think about in the dark, the kind you fantasize about – but might not want to admit to anybody. But there's room for sweetness, too, for gentle touching and loving laughter.
I've been professionally published for a number of years. I've also contributed to the writing troupe Blushing Mischief as “A.C. Masterson,” whose works are also available from Blushing Books.
You can connect with me through Twitter here:
Twitter.com/ACMasterson
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Aycee Masterson and Blushing Books:
The Iron Hand’s Bride
Dreams in the Dust
The Gold and the Gunner
A Christmas Proposal
12 Naughty Days of Christmas - Book 11
Bethany Leigh
Published by Blushing Books
An Imprint of
ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.
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©2020
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Bethany Leigh
A Christmas Proposal
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-64563-850-6
v2
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
1
Dreaming of Discipline
The pub was already heaving with revellers when Holly arrived. She pushed her way through the party crowd, hoping Erika had already snagged their usual table. She grinned when she spotted Erika waving wildly from the booth in the far corner of the pub, glass of wine already in hand. Erika could find the proverbial needle in a haystack, Holly thought, elbowing her way over to the table.
“So many people in here,” Holly said as Erika rose to hug her.
“That crowd will be gone soon. They’re having drinks here to fill in the time between work and their office Christmas party,” Erika answered. “I heard them talking about it.” She sat down and pointed to the bottle of white wine in the middle of the small round table. “I got us a bottle, save us trying to get to the bar again.”
“Thanks.” Holly grabbed the empty glass and poured herself a wine. “Cheers,” she said, clinking glasses with Erika. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Erika took a sip of wine and shifted on the green vinyl seat to get more comfortable. She was wearing a grey blouse and black skirt, which looked good with her deliberately tousled shoulder-length fair hair. Erika always looked immaculate, Holly thought, looking down at her own brown satin skirt as she shrugged off her coat. The skirt had looked fine when she’d left for work that morning. But she’d spilt coffee over it at lunchtime. And most of her dark hair had escaped its ponytail on the tube ride to the pub. Holly removed the scrunchie and shook her hair so it draped over her shoulders.
She sat close to Erika so they could hear each other properly amid the strains of cheesy 1970s Christmas pop songs and the yelling of the office party crowd.
“So, how are you?” Erika asked. “It’s been weeks since we saw each other. How are things?”
“Not good actually,” Holly admitted.
Erika quirked an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Jerome’s planning to propose. On Christmas Eve.”
“Ah.” Erika bit her lower lip and frowned, as if working out how best to respond. “Is that good or bad?”
“Good, because I love him.”
“And bad because you haven’t told him about that thing we do yet?”
“Or that thing we don’t do, in our case. But yes, you’re right. I still haven’t told him.” Holly sipped her wine and shifted in her seat.
“You’re going to have to,” Erika said.
“I know. But easier said than done.” Holly gulped her wine again.
‘That thing we do’ was a euphemism for ‘spanking’. Holly had fantasised about being spanked ever since she was a child. Initially, teachers and celebrities she’d crushed on had been her fantasy spankers, but since she’d been an adult, she’d fantasised about being taken over the knee of her boyfriend or – back in her first job, over a decade ago – her silver fox boss. But she’d never told anyone about it.
Other than Erika.
Holly fuelled her fantasies by reading spanking romances. One of her favourite authors was Georgia Burns, who wrote romances set in Victorian London, involving naughty maids who ended up over the knee of the handsome duke or butler. Holly liked Georgia’s books so much that she’d emailed her through her website telling her so, confessing that she would like nothing more than to be in a domestic discipline relationship with her boyfriend.
A lively correspondence had begun, with Georgia admitting she was in a domestic discipline relationship in real life, and advising Holly that she needed to tell her boyfriend about her secret desire. As they’d kept writing, they’d discovered they both lived in London, and that they both worked in marketing and communications. After about five months of writing, they’d disclosed their real identities and Holly an
d Erika had met up for the first time, here at this pub, back in the summer.
They were the same age – mid-thirties – working in the same field. Beyond that, though, their lives were very different. Holly had been dating Jerome for almost a year. They’d met at a New Year’s Eve party thrown by one of Holly’s workmates. Holly had been attracted to him straightaway. He was tall, with wavy red hair, prominent cheekbones and a cheerful smile. He was a travel writer and had been the life and soul of the party, entertaining everyone with his tales of overseas trips where nothing had gone smoothly.
Holly and Jerome had ended up chatting, and he’d dropped her home at the end of the party. He’d asked her out on a New Year’s Day date, and they’d been together ever since.
Erika and her husband Matt had been together since they met in their first year at university. They’d married ten years ago, Matt was a solicitor, and Erika now worked part-time, writing her spanking romances on her days off.
“It’s okay for you,” Holly said sulkily. “Matt’s into it as much as you are and you’ve both known it from the start.”
“Yes. I’m lucky,” Erika admitted.
She and Matt had been chatting over coffee in her room on campus when he’d walked her home after their first date. She’d made a cheeky comment; he’d told her she deserved a spanking. Matt had taken her “You wouldn’t dare” response for the challenge she’d intended. Her trip across his knee that night had been the first of many.
