Rival Desires

by Annabel Joseph

  “I didn’t know you’d heard that.”

  “I heard it. It sounded so lovely, I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Do you know, Ophelia, you’ve brought some heart to my life that I didn’t know was missing, and I’m grateful for that.”

  She sat back a little so she could face him, her blue eyes wide and sincere. “You’ve brought something to me, too. You’ve fallen in love with me for more than my talent and my voice. Your friend Lord Townsend professed to love me, but it was only because he saw me perform. Everyone always goes on about my talent, but I don’t think they see me standing there.” Her voice broke a little on the last words. “No, I don’t want to cry. It’s lovely to think that you care so much for me. I think we can be happy together, even though I hated you more than anything a few days ago.”

  “Goodness. I forgot to mention your brutal honesty in my enumeration of your lovable qualities.”

  “I will try to be sweeter,” she said, lying back upon the bed in a show of frustration. “It may take some time.”

  “And some trips across my knee.” He winked at her. “We’ll work all of that out.”

  “I think spankings will make me peevish, not sweeter,” she said, sitting up with another pout already in place. If only she knew how it affected him.

  “Spankings are essential to a successful marriage.” He rearranged his rising cock beneath his bed robe so his arousal wouldn’t be so obvious. “There’s a closeness that comes from lovingly administered discipline, particularly when we respect one another.”

  She tilted her head as if to argue, then thought better of it. Or maybe, deep down inside, she understood what he meant.

  “Speaking of which...” He stood from the bed and held out his hand for her. “If you’ve finished your dinner, I believe we ought to make a trip out to the Greek temple in the garden.”

  “Now? In the dark of night?”

  “It’s not so late. You’re due a spanking, so we might as well take advantage of the temple’s, er, atmospheric qualities. And available implements.”

  She frowned at his outstretched hand. “Why must I have a spanking when we’ve just been professing our love?”

  “Because you earned one, haven’t you? Remember your foray to the roof, when I thought you intended to fling yourself from the battlements? Remember when you pointed my own sword at me in my armory?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, over her lovely nipples, barely covered by the sheer nightgown she’d put on. “I think you’re too fond of spanking women.”

  “No, my dear. I’m too fond of spanking you.” He drew her from the bed and took her into her dressing room. “Come now, put on a cloak and some slippers.”

  Her eyes pleaded for mercy, but he saw curiosity there too. “You’re going to bind me to the whipping post?” she asked.

  He smothered a smile. “Perhaps, if you make a fuss. It’ll make it easier for you to stand still.”

  She bit her lip, mumbling beneath her breath, but she did fetch a cloak and slippers and pull them over her night clothes.

  “Once you spank me, my slate will be clean, yes?” she asked.

  “For now, until you’re naughty again.”

  She thought this over. “The problem is, spankings hurt, and I don’t want you to hurt me.”

  “We’ve been over this before. They hurt for a reason, but since you’ve been on your best behavior this evening, I may be kinder than I would have been.” He had a sudden burst of inspiration and gave her a rakish smile. “If it makes it easier, pretend I’m your kidnapper, and you’re being taken to the temple for punishment. You’ve been very rebellious and bad, and tried to escape, and now you’re to be tied up and made to regret it.”

  “I’m not sure that makes it any better,” she said in a soft voice, but he knew her body well enough by now to see that it had.

  * * * * *

  Ophelia held her hands where he showed her, gripping the whipping post just at the height of her shoulders. He buckled the cuffs about her wrist so they were too tight to escape from, but not so tight they hurt. His terse orders echoed off the marble walls, and the only light came from the pair of lanterns they’d brought from the house.

  Oh, why had she agreed to this? After dinner, civilized people sat in a parlor and talked, or gathered about the piano. They didn’t come to a dark sanctuary of erotic punishment, outfitted with chains, benches, and cuffs.

  You agreed to it because it’s exciting, even though it’s going to hurt.

  Wescott had made her strip off her nightgown, as he played the gruff kidnapper exacting his due for her disobedient escape attempt. She was going to be spanked, so she shouldn’t feel excited, not in that way, but she did. At least her fictional kidnapper did not present any ginger to force into her bottom. He did, however, cross to a set of drawers and return with a supple leather strap affixed to a wooden handle.

  “I’ve not used this one yet. I suppose I’ve been saving it for a special occasion,” he said, forgetting to be the kidnapper for a moment. “You can let me know how it feels.”

  “I think it will feel awful.” Her voice quavered as she clung to the post, for the strap looked like too much of an implement. “You will make me afraid of you again, if you aren’t careful.”

  He stopped and hugged her from behind, pressing his cheek to hers. “Don’t dare be afraid of me. I’ll never give you more of a spanking than you can bear.”

  She tried not to feel afraid, but she wondered if his idea of what she could bear was the same as hers. She pushed her bare bottom back against his front, and noted he was quite aroused by her predicament.

  “Please, just get on with it,” she said.

  In answer, her husband slid a hand down between her legs and teased her sensitive center, delaying in a most wonderful way. “Oh goodness, oh goodness,” she whispered. “Are you sure what we’re doing is proper for married couples?”

  He nibbled her earlobe, adding a new layer to her excitement. “It’s very proper. Now prepare yourself for your punishment, naughty girl.”

  When he stepped back, she missed his presence. Or perhaps she missed his protection, for now her bottom was exposed for spanking. She held to the post as the first blow of the strap landed. It stung awfully, propelling her onto her toes.

  “Ow, please!” She gasped. “Can’t you use your hand instead? The strap feels very hot and unpleasant.”

  She could swear he was holding back laughter. “I’ve hardly started with you. I’m only warming you up.”

  She gritted her teeth as the next blow came, then cried out. “Ouch. Owww.”

  “Shh.” He paused to place a finger over her lips. “I know you’re not the quiet type, but you mustn’t shriek and scream either. If you like, I can fashion a gag for you. That’s something a kidnapper might do.”

  “No, please. I’ll behave.”

  As her strapping continued, she spent half the time pretending to be a pitiful kidnap victim, and half the time marveling that her husband was so perverse, and that she was so perverse, to go along with him to this secret place.

  “Please,” she begged, when her bottom felt on fire. “Please use your hand instead.”

  “Like this?”

  He paused with the strap to pinch her nipples, stroke her hips, and squeeze her aching arse cheeks. She was helpless to avoid him, tied to the post, but she found she didn’t wish to. In fact, she feared she encouraged his lewd gropings, pressing into his hand when he molested her between the legs. With a groan, he dropped the strap on a nearby bench and poked her backside with his stiff member.

  “Untie me,” she said, her voice a lustful plea. What was he making of her? He was too skilled a lover. “Please untie me so you can push inside me.”

  “I think I would rather push inside you when you’re tied. How would you like that?”

  She hadn’t thought such a thing was possible. “Won’t we lie on the bench? We must lie down, yes?”

  He answered her question by lifting
her hips and settling her upon his shaft. As he supported her, he slid deep inside her, eased by her welcoming wetness.

  “I did not...” She gasped as he withdrew and thrust within her again. “I didn’t think it was possible to make love this way.”

  “There are as many ways to make love as your imagination allows,” he said, pausing to plant a tender kiss upon her lips. “Does it feel good, Ophelia? Shall I go harder, so your toes lift from the floor?”

  “Per— Perhaps. Oh, that feels very naughty,” she said when he complied. Naughty, but she loved the way it made her feel. She braced against the hard pole at her front, while an equally hard pole drove deep within her, making her lose a bit of her civility. Soon she was pressing upon him like a wanton tart and begging for more when he teased the aching spot between her thighs. It didn’t feel like a punishment anymore, even though her bottom still tingled from the strapping.

  As her arousal reached a fever peak, she clung to the whipping post, lost in sensuality and the scents and sounds of her husband groaning behind her. When she came off, her whole body trembled with uncontrolled pulsations of pleasure. Wescott reached his crisis just after she did, his groan deepening to a very wild-sounding growl. They’d fornicated like animals, really, but she could not be sorry for it.

  “Oh, Ophelia,” he said, circling his fingers about her bound wrists. “I’m not sure if that was a punishment or a reward.”

  “I think it was a little bit of both.”

  He still fondled her, touching her in all her most private places. The lantern’s light flickered off the walls as she leaned into his caresses. She curled her hands into fists and tugged at the cuffs, thinking how exciting it felt to be bound and powerless. Well, with her husband anyway. He’d told her it was proper for married people to do such things together, and she would trust his word, even if she felt a bit embarrassed as he untied her hands.

  “I like that you are braver now,” he said, in between kissing each of her fingers. “I like it better when you are not so afraid.”

  She watched as he cradled her hands and thought how confusing marriage was. She still didn’t know him well...their acquaintance barely spanned a few weeks. But as soon as he’d opened his heart to her, she felt a sense of connection she’d never felt to anyone else. Not her parents, her brother or sister, or any of the people she’d sung with in her short operatic career. Wescott’s father had told her that a good marriage would bring happiness beyond measure.

  “Do you think we will be happy?” she asked. “As happy as your parents one day?”

  “Of course we will.”

  His confidence used to rile her, but now it comforted her because she trusted him more. After one last passionate kiss, they fetched their cloaks and lanterns and stole back through the garden to the Abbey. Once they washed and put on fresh night clothes, they reconvened in her room.

  “Did you think your parents missed us at dinner and wondered why we never came down?” she asked.

  He stifled a laugh. “Probably not.”

  His smile made her remember the “spanking” she’d just received, and she blushed as they climbed beneath the covers. When he offered his arms, she moved into them and found the perfect spot within his embrace.

  “Please stay with me all night,” she said. “In case I have another nightmare.”

  “I’ll be happy to. I’m pleased you finally wish me to sleep beside you. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  He really was quite handsome, she thought. So much handsomer than she gave him credit for, when she was only looking at the things she’d lost. She felt the urge to sing again, but it was quiet in the bedroom, so she only hummed a very quiet melody. Man and wife, and wife and man.

  “I’ll find you some adventure,” he said, beneath the lilt of her song. “I’ve already put my mind to it, Lady Wescott.”

  She didn’t know what he meant, and she didn’t ask, for after the carnal events of the evening, she was already almost asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen: Kidnapped

  Wescott stayed awake long after his wife went limp in his arms. What a turn of events, that he could hold her so after a dreamlike evening of sensual activities. He’d left the Abbey in despair, worried his marriage might never function, and returned to find his wife not only open to a wedded relationship, but keen to enjoy it.

  Perhaps it was because he’d decided he must try to love her, or that she’d decided she must be braver. Perhaps it was his father’s meddling, or the longing effect of separation. Whatever had opened this connection between them, he was grateful, and he wanted to bask in these post-carnal moments in case she awakened like the old Ophelia and pushed him away.

  As he drifted in and out of sleep, he thought of her song, and the way she’d held up the sword like some woman warrior of yore. It came to him then, a place they might go adventuring, a wild, beautiful land where they could learn more about each other away from the strictures of English society. He roused himself long enough to send a note belowstairs, to prepare two carriages and a small retinue of servants for travel in the morning.

  After that, he slept very well, and was pleased that Ophelia woke in the same pleasant, accepting mood she’d been in the night before.

  “Good morning,” he said, brushing back her disordered blonde locks. Later, Rochelle would tame them into a smooth, elegant hairstyle, but now, her wispy messiness was just for him. “You slept well, I think. No nightmares?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t in three nights now. I think it’s because I’ve been trying to conquer my fears. I survived that fire—we both did. I’m trying to let go of all my bad feelings about it. Your sister Elizabeth told me that thoughts can be powerful.” She yawned, her fingers curled about his arm. “More powerful than any fire, anyway.”

  “My sister can be very thoughtful,” he agreed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Mostly better. My backside is a little sore.”

  Her impish blush sent heat right to his cock. No, no time for that, if they were to begin their adventure. Not only that, but she was probably still tender from the way he’d ridden her last night.

  “Ophelia.” He tried to focus on her eyes, rather than her lovely breasts, clearly visible beneath her sheer gown. “Would you like to go on an adventure?”

  “An adventure? Yes.” She didn’t take a moment to think about it. “Where will we go? What will we do?”

  “I had a thought of stealing you away to Cairwyn, my mother’s corner of Wales.”

  “Stealing me away?” Her expression grew even more animated. “Kidnapping me after all?”

  He thought of the lengths of rope he kept, just in case, in his dressing room. “Yes, kidnapping you and having my way with you whenever I please. If you’ll rise and dress, and pack for a fortnight’s adventuring upon the moors, we can leave at once. I mean, I can kidnap you at once.”

  “Oh, yes.” She paused in her excited flight from the bed. “What does one wear in Wales?”

  “Warm clothes, but nothing fancy. Rochelle will know what to pack.”

  His wife went to her dressing room to summon her maid, while Wescott lay back with satisfaction. He would need to pack too, but first he would think about how gorgeous Ophelia’s eyes looked when they were sparkling with elation. Love wasn’t such a complicated thing after all.

  When they were packed and ready to leave on their Welsh adventure, he presented the rope to Ophelia, and told her to hold out her hands.

  “Is this when the kidnapping starts?” she asked.

  He took her offered hands and held them together. “Perhaps.” He met her gaze. “Or perhaps it started that night I first swept you up onto my horse. I’m glad you’re being so trusting now.”

  “It’s because I know you won’t really hurt me.”

  No, he’d never hurt her, although he’d enjoy spanking her on regular occasions, for that had become one of the greatest pleasures in his life. Don’t think of that now, he told himself, o
r you’ll never get this “kidnapping” under way. He tied the rope securely about her wrists, then swept her into his arms.

  “Let the kidnapping commence,” he declared.

  “May I struggle a little?” his wife asked.

  “Of course. I think you’d better.”

  To his alarm—and amusement—she set up an impressive fuss, squirming and beating his chest with her bound hands. Rochelle stood by the door, trying, and failing, to hide a smile.

  “Help me,” said Ophelia. “The marquess is stealing me off to Wales.”

  “Yes, my lady,” said the servant, dropping a curtsey. “I believe it is so.”

  Wescott told her to stop struggling on the staircase, so they didn’t both tumble to their deaths, but once they were at the bottom, she put up another token fight. “My parents?” he asked a footman.

  “At luncheon in the dining room, my lord.”

  It was a testament to the Abbey’s servants, or his own imperfect reputation, that none of them expressed the slightest unease at their master kidnapping his trussed-up wife. He carried Ophelia into the dining room to find his parents chatting over a light lunch.

  “Good morning to you both,” he said in greeting.

  His father looked up and blinked at Ophelia’s bound hands, tilting his head. “Goodness,” he muttered to his wife. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  Wescott ignored that comment, and his mother’s pink blush. “I’m just letting you both know that I’m kidnapping Ophelia and spiriting her off to Wales.”

  His mother clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, Jack, what a capital idea.”

  He frowned at her. “Mama, this is supposed to be exciting and dangerous, so please pretend my wife is in mortal danger.”

  “Of course she is,” she agreed at once, pulling a sad face for Ophelia’s benefit. “You poor girl.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any point in resisting anymore,” his wife replied. “Wescott won’t relent.”