As my palm finally comes to rest on her heated skin she is still. Her fingers are loose, no longer clasping her wrists. She is not quite asleep, but very nearly so.
I slip my fingers into the crease between her buttocks and seek out first her quim, then her clitoris. She parts her legs as I trace my fingers through her folds, her wetness coating them. I stroke the tip of her clitoris. She thrusts her hips up, her back arches in wanton invitation. I sink two fingers inside her, delivering three or four quick thrusts before withdrawing my hand and concentrating on her sensitive clit again.
I knew she is close to her climax, I can see it in the clenching of her buttocks and the eager thrusting of her hips. I can hear it in her breathy moans, and I can feel it in the quiver of her soft, swollen bud under my fingertip.
I use my free hand to thrust inside her again, the strokes long and slow, and never letting up on her plump clitoris until her body convulses in gasping, moaning delight. Her quim is spasming around my fingers, her clit throbbing. Her legs are spread wide and I lean over to see the delicate beauty of her sex, open and welcoming, begging to be fucked.
I intend to oblige her. But first…
As the shudders of her release die away I withdraw my fingers from her cunt to again explore that secret hollow between her clenching buttocks. This time I find her tight arse, the muscle there pursed in determined innocence. I circle it with my finger, spreading her own juices there. I press, not hard, but enough that she knows what I am about.
“Stefan, no, you cannot.”
I shift to rest my elbow on her back, a signal to her to remain still.
“Lift your bottom up for me. Let me see this.”
“You cannot mean to, I mean, not… there.”
“Yes, there. Show me.”
“I, I…”
“Tally, show me.” I continue to press my finger against the sphincter, and she relinquishes her inner struggle, relaxing enough to allow the tip to penetrate.
“Lift your bottom. I wish to see what I am doing.”
She is hesitant. I will insist, we both know that, but in the end it is not necessary. She does as I have instructed. I use my other hand to part her buttocks as I dip just the top of my middle finger in to her arse, as far as my first knuckle. Tally groans, her mortification no doubt complete. But she does not stop me. Nor does she protest again.
I withdraw my finger, then sink it into her again. My movements are slow and I know I am not hurting her. This is all about submission, my will over hers, her body accepting my demands. I continue to stroke in and out, each thrust shallow, gentle. She lies still, her arse slackening as her resistance ebbs away. Time for one last push of her limits.
“Tally, I want to continue with this, but if you ask me to stop, I will. Do you want me to stop, Tally?”
I wait, my finger maintaining the intimate intrusion as I allow her to mull over my request. I know she is not comfortable with what I am doing to her, I fully appreciate that she would prefer me to roll her onto her back and fuck her. But will she say that, or knowing what I want will she seek to please me?
“No, do not stop. I… it is alright.”
I smile to myself. It is indeed alright, and I intend to reward her beautiful submission. I apply my free hand to her clitoris, still swollen from her climax of moments earlier, and I rub.
“Ah, oh, Stefan, I… Oh.”
Tally’s release is swift, less intense than before, but all the sweeter for that.
God’s blood, she is exquisite.
Her gaze is still hazy, unfocused as I lift her from my lap and roll her onto her back. I spread her on my bed, her limbs outstretched in glorious abandon now, a far cry from her fearful trembling earlier. I watch her stretch languorously as I rid myself of my remaining clothing, then crawl alongside her.
“I want to be inside you.”
“Yes.” Her reply is a throaty whisper as she lifts her knees and spreads her thighs wide.
I position myself at her entrance and thrust hard. Her virgin arse benefited from my gentle side. That time is now spent. I drive my cock balls deep inside her, relishing her cry of almost-pain as I fill her tight cunt. I withdraw, then plunge into her once more. And again. Each stroke is long and fast, intended to give no quarter. She asks for none, lifting her legs further to hook her ankles over my shoulders.
So wanton. So absolutely perfect.
I pound into her, the walls of her channel squeezing around my rod as her arousal builds. So responsive, so demanding, her groans of pure pleasure echo around my chamber. Our chamber now. My own release will not be long. I slow my thrusts for a brief moment, just sufficient time to slip my hand between our bodies and attend to her clit with the pad of my thumb. It has the desired effect. Her back arches as she returns my thrusts, seeking the friction I am denying her. I pick up the pace again, fucking her mercilessly until she convulses around my cock.
I am but seconds behind her. My balls tighten and my cock gives one final leap as I drive it home. I hold still, her delectable body trapped, unresisting beneath mine as I pump my seed into her.
Chapter Eleven
It is full daylight, several hours since dawn I would say judging by the bright glow spearing through the window. I turn to my side, but I already know I am alone. Stefan’s side of the bed is empty, cool. He is long gone.
He did stress to his sons the strict requirement that they be ready to demonstrate their newly honed fighting skills soon after first light, so I assume he has gone down into the courtyard to drill them. It would not do for their mentor to be late, and I know Stefan well enough by now to be sure he will never be derelict in his duty.
I roll onto my back, gazing up at the curtains gathered into a rosette above me. I contemplate my new situation.
Stefan is a fine man, a loving father. He is handsome too, wickedly so. His skills in the bedchamber seem limitless. His people respect him, his keep is well protected, runs with an efficiency that does credit to all who dwell here, but owes most to its master. He sets the tone, the standards, and he enforces them.
I have been welcomed here, accepted. And this despite the astonishment this household must have experienced on learning the duke had wed again. At a word from their lord they just adapted, set another place at the top table, and continued on.
My husband is full of surprises, but perhaps the greatest of these has been the revelation of the tender father who lurks beneath that stern exterior. His sons respect and adore him, though with not a hint of fear that I could detect. He is firm with them yet patient and affectionate too, giving of his time.
More astonishing still was his kindness to his little ward. He was gentle and loving even when discipline was required, caring of her needs. If he can be so accepting of an adopted daughter, surely he would understand my own attachment to Sophia. Perhaps he would allow me to remain in contact with my stepdaughter, or even visit her on occasion. I appreciate he would not welcome the daughter of his enemy here, but he might permit me to go to Vienna.
I could ask him. Perhaps. Soon.
Stefan promised to be a stern but attentive husband to me, and thus far has fulfilled that undertaking. I find myself uncertain which facet of my husband I prefer, his sternness or his gentler brand of lust. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin. It may be that the harsh, demanding demeanour he adopts so often is a mask behind which lurks an inventive sensuality that takes my breath away.
The spanking he delivered last night was—incredible. It was glorious, like nothing I could have imagined. Even as he hurt me, I wanted more. Maybe not too much more, but my husband knew the exact moment to pull back. The effect brought back an almost forgotten memory from my childhood, of the cunning herbal concoction my nurse once used to counter the pain of a broken wrist when I tumbled down a stone stairway. I drifted into some inner mist, aware of everything, but it all seemed to be a long way away and I was detached from the pain. My muscles went to liquid, my bones to porridge. I lay there and, and I let
him do anything he wanted to me.
He shocked me when he insisted on exploring my most intimate places, but somehow it was alright even so. Because it was Stefan, and I know he will not harm me. I know, with absolute certainty, that whatever he asks of me I will do. I trust him. I want to please him.
I would not wish to disrupt the delicate balance that is between us now. I will wait for the right moment, then I will broach the matter of Sophia with him.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my musings. It opens and Berthe steps inside. She closes it behind her, then peers at me from across the room. She looks concerned.
“My lady, is there anything you need?”
I wriggle to a sitting position and shake my head. “I am fine for now, thank you. I was intending to rise quite soon though.”
“The duke left instructions you are not to be disturbed, madam. He informed me that you will be fatigued from your journey and should rest in bed awhile.”
“I see. That is kind of him, but…”
“He is most considerate, my lady. And handsome too.”
“Indeed. I…” I hesitate, wondering how to phrase my next question. I do not know her well, but I like Berthe and I know her to be a diligent lady’s maid, though at Hohenzollern her duties usually revolved around Princess Susanna and the more senior members of the household. “Berthe, it is pleasant to see you. But if I am not to be disturbed…?”
“I just wanted to see for myself that you are faring well, my lady. I have travelled with you, and with my lord and I am aware that he…” She draws a deep breath before ploughing on. “I know that he is stern, and I have heard the sounds of, of…”
Oh, dear lord, do all the servants know? What impression must they have of us? Of me?
“Berthe, I can assure you I am well. Very well. ‘Tis true my lord has an unorthodox approach, and as you say, he is somewhat demanding. But I am perfectly at ease with it.” Not entirely true perhaps, but I suspect I am on that journey. “I would ask that you not discuss this matter with the other servants.”
Berthe stiffens, her indignation apparent. “I would not, my lady. Never. I like the duke, he is a fine lord and I know how to keep my silence. I will respect your privacy. Karl is also aware of how matters stand, though he did not learn it from me.”
Yes, I suppose he would be. It is apparent that he and Stefan are close, though it surprises me that the manservant has discussed such a private matter with Berthe.
“You and Karl are friends then?”
Berthe’s healthy blush is sufficient to confirm the impression I had been forming. I am not the only female to emerge from Hohenzollern to find herself attracted to one of our conquerors.
“It is nothing, he is a foolish, rough sort, and altogether too ready to put his hands where they have no business to be.”
Ah, yes, Karl has much in common with the duke.
I hope Berthe is not unduly troubled by his attentions, though I will always harbour a certain fondness for Karl. His aid on the night of my capture and subsequent escape helped to save my life. I doubt Berthe will find a better man here. Apart from Stefan himself, of course, and he is mine.
I relax in his bed, now my bed also I hope, for he has said nothing of any separate chamber that I might occupy. But even as I stretch out here marvelling at my good fortune in attracting the notice of this wonderful man, I know I do not deserve it. My pleasure is marred by my guilt at having abandoned Sophia, however reluctant I was to do so. My happiness has come at a price, and I miss my darling girl so much. How long might I have to wait before I see her again? And when I do, will she still remember me? It would take but a few short months, and perhaps another kind mama to care for her, and I would be forgotten.
“My lady, what troubles you?”
I had momentarily forgotten Berthe’s presence as she moves quietly around the chamber picking up my discarded clothing from last night. She is my one remaining link with the past, the only other person here who knew Sophia and who might understand my sense of loss. I decide to confide in her.
“I am worried about Sophia. His grace tells me that she and the other children were sent to Vienna, to the emperor’s court. I just hope she is safe, and happy, but there is no way to discover her fate.”
“If the duke says she went to Vienna with the others, do you have cause to doubt that?”
“No, no, of course not. It is just that she is so little, so young to be alone among strangers.”
Berthe places the clothes she was folding on a chest and comes to sit on the edge of the bed. Her actions speak of a familiarity that may not be appropriate, but I need her quiet strength now. She takes my hand in hers.
“My lady, may I speak to you plainly?”
“Of course. Always.”
Her smile is rueful. “Perhaps not always, but today, yes. I know how much you loved Sophia. We all knew that, the lady’s maids and the ladies of the household. You spent all your spare time with her, you cared for her, you taught her to sew, and she was starting to learn her letters, was she not?”
I nod, viewing Berthe through the soft sheen of tears. Who will teach Sophia her letters now?
“You were her stepmama, and you did your duty to her for as long as you were able. You might even have escaped the castle when Hohenzollern fell, but you saw to her safety before your own. You owe her nothing more. Responsibility for Lady Sophia’s future lies in the hand of others now and you are not in a position to aid her. You have other concerns, a new family who require your love. In time you will have babes of your own, I am sure. I know you will not forget Sophia, but times have changed, for all of us. You must move on and seize the opportunities you now have.”
The tears fall unchecked. I know Berthe is right, her words are those of sound reason, good sense. She is practical to her core and she has my best interests at heart.
“If I cannot take care of her myself, I would wish for a kind and loving mama for her. I love her, so I can desire nothing less. But is it so wrong to wish it could have been me?”
“No, my lady. I do not believe it is wrong. But it is not to be, not now.”
“She is to be my secret then, just someone in my past not to be spoken of?”
“You could speak of her. You should. The duke would not take that amiss, I am sure. He is fond of children, he will understand.”
Will he? I hope so, I am just starting to dare to think he might, but I am not sure. He is fond of his own children, and of those he assumes responsibility for, where he feels an obligation. Sophia would be the orphaned child of a lord he despised. I did not tell Stefan about her before we left Hohenzollern because at that time I was so afraid of what would happen to her, to all of us, at the hands of the conquering army. That, coupled with Stefan’s animosity toward my late husband guaranteed my silence as I sought to protect her. Now, it may be too late.
Stefan has made it clear he expects me to devote my attention to the family here at Richtenholst, and of course I will do that. I will do it to please him, and because I am already drawn into my new home and all that entails. I need to show him that I have fully embraced my role as mama to his children before seeking his indulgence regarding a child who is no longer my responsibility and was never his.
I stiffen my resolve, manage a watery smile for Berthe and make up my mind. I will live in the present, and I will endeavour to let the past go. She is right about this. I must move on, I have no alternative.
“I will leave you for a little while, my lady. I believe one of the other maidservants is on her way to build the fire up, though I swear this room is already quite warm enough.” She glares at the flames roaring in the grate and shakes her head in disbelief. We were never so profligate with firewood at Hohenzollern, ‘tis true. “If you need anything just summon me. Or tell the servant when she arrives.”
She pats my hand one final time before she stands, straightens her heavy woollen skirts, and leaves me to consider her words.
My thoughts drift, inev
itably, to Clare. Poor frightened, insecure Clare, the tiny girl who Stefan adopted. Her story is a sad one, and has taken its toll. I promised my husband I would spend time with her this morning and I intend to honour my word.
I push my legs from under the furs. Instead of the usual chill of a winter’s morning, this chamber is pleasantly warm. Perhaps too warm, as Berthe observed. The fire must have been lit for a couple of hours at least and the chamber is cosy.
The door opens at that moment and a young maidservant enters carrying an armful of logs. Seeing me awake she tries to execute a curtsy, but the attempt is ill-fated. Several logs tumble to the floor and she juggles the rest. The outcome is precarious to say the least, and I scoot from the bed to relieve her of the remaining firewood.
“My lady, I am so sorry. No, please, there is no need for you to…”
I deposit the rescued logs beside the hearth and return to collect some of the stray pieces of wood scattered around the floor. The maid dumps her cargo beside the grate also and joins me. Together we retrieve the remaining logs and pile them by the fire ready for use.
“My apologies, your grace. I should not have been so clumsy. It was just, I did not expect you to be awake. And I tried to carry too many. I wanted to save a second trip down to the woodpile…”
“I understand, and it is of no matter. We have sufficient logs now, and I suspect it will be some while before we require more. Did you light the fire…?” I pause, trying to recall if I was introduced to this servant last night but if so I cannot remember her name. “I am sorry. Did we meet yesterday?”
The Conquered Brides Collection Page 33
