She closed her eyes as she heard the clinking of the metal chain - the one she recognized, the one that dug into her wrists and kept her bound and restricted so many times before. She hesitated as he pulled her wrists together in front of her stomach, wrapping the metal links tightly, the silver glinting in candlelight, bouncing off the edge of her gaze. Instead of erotic, the chain felt... heavy. Stifling; uncomfortable, and as love had thickened the air of their time together, it complicated the metallic matter. She cast her eyes down as he removed his belt, tempting her to gaze - but not just at the gorgeous body, but the face; she wanted to see care in his eyes; she wanted to see that she could trust him. But could she trust herself, if given that freedom?
He touched her, squeezed her; he tugged her dress higher, and nothing made her feel as high as when his hands felt along her sensitive flesh. His fingers taunted the bound woman's soft feminine folds; she spread her legs, but something still ached in the back of her head. She had wanted not captivity, but freedom - the freedom to choose; the freedom to submit. She wanted to be his - but she wanted to step into his world willingly; she wanted to bow because it felt so good to bow to him, to call him master; to reject the sin and the scandal and simply to embrace what she was - what he told her she was. He had been right.
"Please," she whispered as he moved close to kiss her lips, wolfish aggression in his every starved motion. "M... master, I want..."
"What do you want?" he asked her eagerly, his lips rolling along her jawline, until he spoke directly into her ear, letting her feel just how hard and tense he breathed in want for her body and her soul.
"I... please," she whimpered, rattling the chain at her wrists. "I don't want..." he grasped her chin, pulling her lips towards his own; their eyes locked, seized in shared desire, and in that moment he saw in her eyes what she needed; he knew. They saw deep into one another; she saw his deep and devoted love, beneath the layers of roguish roughness and sexual indulgence. She saw he had meant what he said - it had not just been another lie. She could see in the deep, brimming pools of black at the center of his gaze that inside him lay a soul begging for her, for the freedom she brought - for she could free him, the same as he would free her.
"The chain," she whimpered in a moan as his kisses ran along her neck. "I... please. Take it off. I want... I want to submit to you, without the chains. I want to be free," she said. She wanted to feel what it was to submit willingly - she wouldn't touch, even without the chains; she wouldn't look, even without the blindfold. She would give herself completely to him, just as she wanted in the darkest cage in the most secreted part of her throbbing, pumping heart. She felt the silvered links loosen, the fasteners freed; Lord Brighton tossed the chain to the other side of the room, and in feeling so unleashed, Isobel submitted. She breathed softly into the air, her back arching, her moans intense; she couldn't ever have imagined how much more intense it would feel to be his without the chains of lust or the chains of society constricting either of them. Enticed himself, Ellery began to absolutely worship his lover's skin, wave after wave after wanting wave of wild, kinetic kisses painting her along her chin, down her neck, to her throat, down her chest; and he did it with such aggression, but such care, lavishing love into every single press of the lips, as much as he did lust. She denied herself gripping him; she had to submit. She looked only at the canopy above the bed as he devoured her taste and her scent; she had to submit. And the more she fell into this consuming sensation of absolute willing submission, the more alive she felt; it had been what she had always wanted, and now freed, she began to cry out louder and louder.
His name on her lips, she couldn't control the things her body did; her screams grew loud enough that all of Norbury may very well have been able to hear, and each cry praised his name, full of utterly unfettered adulation. As she cried out for him, he stripped away the nightgown, until she laid again naked before him. She didn't watch, only felt; she closed her eyes, laid her arms against the bed and gave herself to him completely. His arms curled around her back and his bare body drew close, holding her tight as he ever had; his strong abs pressed to her pretty, trim stomach as she felt him push into her with a deep, powerful passion she hadn't felt, not in all their time together. Freed of their constraints in and out of the bedroom, he split her and filled her with something ethereal; not just the lust of the flesh, but he truly made love to his submissive now, holding her down and filling her harder and harder as she quivered uncontrollably beneath him. With each thrust he kissed her deep, leaving a bitten trail of hunger across her cheeks, her chin, and her neck; he laboriously licked at the bruised spot burning on her neck, and it seared with a new and intense, passionate pleasure to feel the pain burst down her nerves. He had marked her long ago, but not until now had she truly been his - and he, hers to submit to.
She stood on the precipice of intense, climactic ecstasy when she felt him pull away from her; his stiffened shaft slipped free of her sleek and sweet depths, and her eyes grew wide, the sensation of emptiness leaving her gasping, pained for breath, as the denial of her release surged through every vein.
"Look at me, watch me," he demanded, hands running through her hair, squeezing her locks as he pulled her gaze in his direction. He stood naked before her, the first time she'd truly gotten to see all of him displayed so brazenly; he was everything she had dreamed he was, an intense, rapturous presence of a man with a body carved of marble, a dream from his strong shoulders to his broad chest, along his stout legs and the beautiful, pulsing erection he nursed for her, his hands gripping and jerking it hotly in front of her wanting eyes. She almost, almost reached out - almost grasped, almost begged for it, but his rules bound her - and they were the only thing she wanted to obey about all of this twisted world. She watched, though she couldn't stop her erratic breaths; her mewling whimpers, every tense sound she made as she absolutely writhed on the bed. He teased her so well with each flexing jerk and squeeze of his length that lightning struck along her nerves; her head, full of steam and lust and emotion, throbbed and she felt nearly ready to pass out from all the delicious stimulation. He pushed her down by her shoulder, looming closer, his manhood then pressed against her lip - but she didn't touch it, not with her fingers; not with her tongue. She watched, and the more she watched, the more he denied her, the hotter she got; she no longer felt wrong enjoying it, for she embraced the sensation of her body taunted.
"Do you want this?" he teased her. She nodded, keeping her answer silent, just as he liked it. She nodded furiously, and the more she nodded the more he pressed his throbbing cock against her mouth, until he pushed it between her lips, giving her the briefest, most sublime taste of him. She fell back against the bad, starved, shaking, panting; she felt her orgasm building so explosive inside of her chest, and she couldn't even bear to watch him tease her, or to listen to all those panting grunts of his as he pleased himself in front of her.
"How badly do you want this?" he taunted her, grasping his shaft and pressing its spasming tip against her feminine petals, teasing her bead with his head, a sensation that nearly made her erupt all on its own. "Speak," he demanded, "tell me - now - how badly do you want this?"
"Mmmn-more!" she exclaimed, barely able to form coherent words for him. "Mo... more!" she begged, pleaded, screaming for him when he re-entered her, releasing all those pent-up feelings and wants and filthy, sinful, freeing desires all at once. Her powerful climax gripped her body when he pumped himself hard between her slit, his thumb rolling along her clit, her hips arching out against him to take all of him in as she rode an unfathomable rapture over and over again, the sensation paralyzing her muscles and surging down every limb as her voice rattled in her throat. She felt him stiffen inside of her and just as she had completed her own heavenly finale he pumped into her folds and growled loud and passionate, filling her over and over again with his sweet, succulent release. Their bodies utterly used, abused and exhausted as their orgasmic, delicious release washed over each of them, she looked
into his eyes as they reached their beautiful apex together - and he looked into hers. They told a thousand sweet, lustful, loving stories together in those brief sinful seconds of perfect togetherness, and when it all ended he laid atop him love, her body still shaking and twitching with the remnants of something more erotic and powerful and gripping than she had ever felt in all of her life.
"E... Ellery, I... I've... never felt so..." she gasped, wrapping her arms around her panting lover's shoulders. He looked to her, their eyes close, their lips closer, as they shared a thousand little, sweet kisses, smattered between their exhausted gusts of breath.
"So free?..." he quipped. It was odd... jarring, even, but he was right. She had never submitted to anyone - but in finally doing so, she had actually felt more free - more herself, than she ever had in all of her life.
"Master..." she said the word, and even its faint mention brought a shudder along her spine. "You... you said before, in the dining hall, that you loved me..."
"I meant it," he comforted her with gentle kisses against her cheek.
"I could say the same, but I'm not certain it would mean as much," she admitted bashfully, her cheeks burning.
"You love me," he exhaled with a smirk on his dried, tired lips. The sun had by now fallen, and night encroached on two bodies beginning to feel the effects of two long, emotionally-draining days. "...you love me. But do you trust me?"
"Do I trust you?..." she asked quizzically, the concept having never occurred to her. "...trust..."
"Love grows and dies as a flower, Isobel," he explained, "unless it has something more to it. Trust... trust is real. And with this..." he pressed his finger to her bruise, the pain like a trigger now - a trigger for him, all the memories she had of him; and of his sweet, perfect dominance of her. "With this, trust is just as important as love. Do you trust me?" She hadn't thought of it in those terms, but like so much he had elaborated on to her in their time together... it made so much sense. She fell loose beneath him, her eyes beginning to grow heavy.
"Yes," she admitted with a yawn.
"Yes what? Tell me," he sighed into her ear. "I command it," he added, though with a tone far more comforting than he had used before - far more adoring.
"I trust you, master," she said, closing her eyes, cloaked in satisfying bliss.
"Good," she heard him respond, his arms cradling her body as she drifted away towards halcyon dreams of him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next day began unforgiving, in the same manner that the previous day had begun, and when a loud rapping at the door roused Lady Duskwood from her sleep she thought for a moment that the previous night - of realizations, of tender love; of lust and of freedom, had all been only a particularly imaginative dream. Startled from sleep by the loud banging, Isobel stirred beneath the sheets, finding Lord Brighton already awake, an elegant robe atop his body. Groggy, Isobel nevertheless recognized the delicate, rhythmic patter against the door - Lilian had come to awake them. Terror surged through Isobel's body - she shouldn't be here, she knew, and she watched Lord Brighton scramble for a solution.
"M... m'lord, it's Lilian," a quaint voice squeaked, "there's a man here..." Isobel scrambled to find the gown she had worn the day before, throwing it over her head and wriggling in to it as Lord Brighton shuffled through his expansive closet for a proper garment. "It's the Duke, the man who visited prior - the Duke of Thrushmore, and he says he's here to speak to... to Lady Duskwood," Lilian added hesitantly. Isobel froze, watching the door, processing the words she'd just heard. He knew... what, and how? What did he know? Her body shook in silent terror, quietly trying to rationalize her presence here - in the lord's bedchamber. It had been a long meeting. He had let her sleep in his room, and had taken another room. Some excuse - any excuse, a lie to sate the old, blustering nuisance, who Isobel had hoped she would never have to see again. "M... m'lady? Are you in there?" Lilian added hesitantly.
"What is he requesting, Lilian?" Lord Brighton barked before Isobel could answer; she clasped her mouth shut with her palm, smoothing her dress down with her other palm. Lady Duskwood could sense the hesitation in Lilian's words, a startled silence falling before she worked up the courage to speak again.
"He... he's here to see Lady Duskwood," Lilian added.
"Where's Werner? He knows how to handle the old man," Lord Brighton responded, throwing on a jacket as he buttoned up a clean white shirt.
"Werner, well... he's argued quite... vocally, with the duke, but he's quite insistent, and... well, a few of the maidservants and I are worried," Lilian added. "We don't want him calling down any trouble on the staff." Ellery sighed.
"I'll have him gone," Lord Brighton grunted, "the old, poor bastard's probably here to—"
"No," Isobel announced, her voice solid. "There's no need for you to speak to him on my behalf, Ellery. I'll handle the Duke of Thrushmore myself." Stunned, Lord Brighton shook his head.
"...No, that'd be an awful idea, love," Ellery chuckled quietly. "He's—"
"An awful idea? That's rather rude of you," Isobel stated confidently.
"Isobel, dearest, you'll certainly only exacerbate troubles for us in this situation. He'll be off smiling and doddering along, only to return and plague us again next fortnight," Lord Brighton said.
"No. Not this time. I need to confront him - myself," she said, all the inhibitions that would've hamstrung her falling away. Isobel had been freed last night, by his love - and her own love. She wouldn't let those chains shackle her any longer - and when she shared a long look with Lord Brighton, he began to understand. She wanted to be free. He offered her a shallow smile.
"...Okay, then, love," Ellery nodded. As Isobel spun towards the door in her messy nightgown with her messy hair, ready to face this messy situation with aplomb, Ellery grasped her; she whimpered in pleasure as he kissed her deeply, and she could feel how sated, how pleased he was to see her absorbed into the same freedom that he savored... and perhaps, with that, he hoped she could free him from his own shackles. She held on to the kiss for as long as she could, letting her thoughts fall back into them, together - and away from the stresses that had brought them together, away from the world outside. She fell hard back into reality when she heard a bellowing shout, which she knew to be old Eugenius's voice, echo in a muffle through the halls of the estate. She collected herself as best she could - though she still looked a beastly mess, it mattered little to the new woman who now emerged from Lord Brighton's bedchambers, head high as she moved gracefully and with purpose past quiet and stunned Lilian, who waited in the hall for a response.
"M'lady, I didn't—did you—" Lilian gulped, eyes wide. Isobel gave her a simple glance, and a smile; that's all it took. She passed the shocked maidservant, descending the stairwell, into a chaotic clash between gangly old Werner and gangly old Eugenius, who barked unceremoniously at the aged butler.
"I'll not request again that you vacate our premises, before fetching the constable," Werner rumbled.
"How dare you threaten me! You—ah, so she is here after all," Lord Eugenius Miller crowed; he came into Isobel's view wearing one of his oversized suits, with shoes lifting him tall, his bald head glistening as fire burned in his deeply sunken eyes. "I had a feeling I'd find you here, Lady Duskwood, and perhaps also had a mind that you might be clad in such peculiar evening dress," the Duke of Thrushmore growled, insinuation thick in his boastful and arrogant words. "I'd call it a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but now is not quite the time for pleasantries, but for haste."
"Haste? M'lord, perhaps you're right - as from what I hear Werner say, he's quite ready to fetch the constable. So perhaps you should listen to him with haste, yes?" Lady Duskwood said, her woods dripping with sarcastic confidence. At first shocked by her impetuousness, Lord Miller's ire rose, and she could see his old, wizened face begin to scrunch and burn red.
"Perhaps all this time you've spent 'negotiating' business with Lord Brighton has made you as impudent as he. Your father w
ould be ashamed," the duke said with derision in his tone.
"Ashamed, would he? Perhaps as ashamed as he was to be associated with you, m'lord? Or tell me, was there another reason he refused to take on debts from you, you impious, perverted, lying toad?" Lady Duskwood spoke coldly, and with each word Lord Miller grew angrier.
"If you hope at all to salvage what little remains of your family name in northern England, m'lady, you'll accompany me away from this estate - right now," Eugenius seethed through gritted teeth. "I'll not offer my hand in solving this problem again, and so I'd suggest if you listen to me, now."
"Problem? What problem is that?" Isobel asked, full of derisive fax-innocence.
"The problem hanging over your head - and not just debt, young lady," the duke growled, smiling full of evil, as if he felt confident he now had the upper hand. Isobel's confidence sunk, her heart beat hard.
"What do you think you have over me, Eugenius?" Isobel asked, her voice quavering.
"It's not what I think, it's what I know," Lord Miller's evil grin grew wider. The door behind him creaked open, drawing Isobel's surprised eyes; through the beams of sun pouring in she was nearly blinded by the flash of light; Lady Maryweather, accompanied by her chauffeur Arthur, the ghastly man in the black suit and hat, with hair like soiled straw. Isobel's heart pounded hard; she heard Werner behind her begin to rave at the woman and her driver, but she couldn't make out the words; the whole world fell painfully silent around her, just as it had been on that terrifying night alone. She watched Lady Maryweather, eyes wide in concern; the lady's empty eyes met Isobel's for a moment, and like Ellery, she felt that if she looked deep enough she'd fine hell itself.
Satisfying The Duke & Her Debts (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 1) Page 12
