by Debra Glass
His hands moved over her body, stopping to gently tug her nipples, to squeeze, to caress. Kitty gazed up at his face, realizing for the first time that he was more than just a handsome man. This beautiful god was her husband and a sense of possessiveness flooded her, surprising her. She welcomed his lips as they covered hers. As he slowly dragged his phallus in and out of her, he continued the assault on her mouth with the same deliberate intensity.
Kitty met each thrust, tilting her hips upward, writhing beneath him as her instincts cried for more.
“Patience, my sweet,” he murmured in her ear.
But the way his body shook told Kitty he struggled with patience himself. While the sensations she experienced were wonderful, the emotions roiling to the surface were frightening. Being with him like this, Kitty realized she was a willing participant in her own pleasure.
Then again, had she not always—always—bent for him when he commanded it, spread for him, submitted to him?
He dragged his mouth from hers and gazed into her eyes. Kitty stared back as the shocking realization washed over her that she had always been the one in control of her own pleasure. He had never dominated her. Not in the way she had thought.
She had always been a very enthusiastic contender in their games. She had even consented to their marriage and now that she understood it, everything had changed.
She cupped the hard line of his jaw and studied his face. His eyes were moist and the soft gray of a mourning dove. A lock of his hair stole forward to graze his forehead and she gently brushed it away. His expression was one of lust and admiration and Kitty wondered how she could not have seen this before.
Sudden passion consumed her and a wave of heat swarmed up her spine. Kitty hooked her legs around his and entwined her arms around his back to draw him down to her. The skin on his back was rough under her palms and she recalled the scars she had seen there. But this was not the time to dwell on past hurts. She could ask him about that later.
Their mouths fused again as he withdrew almost completely and then surged into her with such force her body was propelled up the bed.
Kitty’s concentration swirled downward, culminating in one magical spot inside her channel. Every time he dragged the head of his phallus against it, tremors swept through her. She writhed, following his thrusts to keep him on that one spot a fraction of a second longer.
Again and again. Faster and faster.
The muscles in her bottom burned with her movements and her mind flew back to the fierce spanking he had dealt her. Each skillful blow had been harder than and superior to the last, filling her with desire to have him embedded inside her. Chained and spread as she was, he could have easily slipped his cock in the hole where his finger had been just that morning.
Kitty envisioned it and suddenly her channel convulsed as violent spasms emanated from that spot inside her, rolling in waves throughout the rest of her body.
“That’s it, my sweet,” he whispered in her ear. “Milk my cock.”
And before the last spasm eddied away, Bram tensed. He pushed up hard inside her once and then again. A groan tore from his throat and Kitty opened her eyes to watch him rearing above her, his face contorted in ecstasy. When his eyes opened and his gaze found hers, Kitty realized something between them was different.
Breathless, she lay underneath him, overwhelmed with the desire to draw him down to her and kiss him. Instead she remained quite still, watching him. His eyes warmed as they moved over her, down to her breasts, to where they were connected.
“I want to keep you here in this room, in this sanctuary,” he said. “Here, no one can touch us, and here, I can teach you all the delights your body has to offer.”
It would be marvelously wonderful to stay here ensconced in virtual darkness and wrapped up in his arms, to forget about society, reputations, her secret life as Alistair Allenby…
A twinge of panic surged that she desperately needed to retrieve the letter she had hidden and have it posted before the defaming article she had written about her husband went to print, but it was dispelled by warms hands cupping and squeezing her breasts.
His mouth dropped to her ear. “I am still hard inside you.”
Kitty’s stomach tightened as he began to move restlessly inside her once more.
* * * * *
When Bram awakened her with a kiss sometime the next day, Kitty opened her eyes and snuggled more deeply into his warm embrace. She could have remained here but for the audible growling of her stomach.
Bram gave voice to a hoarse little laugh. “I was beginning to think you planned to sleep the entire morning away.”
Kitty’s cheeks heated when her eyes met her husband’s. The memory of yesterday would have seemed distant were it not for the delicious soreness between her legs. He had taken her over and over, sliding down between her legs to taste her and then returning to impale her. Twice during the night he had awakened her as he turned her onto her side and slid into her from behind.
Then, there had been no words. Only muffled moans and the drive to fulfill a deep-seated, primal need.
“Is your cunny raw?” he asked as his hand skimmed her hip and dipped to cup her mons.
She blushed even more. “Yes.”
“Then as much as I would love to plow into you right now, I will allow you to recuperate,” he said with a smile that twisted Kitty’s heart.
What was this sudden intimacy between them? To be certain, she had always found him handsome but now…
Now she was beginning to grow fond of him.
Would it be so terrible to be fond of one’s own husband? She swallowed thickly.
“Come,” he said as he sat and drew her up with him. “I will take you to your room.”
Kitty gasped. “Like this? Naked?”
He laughed and the sound was so rich and genuine, Kitty melted. He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, which was swollen from kissing him. “There are stairs leading to your chamber, my darling Kitty.”
He climbed off the bed and stood, obviously at ease with his nudity.
Kitty followed, relishing the chill on her bare flesh.
“This is our secret place, my pet,” he said, gazing hard into her eyes. “Speak of it to no one. Not even the servants.”
She nodded.
A wicked smile crept onto his face and he spun and strode to the shelf. When he returned, he held a long silver chain in the palm of his hand. “When you want to come here, all you need do is don this jewelry. It will be your unspoken invitation to me.”
She nodded again.
“Turn around and lift your hair,” he said and, as she complied with his request, he slipped the chain around her neck and fastened it so that it fit snugly around her throat. The chain was so long, it unfurled nearly to the floor. At first, Kitty feared it was a leash.
“Turn around and spread your legs,” he whispered.
The delicate chain swung against her buttocks as she turned. Bram reached between her thighs, grasped the chain and drew it up so that it rode between her folds. Kitty’s channel pulsed as she noticed the chain veered into a Y with a tiny clamp on each end.
Bram bent and took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking, nibbling, teasing it until it stood erect and diamond hard. But before Kitty could entangle her fingers in his hair to hold his mouth there, he fastened one of the clamps onto her nipple.
She cried out from the exquisite pleasure-pain as shards of desire circuited between her breast and her clitoris, and as he teased the other nipple, she looked down at the bauble and chain suspended from her breast.
After securing the second clamp, he stood back to admire his work.
Kitty shifted and the chain slid enticingly between her legs. Her eyes threatened to close as renewed and heady desire rolled through her in thick waves. She fought the urge to climb back onto the platform so he could spank her while her nipples were pinched deliciously with his jewelry.
“I thought you wo
uld enjoy that,” he said smugly. “Do you think you can wear this for me when you want me to join you here?”
“Yes.” She moaned the word. It felt so…wicked…she wanted to wear it all the time.
“I have other…devices I will ask you to wear from time to time, as well,” he said as he slipped his arm around her waist to lead her toward the wall. He patted her bottom. “Devices that will ready you to take me here.”
Now, do it now!
But disappointment surged as Bram moved away from her to find the latch that opened another secret door. Every step was breathtaking torture as the chain and clamps tugged on her nipples and the cool silver slid between her damp labia. Kitty wanted to bend over on the spot and let him take her like he had fucked the duchess. She wanted to give him access to the spot he had so recently threatened to invade, to see how it would feel to have his cock filling her there in the most taboo of places.
Somehow, she knew he was fully aware of the torment he was inflicting on her and she knew he would refuse her—for now.
When they reached the top of the winding staircase, he unfastened the clamps and then unhooked the chain from around her neck. Kitty pouted in protest as she cupped and squeezed her own breasts.
“There will be time for more later,” he said, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck as he slipped the chain into her hands. “Now it is time for you to eat breakfast and bathe. I will see you at tea.”
He gave her shoulders a squeeze before he disappeared down the narrow hallway. Kitty stared after him for a moment and then she reached for the handle of her door.
She was hardly prepared for what she saw in her chamber.
All her meager belongings were spread out and waiting for her instruction as to where they should be placed.
* * * * *
“My lord.”
Bram whirled to discover one of the servants coming toward him bearing a silver salver. “Yes?”
“This was discovered outside in the hedgerow.”
Bram’s gaze dropped to the envelope on the salver. His first reaction was to wave it away—but then he recalled how Kitty had run for the hedgerow. The envelope was addressed to a Mr. William Gray in care of The London Truth.
The London Truth was a society rag. What reason could Kitty have for sending a society newspaper a letter?
And then the thought occurred to Bram that she probably wanted to have their marriage reported as soon as possible in order to protect her reputation. A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slid the envelope into the pocket of his waistcoat. A reputation did not matter when one was the heir to a duchy—unless one had a wife whose reputation one wanted to protect.
Bram turned to walk away. “Thank you.”
The servant cleared his throat. “My lord, there is also a message from Willingham Hall.”
Bram’s eyes shot to the servant’s and he struggled to maintain his composure. No doubt the old duke had by now heard of Bram’s nuptials and intended to reprimand him for not marrying the woman of his choice. “You can send a message back to the duke for me,” Bram said flippantly. “I have legally wed—and have very thoroughly consummated the marriage.”
The servant’s expression did not change a fraction—but the title by which he referred to Bram did.
“Your Grace, the duke has died.”
Chapter Eight
After her bath, Kitty reread the note she had found amongst her belongings instructing her to keep what she wanted and discard the rest, but to be aware that a seamstress had been commissioned to make her an entire new wardrobe. The note was signed B.B.
Bram Barclay.
She brushed her thumb over the initials. Guilt flooded her that she had lied to him about her reason for trying to leave the estate. Her gaze swept the few crates that held her things. She had never possessed very many dresses and only two that were suitable for the season’s parties. Her shoes were in abysmal shape and in dire need of a cobbler. She had only four hats to her name and while she had taken great pride in the few items she possessed, they all seemed shabby in these opulent surroundings.
She pressed the vellum against her breast and sighed as she walked toward the window.
New fashions were a necessity for a woman in her present station but she felt terribly guilty about being the recipient of Bram’s goodwill when she had scathed him so thoroughly in her article.
Her stomach tensed when she recalled how tender he had been during the night. The intimacy between them had been obviously so much more than physical. Kitty had felt need in his touch—need that ran deeper than the desire to assuage one’s passion.
But why? Why would a man like Bram Barclay need anything or anyone?
Still, she regretted writing the letter now with all her heart.
She clenched her fists.
Where was that Alice? It had been at least an hour since Kitty had sent her out to search for the letter she had stashed in the hedgerow. That should have been ample time for Alice to find it and take it to the post office. Peering through the glass, she looked outside for her maid but did not see her. Where was she and why had she not yet returned with news the letter had been successfully posted?
Something was amiss.
Gathering her robe close, she began to pace. Was there still time to write another letter?
That would certainly be the most prudent thing to do. It would not hurt for her publisher to receive two letters instructing Allenby’s story be discarded.
Kitty rushed to the secretary and just as she was about to sit, Alice burst breathlessly through the servant entrance.
Kitty whirled. “Did you find it?”
“No ma’am,” Alice said. “But I have other important news.”
Fury welled. “The letter is important! Go and look again.”
“Ma’am, the Duke of Whitfield has died.”
Kitty stared at Alice’s wide eyes.
“The master has done rode out on his way to Willingham Hall to make the funeral arrangements,” Alice added.
Kitty could not shake the cobwebs from her head. She gaped, trying to absorb it. Bram’s father had died and Bram had departed for the family estate…without her.
He had not told her goodbye. Kitty’s heart twisted. “He must be in a terrible state,” she muttered. “I must go to him.”
“He left word that he would return as soon as possible and that you are to make yourself comfortable in your new home.”
Kitty shook her head. A good wife would never allow her husband to grieve alone. “No, pack my things. I shall go to him.”
* * * * *
Bram clenched his fists to keep his hands from visibly trembling as he followed his father’s staid old butler, Hobbes, up the stairs.
He had wished for, waited for, prayed for this moment his entire life and now that it was upon him, he felt once more like a frightened little boy cowering under the threat of the strap. A shudder tore through him at the memory of his mother’s helpless and frightened face. Bram had known even as a child that if he cried, his mother would intervene on his behalf, and then she too would face his father’s wrath.
The bastard.
The dead fucking bastard.
And even though Bram hated the man with a vengeance, it was as if some piece of him had died along with the scoundrel. He had grasped at hate and thoughts of revenge all his life and now, all that had suddenly vanished, leaving behind an aching, vacuous hollowness inside him.
He inhaled as they reached the top of the stairs. What if the old man was not really dead? What if this was just a cruel mistake? A trick.
Bram cleared his throat. Mourning drapes covered the mirrors. A black wreath had greeted him at the door. The duke was dead all right.
Hobbes pushed open the door to the duke’s chamber and Bram followed him inside. He had not intended to look upon the corpse but his eyes were magnetically drawn to the figure stretching the length of the bed. Try as he might, he could not tear his gaze away fr
om the waxen image of the man who looked so much like an older version of himself. Hands clasped, the duke appeared to be in a light sleep rather than a permanent one. In this state, he no longer looked like the fearful, raging bastard he had been in life. He seemed frail and almost pitiable.
Bram felt the muscles in his face twitch as he struggled to maintain his composure.
“Would you care to pay your respects in private, Your Grace?” the butler asked.
Bram never looked away from his father. Your Grace. The mention of the title finally seeped in that he was now the Duke of Whitfield. “No need.”
With years of experience, Hobbes was adept at hiding his obvious shock but Bram knew the old servant thought him as callous as his dead father.
“Send for the undertaker. The sooner we get him in the ground, the better,” Bram said coldly before he spun on his heel and left the room.
* * * * *
Kitty rushed down the stairs, followed by a bevy of servants carrying a trunk containing her things. Even if Bram was not ready to present her as his wife to the public, at least she could be there to support him.
She clutched her second letter to her publisher. Hopefully this one would arrive in time to put a halt to the foolish article she had written.
Mrs. Bush stood ramrod stiff at the bottom of the stairs.
Kitty lifted her chin, taking a small amount of pride in the fact that she was now a duchess.
“Might I inquire as to where you are going, Your Grace?” Mrs. Bush asked.
“To Willingham Hall,” Kitty replied.
Mrs. Bush sneered. “I see. The duke requested your presence then.”
Kitty’s lips parted slightly. The woman was trying to bait her still.
“Please pass on my condolences to the new duke,” Mrs. Bush said without a smidgeon of sincerity. “The circumstances under which his father died are tragic, to say the least.”
“Circumstances?” Kitty inquired.
“Forgive me,” Mrs. Bush said. “You were not aware the former duke died when he heard of your nuptials to his son?”
