A Measured Risk

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She glanced to her side and there stood a smartly dressed older gentleman she’d seen earlier in the courtyard. His clothes and no-nonsense brisk manner marked him as merchant class. Perhaps much like Mama’s Nabob.

  Ruel tightened his hand on her arm as he fixed the man with a stern look.

  “He’s my husband,” Anne hurried to say before Ruel could speak. What did a mere formality matter at this point? Any more than it mattered if she stopped here tonight or carried on. She had given herself a cushion of two days. She simply hadn’t felt like giving in right away.

  The gentleman’s face relaxed and he smiled. “Well, I certainly shan’t interfere in a domestic matter.”

  * * * *

  Upstairs, Ruel pulled her into their private chamber and closed the door. “Did you mean it, Nan? Are you finally and completely mine now?” He cupped her face. “I warn you, if you say yes, I shall never let you go.”

  She nodded, moving towards him, needing to be close to his hard-muscled body.

  “Wait,” he said, touching the frogging on her pelisse. “Go and wait by the fire.”

  She went to the hearth, where a cheery fire blazed and watched him shed his greatcoat. Then he went to the sideboard and poured them both a glass of claret. He came to her and handed her the glass. She took it but then pressed her face into his hand, kissing his palm.

  “I love you, I love you.” The words poured from her. She couldn’t hold them back.

  The skin crinkled around his eyes. “I love you too, wench.”

  She didn’t want to drink. She wanted to connect with him. To please him. She licked his palm, hungry for the taste of him.

  “Drink first,” he said, touching her face.

  She tried to obey but ardent desire made her throat tight, making it hard to swallow. Finally, he took her half-finished glass away.

  She dropped to her knees and began working the buttons on his fall. He pushed her hands away and tackled the buttons himself.

  She kissed his cock’s tip, savouring the salty taste of his juices. Then, unable to wait, she opened her mouth wide and the silken head slid over her tongue. She moaned with satisfaction and greedily swallowed him completely.

  His deep groan echoed in her ears as he grasped her hair and held her head, causing her heart to race. She’d known nothing sweeter than his familiar smell and taste.

  His grip suddenly tightened on her hair. “That’s enough, wench.”

  She relaxed her jaw and he popped from her mouth.

  Shortly thereafter, a servant came and served them a light meal of fresh bread, cheese and apples then left. They sat at the small table in the corner of the chamber and ate it. He asked her questions about her journey and she answered in near one-syllable replies.

  There seemed to be some tension between them, intruding on the joy of their reunion. Something nagged at her mind.

  “You know what it will mean, us being married? You know what I expect from you?” He asked the question so calmly for such a sudden, serious turn of subject.

  She dropped her gaze and nodded slowly.

  “I want to hear you say yes, Nan.”

  Apprehension tingled through her and her mouth dried. “Yes, Jon, I understand. I wouldn’t have come to this chamber with you, if I did not accept it.”

  “Before we were parted, you disobeyed me.”

  The four cups of punch at the party. How could she have forgotten? Shame swept over her.

  “Yes, I did,” she said, hugging her shoulders.

  He went behind her. “I want you to undress and I will have bath water sent up. You are to bathe and then wait for me without getting dressed.” The tugging motions told her he was unlacing her gown. “And leave your hair down.”

  He had her gown removed in short order. Then he pulled her shift up.

  “What do you intend to do?”

  He showed her his hand. Silver glittered in his palm. Those hateful little weighted balls. “I can’t let you escape your punishment. Do you understand why, Nan?”

  “Because I agreed to obey you?”

  “Yes, I can’t let things like this go between us.”

  An odd sense of relief swept over her, as if she had been waiting for this. Hoping for it. Her sex pulsed, her inner folds swelling, growing moist. He slid his hand up her thigh, slowly. He ran his fingertip over the crease between her thigh and her outer lips. “You’re getting wet for me?”

  At his words, a sudden gush flooded between her legs. She bit her lip and nodded.

  He touched her wetness, slipping his thumb over the erect little nub.

  She gasped and a shudder of hunger raced through her.

  “It was hard to be parted, wasn’t it?” He entered her with two fingers.

  She moaned and nodded.

  “Yes, it was hard for me too, love. I don’t think we should make a practice of it, do you?”

  “No…” She caught her breath as he pushed the first cold, silver ball into her. Her cunt throbbed while dread twisted through her. She had hated those things before. She didn’t think she was going to like them much this time either. He’d said this was punishment.

  He pressed the next one into her then moved his fingers, propelling the balls as deeply into her as they would go.

  In the next moment, he knelt in front of her. The warm, wet of his tongue touched her, nub, licking, flicking, circling. It rose more erect, more swollen. She moaned and entwined her fingers into his silken, pale blond hair. He drew it into his mouth and sucked, forcing her right up to the point of straining for release. He nipped her.

  Delicious shivers raced over her, she cried out sharply and closed her eyes. The first tingle overcame her.

  But he stopped and moved away from her. “Don’t remove them. I will let Nellie come to you and assist you with your bath. And you’ll act normally while she’s here. I’ll come to you when I am ready. Remain unclothed and after she leaves, do not touch yourself.”

  She lingered in the tub, thinking the warm water would soothe the unbearable ache. But it didn’t. She watched Nellie leave with profound relief that she could stop moving around, acting as if she weren’t in total sensual agony.

  She lay on the bed and tried not to move but her cunt kept clenching, knocking those terrible little balls together and sending renewed surges of hunger through her.

  Sweat drenched her body; wetness soaked the sheets beneath her. And the little clock seemed to tick off the moments with interminable slowness.

  Finally, she heard his boots in the hall. She jolted to a sitting position. Painful desire jarred through her. She moaned and put a hand over her pelvic bone.

  Jon’s voice carried through the door; he was speaking with Toby or maybe Nellie. She didn’t know. Didn’t care. Just wanted him to come in.

  The door came open, he entered and closed it. His expression gave nothing away. Her heart began to beat rapidly and flutters blossomed in her insides.

  She remembered to look down and studied her hands.

  “Stand up, Nan.”

  “Jon…”

  “Stand for me.”

  She left the bed and stood slowly, trying without success to avoid jarring the devilish little balls.

  “This will be real punishment. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to hurt.”

  Of course. He was not going to let her get away without paying the price for her disobedience. Respect for him and a peculiar sort of gratitude settled over her. Her nipples grew tight and her cunt began pulling, a pleasurable ache swelling within her nub.

  “Do you accept it, Nan?”

  She nodded. “I understand. I accept it.”

  “Good girl.” He sat on the bed. “Come, let’s not drag this out.”

  Her breathing went shorter and faster. Apprehension, fear, arousal, all tingled through her in a dizzying rush. She let her feelings wash over her without examining them. She had decided to give her body and her heart into his keeping. She would trust in the moment and in him.
/>   She began walking towards him. She lowered her gaze.

  When she reached him, he took her hand. She laid herself across his knees. He pulled her and settled her to suit himself. She didn’t resist. It had been her decision to defy him. It was now her decision to take her punishment.

  She understood. He’d gone easy on her before. However, this was the moment of her real surrender to him. She’d lost her centre of gravity; it felt like being precariously balanced. But he wrapped one leg around her ankles. He held her shoulders with one arm. “I’ve got you.”

  She felt herself melt, go even limper within his hold.

  He ran his large hand over her buttocks. “God, I missed your gorgeous arse.”

  Air rushed over her flesh. Followed by the sharp crack his hand. Pain bloomed in its wake. Mercy, he hadn’t been jesting. It was real punishment. Painful desire exploded within her as the shock jostled the silver balls. He struck again. And again. Each time, he struck a new spot, even the crease between her bottom and her upper thighs. Ten times he laid his hand upon her and then he stopped.

  She pressed her face to his leg and burst into tears. She ought to have been mortified. But she wasn’t. Her arse burned like fire and it was safe to cry over it. Here alone with him.

  He kept silent, caressing her back and her hair until her sobs abated.

  “Nan, do you know why it had to be this severe?” His deep, firm voice seemed to come from a distance, somewhere beyond the blood rushing in her ears. “Because you disobeyed an order that had to do with your personal safety. And because you didn’t trust me. You must trust me when I tell you something is important to your wellbeing and safety. Do you understand?”

  She sniffed and gulped, “Yes.”

  “I imagine you’ll have cause to remember my words during the ride tomorrow. Do you think you can stand now?”

  She sniffed again and nodded.

  He eased her off his lap then supported her as she stood. He caressed her face with his eyes. “You’re a good girl, Nan. I don’t think this will be a frequent occurrence.”

  She wiped at her eyes with her arm. “No, it won’t.”

  It wouldn’t be, because she knew how much he wanted her voluntary submission and obedience.

  “Sit on your heels on the floor and spread your legs,” he said.

  She instantly obeyed him.

  “Good girl, now let the balls come out and hand them to me.”

  She did as he bade with gladness. The orbs rolled out, pressing on her inflamed pleasure points with painful effect as they did. She winced. God, she never wanted to see the horrid little objects again. He sat them aside. “You can wash them later and return them to their pouch.”

  He reached out and touched her swollen folds. Her wetness was audible. “God, you’re soaked. I can’t wait to sink my cock into you.”

  He put two fingers inside her, his motions forceful, rough. She adored it, crying out with the relief of it, closing her eyes and shuddering all over as her inner muscles hugged his digits. He removed his fingers and she moaned in protest. Her empty cunt clenched and clenched and clenched. “Go and lay on the bed, on your stomach.”

  She could hear him undressing. Every inch of her body felt aflame. Ready for him. Ready for his cock, erect and huge. Her cunt contracted like mad with the eagerness to be filled by him. Possessed. Claimed for all time.

  He flung himself down on her and, his strong thighs straddling her hips, his weight pressing into the feather bed. He impaled her suddenly, savagely. She screamed, pure emotion and release. It felt good to be wild like this. It was safe to be wild like this.

  He thrust back and forth with a feverish, merciless hunger, filling her with a delicious, unbearable helplessness. Soon she panted, obsessed with one need and one need alone—to come for him. To come all over his cock. Her head thrashed wildly on the pillow, mindless words of love and desire spilling unheeded from her lips.

  He took hold of her hair and pulled her head back in those last moments before white-hot pleasure took her spiralling away.

  * * * *

  She came back to her senses to feel him massaging smoothing, cool oil into her burning buttocks. Between her legs, his semen seeped out slowly. There would be no going back now. She had no Greek sponges. There would be children and suddenly she couldn’t wait to feel his child quicken within her.

  “Are you all right, Anne?”

  She laughed softly. “I think so.”

  “When we meet your sister, you must keep your expectations realistic.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you, Anne? Are you even aware of what you expect?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I do not want to see you hurt by your own longings for family connection. Your sister has been raised by her nanny. She will be attached to her. She will also be frightened at times by all the unknowns here. She won’t know us. She may fear us. Resent us. We must give her space and time.”

  “Yes, of course, Jon, I understand perfectly.”

  He stopped massaging her and shortly she felt his lips upon her oiled flesh. “I know you do, love, but you’ve been hurt so much by life, I can’t bear to see you hurt over this matter.”

  Gently, he laid his cheek upon her still tender arse and they fell silent.

  Yet still something nagged at her. “Jon.”

  Again, he pressed his lips to oiled flesh. “Yes, love.”

  “Well…” She chewed her lip.

  He lifted his head. “Well what?”

  She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow with her hand under her cheek. “It’s this obedience thing. I want to renegotiate the terms.”

  “Do you?” He didn’t sound particularly surprised.

  “I cannot always be obedient. Not completely. Not all the time.”

  He laughed softly, tracing a fingertip over her nipple. “Of course you can’t. It would be most undignified for Lady Ruel. And of course we’ll negotiate it. We shall always negotiate everything, within reason. It was only non-negotiable for the time at the cottage. But you must always remember something, Nan.”

  “What?”

  “In our bedchamber, you shall always be my little wench.”

  And she wanted it no other way.

  New from Total-E-Bound Publishing:

  Alex’s Angel

  Natasha Blackthorne

  Released 27th February 2012

  Excerpt

  Prologue

  Philadelphia, PA

  August 1793

  A quarter to two in the afternoon. With her stomach knotting, Emily Eliot tore her eyes from the clock. She’d have to hurry, else Grandmother would get a megrim over her being out for longer than it took to walk to the baker’s and back. She hated making Grandmother ill.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  Emily’s heart echoed the rhythm of the printing presses as she drew up her courage. She took a deep breath and approached the man who was leaning so lazily against the worn walnut desk.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Sawyer. I’d like to discuss my book again.”

  He blinked several times, then grinned. He wasn’t too old or too ugly, but his reptilian smile repulsed her to the very pit of her soul. “Now, sweeting, I have explained it repeatedly—if you’d only be a little more agreeable with me, I’d look a little more favourably on this book of yours.”

  Her mouth fell open. What—had he just made an improper suggestion? After she had so patiently explained the last time that she was uninterested in—in… Well, in what he was interested in? He’d seemed like such a rational person. Why must he be so insensitive? She gaped at him.

  He peeled an orange with his ink-stained fingers, filling the air with a sharp citrus scent that mingled with the odours of paper dust and fresh ink. All the time he leered at her. Leered at her while she was here to see him on a matter of such importance.

  Crawling sensations tingled over her skin and she resisted the urge to shiver openly. She still wasn’
t used to dealing with men on her own and certainly not men who regarded her so salaciously. But for the sake of her mission, she’d have to press on. She wiped her sweating, shaking hands on her skirts and took a step closer.

  “Mr Sawyer, please don’t tease me. You said I might return in two months and ask if you had changed your mind about printing my book.”

  He lifted his sandy brows as he paused with an orange segment held to his red, overripe lips. “I believe that what I said was for you to wait at least two months before coming to pester me again.”

  Pester him? Pester him? How could he suggest that her work was so insignificant? It was only the most pressing issue facing the United States at the moment. Her book was a collection of stories telling the tales of some of the mariners from the Dauphin, a ship out of Philadelphia that had been captured by the Barbary Pirates in 1785.

  She’d had to wait so long already, for accomplishing this work had been no small feat under the watchful gaze of her grandmother. She owed a great debt to Mr Thomas Jefferson, the Secretary of State, who had answered her very first enquiry and generously supplied the names and addresses of the mariners’ relatives. Over the past two and a half years, through letters, she’d managed to interview the families of the captured men. She had also done detailed sketches of them, from their family’s descriptions. But gathering the information like that had taken so much time. More time than she could have imagined when she’d embarked on her course.

  Now it was taking every ounce of faith she possessed to persevere with trying to get her work distributed to the populace. All she lived for was getting her book printed, but she’d never imagined it would be like this. She’d been sure that the need for her work would ensure its rapid publication. Yet to her vast shock, she’d been rejected by every printer she’d contacted. “Well, Mr Sawyer, it is very hard to remain patient when I know that my book will bring a personal perspective that the people of the United States will no longer be able to ignore.”

  He stared back at her silently, blinking a few times. Had he even heard her? Didn’t he know it was rude to refuse to answer? Goodness. Writing letters had been a lot easier than facing printers in their shops. She straightened her spine.