The Villain

by Victoria Vale

  She’d spent her entire night being as quiet and demure as possible, biting her tongue to keep from retorting to every rude remark that fell from Lady Stanley’s lips. She refused to cower anymore.

  His smile chilled her to the core, sending a tremor of dread down her spine.

  “But you are. You agreed to thirty days and nights, and until the sun rises at dawn, you still belong to me, little dove. Which is why I am going to make you pay for letting that simpering mama’s boy touch you. I am going to make you pay for letting him touch you, and lying to me about it.”

  Her boldness began to melt away as he spun her around and pushed her toward the bed, throwing her facedown upon the coverlet. She tried to stand, but he was on top of her in an instant, his fingers fisting in her hair and wrenching upward. Her back arched, and her scalp tingled, his breath tickling her ear as he pressed his mouth against it.

  “You were about to lie to me again,” he murmured. “So allow me to save you the trouble. I know he had his hands on you … that he kissed you … tried to help himself to what belongs to me. I can smell him on you. The little milksop is more perfumed than you are.”

  She closed her eyes and released a sigh of regret, cursing herself for a fool. Of course he had known.

  “I tried to fight him,” she whispered hoarsely, tears springing to her eyes. “But he would not take no for an answer.”

  Adam chuckled, the low rumble vibrating through her entire body. “Of course he wouldn’t. The idiot still thinks you’re his … that you are the same little girl he petted and kissed all those years ago.”

  She gasped when he released her hair, swiftly taking hold of the back of her gown and tearing it. It rent as if it were made of paper instead of satin, baring her naked back to him.

  “Did you like it when he kissed you, little dove?” he taunted, yanking her dress down her body to reveal her buttocks and stocking-clad legs. “Were his lips more pleasing than mine? Softer … gentler?”

  She gasped when he thrust a finger into her, not bothering to be gentle. But then, she did not need him to be, her cunt wet and ready for him. Squirming beneath him, she clenched the counterpane in both hands and held on, gritting her teeth to hold back a moan. His thick digit caressed her inner walls, slowly moving back and forth inside her.

  “Answer me,” he ground out, adding a second finger. “And do not lie to me again. Did you like it?”

  Her back arched, and her knees pulled beneath her body, raising her arse into the air and inviting him in deeper. She shamelessly rocked against his hand, seeking her pleasure, wordlessly begging for more.

  “N-No,” she whimpered, turning her head to rest it upon the bed, closing her eyes and surrendering to the moment.

  There was no use fighting him. She had long since learned that he would only work harder to break her if she did … and he would not be gentle about it.

  “I did not like it,” she added.

  “Why not?” he prodded, sliding his thumb between her lower lips and seeking out her clit while still steadily pumping three fingers in and out of her channel. “Why didn’t you like it?”

  She gasped, spreading her legs wider and undulating her hips, so close to spending, she could taste it.

  “He … he was too soft … too … gentle.”

  Adam growled, the sound low and ominous. She could not tell if it were a sound of approval or one of anger.

  “And you do not want soft or gentle, do you, little dove?” he urged, deepening his reach inside her, slamming his knuckles against her with each thrust.

  “No,” she replied, no longer caring what it meant for her to admit to that … what a wanton it made her.

  All she cared about was reaching the climax Adam held just out of reach, finding the sort of glorious ending only he could give her.

  “Is this what you want?”

  His question was her only warning before he withdrew his fingers from inside her, then cracked the palm of his opposite hand against one of her buttocks. Her skin stung at the point of impact, the strength of the blow knocking the wind from her. Parting her lips on a silent cry, she tightened her hold on the bedclothes.

  “Is it?” he urged, spanking her again, this time slapping her opposite cheek.

  This blow forced the air from her lungs, and it came out on a low moan. Her legs trembled beneath her, her inner channel clenching greedily with the echoes of her desperation.

  “Yes!” she screamed when he hit her again, harder this time … so hard, she toppled onto her stomach.

  He took hold of her hips and yanked her back into position.

  “I warned you my next punishment would not be so merciful, did I not?” he rasped, before smacking her three more times in rapid succession, these blows more powerful than the ones before them. “But you do not want me merciful, do you? You want me punishing, and cruel, because that is the sort of insatiable little tart you are, isn’t it? Answer me!”

  “Yes!” she cried breathlessly between blows. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  The pain in her buttocks dissipated into something else the more he struck her, the fire he lit upon her arse melting to combine with the heat of her desire.

  “He does not know you … he never can,” he panted out between ragged breaths, pausing in the midst of his punishment. “He would never appreciate you like this, little dove, at your most beautiful and vulnerable. That is why you ran off to London without marrying him … why you arrived at the age of four and twenty still a maiden. Isn’t it?”

  She nodded, the coverlet beneath her cheek damp from her tears. A sob tore from her chest as the truth came crashing down upon her, so heavy she could hardly breathe beneath its weight.

  “Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes … it’s true.”

  She closed her eyes and wept into the counterpane as he went back to spanking her. Sinking into the darkness, into a haze where only this feeling existed. She needed to escape her own thoughts—the truth that despite her accusations, she was the reason Robert was not her husband. She could have returned to Suffolk at any time, and he would have offered for her. She’d always known that. Instead, she’d hidden from him in London, knowing he could never give her the things she truly desired … the cravings she hid in the darkest corners of her heart and mind.

  When she spiraled back up out of the haze, he was positioning himself at her entrance, hands holding tight to her hips. She threw her head back and cried out when he entered her, the first brutal thrust triggering her climax. Her core clenched and spasmed around him, the echoes of it so powerful, she felt them as deep as her womb. Her lungs burned from the breath she held, unable to release it while he pounded into her, his pelvis smacking against her sore arse and his cock drilling into her relentlessly.

  Glancing at him over her shoulder, she found him lost in his own desire—eyes squeezed closed, lips parted as guttural groans spilled from within, the muscles in his abdomen bunching and flexing with each movement. His hair had come loose from its binding, falling over his shoulders and draping him in beautiful sable waves.

  Just as suddenly as he’d begun, he pulled out of her abruptly, wrenching a cry of dismay from her. He laughed, the sound both cruel and mocking as he strummed a finger down her spine.

  “Do not worry, little dove … I am far from being finished with you.”

  She gasped when his finger delved back into her channel before pulling out again. Then, he was probing her rear entrance, sending a fresh rush of heat and shame through her. He had never done this to her before … never violated this forbidden part of her by delving the tip of his finger inside.

  “Adam,” she whimpered, struggling against the need to protest and the desire to know where this would lead. “Wait.”

  “Mine,” he rasped, thrusting the finger wet with her juices in and out of her rear passage. “Every part of you, Daphne … all of it is mine.”

  She choked on a protest when he pulled his finger free, grasping her buttocks with both hands and spreading her wi
de.

  “Wait,” she gasped when the head of his cock touched her there, his tip seeming impossibly large against the little opening. “Adam … please …”

  He shifted against her with a groan, his cock nudging against the tight hole, sending lightning strikes of sensation through her entire being.

  “You know how I love it when you beg, little dove,” he moaned, pushing against her again, gaining an inch into her this time.

  The new sensation gave way to burning pain as he forced his way inside of her inch by slow inch, groaning and panting with each surge of his hips. She sobbed and clawed at the coverlet, clenching her teeth to try to muffle the sounds.

  “I can’t … it hurts … please,” she moaned, her words contradicting her body. Her knees spread wider, her back arching deeper as if to take him farther in, to take every inch of him.

  “You can,” he replied, his voice rough and tortured, as if he hovered on the same line between bliss and agony that she did. “Touch yourself, Daphne … breathe … relax.”

  She released a shaky breath while working a hand beneath her body, searching for her clit. When her fingers found it, she gasped, in reaction to both the pleasure it caused and the evidence of her own desire. She was absolutely drenched, her cunt wetter than she’d ever experienced.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he urged, slowly withdrawing a few inches and then plunging into her arse, his grip on her buttocks tight enough to leave fingerprints. “Let yourself feel … do not fight it.”

  She released another sob, this one combined with a sound of pleasure as she circled her fingers over her clit. Adam gave her more of his cock with each thrust, the burning sensation at odds with the pleasure exploding from where she touched her little bud of pleasure. Then, his pelvis came to rest against her arse, his entire cock lodged inside of her. She continued to breathe slowly, in and out, urging her body to unwind and accept him instead of fighting him.

  When he moved again, circling his hips against her, it sent a ripple of bliss to the tips of her fingers and toes, tearing a surprised moan from deep in her throat. He did it again and again, teaching her body a new pleasure, one that seemed ten times as intense as what she felt when he thrust inside her cunt.

  “Aye, little dove … that’s it … slip your fingers into your cunt … fuck yourself with them.”

  She did as he commanded, heightening the ecstasy to near unbearable limits. Yet, she persevered, steadily pumping two fingers in and out of her sheath while Adam fucked her arse, moving faster and faster with each stroke.

  “Goddamn it,” he groaned, his entire body trembling against hers. “Jesus-fucking-Christ … Daphne … Daphne …”

  His name on her lips, rough and ground out from between clenched teeth, sent her over the edge, and she shattered again, her screams reverberating off the walls. Her vision went black as her channel pulsated around her fingers, her body wracked with spasms so violent, she could not control them. She collapsed onto her stomach and Adam followed, his chest resting against her back as he pumped into her arse a few more times before spending with a tortured groan.

  He fell limp on top of her, resting there for a moment and panting in her ear. His hair fell around them, blanketing her in a cocoon of sable silk. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the oblivion, allowing her body to float in the blackness that filled her mind. It enveloped her like a warm blanket, dragging her into unconsciousness.

  She was not certain how long she remained that way, but when she came to, Adam was carrying her into the washroom. The candelabra resting on the washstand illuminated the shower bath, which he carried her to with long, sure strides.

  How could he stand after what they’d just shared? She felt as if she were half dead, let alone capable of standing on her own two feet.

  She tried to mumble something to that effect, but it came out unintelligible, slurred as if she were drunk.

  “I’ve got you,” he murmured, keeping his arms right around her as he rested her feet on the wooden bottom of the lower basin. “Hold on to me, little dove.”

  She wrapped her weak arms around him, resting her head against his chest. A moment later, water washed over them in a warm deluge, startling her back to full wakefulness. She gasped, raising her head as the water doused her head, the droplets splattering her face. It rinsed her clean, washing away Adam’s touch and his seed. His hands moved over her without lingering in any place overlong, helping the liquid remove the traces of him that could be washed away. The soap followed, a masculine-scented cake that reminded her of him. He used it on them both, somehow managing to get them both clean before rinsing them.

  Then, he was carrying her again. Laying her on the counterpane and toweling her off with clean linens. After that, he maneuvered her so he could remove the coverlet and rest her on the cool, dry sheets. Fanning her damp hair out on the pillow, he then laid his body over hers, gently parting her legs and lowering his hips between them.

  Despite having just had him, her body roared to life when his head kissed her entrance, his cock having surged back to life. She arched her back, clawing at his shoulders as he thrust into her, so slowly and gently that tears sprung to her eyes again. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder as he took her slowly. The throbbing soreness in her arse mingling blissfully with the pleasure he created in her sheath, his pelvis at the perfect angle to stimulate her clit with every stroke.

  “Ah, little dove,” he whispered, nibbling her ear and kissing her neck as if he were her lover instead of her tormentor. “If things were different … if you were someone else …”

  She moaned in response, unable to say with words that she knew what he meant … that she heard the things he did not say.

  “In the morning, I will let you go,” he groaned. “But not now … not tonight.”

  No … tonight, he was still the monster who had dragged her into his cave. And she was his little dove—ripped from her cage and clenched in the jaws of a beast.

  As climax swept over her once again, Daphne had no choice but to admit to herself she was exactly where she wished to be.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “ell, then … here we are.”

  Daphne pulled aside one of the carriage window curtains and stared at the unassuming stone facade of the building looming over her. Across the conveyance from her sat Niall, who had been tasked with returning her to London.

  Adam, apparently, could not have been bothered to even see her off.

  She had awakened in his bed alone, with no more than the lingering soreness in her buttocks and the scent of him clinging to her skin to offer proof of what had transpired the night before. Maeve had entered the room with a breakfast tray and a carriage dress draped over her arm … along with a chemise and corset.

  With the sunrise, Adam’s restriction against undergarments had been done away with. While she had eaten, draped in his shirt from the evening before, servants had come in and out of the washroom to fill the bathtub for her. Maeve had insisted upon a long soak to relax her for the journey back to London. She’d wondered if the maid somehow knew what Adam had done with her the night before. It almost felt as if it had been emblazoned across her face for the world to see.

  She had enjoyed the bath, soaking away the stiffness in her muscles—though Adam’s spanking and penetration of her arse could not be washed away with a single bath. She would likely feel the effects of that for at least another day.

  She had waited for him to appear while Maeve dressed and groomed her, turning her head at every sound, hoping for even a glimpse of him. With each passing minute, it had become more and more apparent she would not see him … perhaps not ever again.

  That had stung, knowing the words he’d uttered in the heat of the moment had meant nothing.

  If you were someone else …

  But she was not someone else. She was Lady Daphne Fairchild, and he had made sure to remind her that, in the harsh light of day, she meant nothing to him other than
a means to an end. He had achieved his revenge, and now, he was done with her.

  When Maeve had escorted her to the foyer of the palace, she had gazed mournfully into the music room, where the harp had been returned. She would miss the beautiful instrument most of all.

  They’d found the door to Adam’s study closed as they’d passed it, though the warm, red glow showing beneath the crack had told her he occupied the room. Tearing her gaze away from the imposing double doors, she had followed the maid to the front doors … where Niall had stood waiting for them, dressed for travel.

  “The Master has entrusted me with seein’ ye safely home,” he had said while reaching into his coat pocket. “And he has instructed me to give you this.”

  He’d retrieved an envelope stamped with the Hartmoor seal and thrust it toward her. She’d broken through the red wax and peeled open the envelope, hoping to find a note inside … a letter … some form of a good-bye.

  She’d found only a bank draft made out to her for the grand sum of thirty thousand pounds.

  The only thing he had ever promised her, delivered promptly before her departure.

  Lifting her chin, she had tucked the draft into the envelope, then slid it into the pocket of her carriage dress. She had not uttered so much as a word to the butler who seemed to hate her as much as Adam did. Not even a ‘thank you.’

  Niall had not seemed to mind, muttering a simple ‘let’s go,’ at her before exiting the palace. Maeve, however, had pulled her into a warm embrace.

  “I am going to miss you, my lady,” she had said, her voice heavy as if she fought back tears. “I had hoped … oh, well, it does not matter what I hoped. Do not mind me. Safe journey back to London.”

  Daphne had given the maid a sad smile, but said nothing else. She had not wanted to let on that she had hoped, too.

  The trip to London went by uneventfully, with not a word passing between her and Niall. What else was there to say? She had come to Dunnottar and served her purpose. Now, she would return home.

  But, where was home? She supposed she must discover where her brother, father, and mother lived now that they’d had to part with Fairchild House.