by Chloe Harris
She jumped when she felt him pulling at the string as the jade spheres were removed from her core. She felt so empty all of a sudden. But she had no time to muse over that. She heard Reinier step back.
“You will try and remain as still and quiet as possible. If you cry out or move away, it will only add to your punishment. Is that clear?”
The tone he’d laid in his words made it crystal clear that he didn’t welcome defiance at this point. Its superior callousness made her cringe, and she felt herself nod reluctantly.
Good Lord, what had she agreed to?
“A nod isn’t good enough. Say you understand and accept, Lily. Say it and mean it.”
Emiline sucked in a ragged breath of air and held it as blind obedience battled with irate reason. Biting her lower lip, she let the air out of her lungs in one long, slow breath. She had promised. A bargain was a bargain.
“Oui, monsieur. I understand.”
“Now get a good grip on the edge of the saddle.”
She felt the soft touch of the crop that stung just a little. “That stroke had a strength of three. Two is less, four is more. The spanks can go up to ten. I expect you to call out a number that will indicate the strength of the next stroke. So, what strength shall it be, Lily?”
She hesitated. A quiver ran through her. It was part dread, part curiosity, and part anticipation. Emiline plucked up her courage and uttered a palsied, “Five.”
Holding her breath, she perceived the sibilant noise of the crop cutting through the air just before she felt the sting on her cheeks. It was much more prominent this time, but it tingled in its wake so it was still manageable. Maybe she should pick a higher number next?
“Seven.” She again held her breath, but this time she had difficulties not to cry out. It stung too much, never mind that the tingle that followed was quite delicious.
“Six,” she breathed, then jumped as the next stroke hit.
No. She shook her head, swallowing a low groan. “Five.” That was definitely her favorite.
“Five, you say? Very well, then. Spread your legs a little wider and try to relax. I think twenty-five should do.”
Was he joking? How could she relax? Widening her stance would only expose her more fully.
But something in his tone had changed and was now drenched with that ever-present deep, masculine purr that was infinitely arousing. Emiline felt herself comply. Her knuckles whitened on the leather and she waited. Her anticipation was unnerving.
Then it came. The crop sang in the air and landed on her soft skin with a cracking flick. That wasn’t the strength of five, she thought, and jumped when the sharp pain made her skin ripple. She closed her lips tightly, but a small sound still escaped at the sting of the crop across one cheek. It hurt. She bit her lower lip hard not to let out a whimper. She felt her skin pucker where the crop had landed.
But then…before she could process the feeling completely, the next came and the next, each one in a slightly different location than the one before, each one stinging, then leaving in its wake a strange, pulsating warmth like after a bee’s sting. Then the hurt mellowed even more and the resulting sensation…wasn’t unwelcome.
The air around them seemed to still and all sounds stopped but for the snap of the leather crop as it connected with her soft flesh again and again. Her senses sharpened. She could hear his breathing come harder, could taste his desire in the very air licking at her skin. She could see lonely straws littering the floor and would have even been able to count them, but the crop sang its dreadfully amazing song again.
When the leather came down on her skin her surroundings blurred, yet became clearer, the colors more intense with the sting on her backside turning into the sweetest tingling. The vague notion that he was speaking finally filtered through and she realized he was counting.
“Seventeen…eighteen…nineteen…”
The strokes came closer and closer to her core. Her grip tightened. Her breathing became more labored. She continued to toil to not move or cry out at each new sharp pain that rocked her body.
Little by little, Emiline began to realize that it wasn’t shock or discomfort, but it was her climbing desire that she struggled against. The pain had somehow become pleasurable, dissolving into smooth warmth that made her core weep with joy.
She couldn’t stop herself from moving against the saddle, anticipating each stroke now in desire, not dread—wanting it, afraid of it, and not understanding it all at the same time.
She tried to focus, to find her way out of the haze, but her head was light and her heartbeat was frantic as each new sting took her pleasure higher and higher. She could feel the wetness of her core bathing the leather of the saddle. Her head fell against the cantle and she could hear herself moan.
“Twenty-two…twenty-three…”
Suddenly, he paused. She couldn’t move, was too boneless to do anything. Her whole body was tingling. She didn’t know how much longer she could bear this. Nothing made sense, yet it all was so clear. She wanted him to stop. No, she wanted him to go on. What was happening to her?
His breath tickled the shell of her ear. “Come for me, Lily.” His low whisper wrested a groan from deep in her chest. “Come for me. Now.”
The crop sang through the air. Its melody was higher now, the slap on her skin earsplitting, but there was no pain. A tremor ran through her body; her secret muscles clenched. He’d given her an order.
Again, the crop whistled. She felt the air move against her skin under the swing. Emiline threw her head back. Leather touched her.
Slap.
She was lost, bucking against the saddle and crying out from deep in her throat, unable to stop herself. Her mind slipped free as she lost her grip. Her body convulsed; savage contractions rocked her pelvis and singed her secret muscles. She exploded into nothingness, floating in the sensations clouding her mind.
As if from far away, she heard herself sob in bliss as wave after blinding wave of her climax washed over and through her. The contractions turned erratic and her senses dulled.
She felt overwhelmed. How could she…? Why did she…? It didn’t make sense. She was weeping, both confused and desperate now that her body was coming down from its divine flight.
The next thing she was aware of was her dress back in place and she was cradled on her side on Reinier’s lap on the settee. She blinked to stop the tears that continued to well in her eyes. She gripped his neck and buried her face in his chest. His heart was racing under the soft fabric of his shirt. It beat against her cheek. She noticed he was fighting to calm his breathing.
“Don’t you see now, my beautiful Lily?” His words were a throaty, hoarse croak. “Relinquishing control doesn’t mean you’ve failed. Letting go at the right time is an act of true grace. It’s beautiful and powerful.” His arm, wrapped around her, tightened its grip and he was raining soft kisses on the top of her head.
Gradually his words sank in. Was it truly? Could she ever think that way? In that moment she didn’t know what to think, but she was honestly starting to believe it.
As Reinier held her, all he could think of was how she was perfect for this, made for this. It had never been this way before. He’d never felt quite so awed, powerful, mad with desire, touched, and he wasn’t sure what else. For just a moment, he let himself believe this was heaven, this was perfection—this was home. If she continued to open up to the possibilities, continued to take his instruction with such elegance and passion, then she’d see how wonderfully mated they were.
But then cold reality made sure he remembered where that kind of thinking could take him. He’d witnessed it firsthand. He knew it only led to weakness or madness or both, and he wouldn’t let her take him there. He was stronger than that.
Besides, the point was moot given the fact that she didn’t really want him. This was only a means to an end for her.
No, his first thoughts had been rash and unrealistic. This wasn’t anything special, just an amusing interlude. J
ust like the others, like so many others.
So, given that and the fact that his time was sadly limited, he resolved he’d best make the most of it, all of it. Now.
“I want you, Lily.”
She only mumbled something against his chest and held him tighter. His heart constricted for a second until his determination overshadowed it. “I have been waiting since the moment you stepped into the parlor yesterday to take what is mine and plunge myself into your sweetness. That wait is over. When I lift you up, I want you to stand on your knees on the cushion, facing the wall and gripping the back of the couch.”
She lifted her head and looked at him then. The wonder still held in the depths of her blue-green eyes made it obvious she was still too caught up in what had just happened to deny him.
If only…yes, if only she would look at him like that always.
But she wouldn’t.
No, he mustn’t do that to himself. He wouldn’t allow her to draw him in. She was nothing special. Not anymore. He knew her tricks and he wouldn’t fall for her.
That singular light in her eyes died when he lifted her, but she complied. Just as well. It helped him to find his focus; it helped him remember what this was all about. Indeed, he could have easily remedied that expression of hers by explaining the prudence of it. After all, the position he’d placed her in was for her benefit, because her admittedly very lovely backside would still be a little too sore to lay or sit on it at the moment. But he wouldn’t tell her.
He lifted her dress, resting the folds in the elegant dip at the small of her back. Besides, he thought while holding back a moan of pure adulation as he gently smoothed his hands over the marks he’d given her, there was nothing like admiring one’s own handiwork while one took their pleasure.
At his touch, goose bumps rose all over her creamed coffee skin. He continued to caress each and every fading line with one hand, trying to remember if he’d thought to bring some of that ointment he’d also purchased from the Chinese man who’d sold him the jade balls. He could look in his trunks later; he impatiently brushed the thought off and let his other hand work the buttons of his trousers. A low moan of relief escaped him when his cock sprang free from the confines of his clothing.
Reinier eased her legs farther apart and settled himself between them. One hand was braced against the wall trapping her while he positioned himself. Just gazing at her entrance for now, he saw and felt her whole body shudder when he barely touched her.
A wave of her liquid heat trickled over the head of his erection. He had done that to her. What a gorgeous sight this was.
It had all led to this. This was his alone and she wanted him to take it. He’d make sure she’d never ever think of wanting another man between those delicious legs again. Leaning forward, he kissed her temple. “Do try to remember this time, Lily, pleasure is not yours to take, but mine to give.”
Her quiet, lilting “yes” was lost in a loud moan that seemed to come from deep in her throat when he drove home in one quick motion.
The feel of her throbbing so tightly around his aching shaft took his breath away. It was everything he’d remembered and more. Placing his other hand on the wall as well, Reinier held still for the next moment, struggling to find his composure. This was his game to play.
He took a deep, fortifying breath and slid halfway out. Rolling his hips, he began moving slowly, easing in and out of her slick depths with controlled deliberation to draw out both their pleasure. He felt her heat, as it fluttered around him to adjust to his thickness stretching her. Stroking her to sensuous delight while the friction had burning, prickling waves of pleasure spread through his body and mind made him arch his hips a little faster, not much, just enough so that he slid into her even deeper than before.
Lily began to move then, too, thrusting against his withdrawal. She wanted more, was silently demanding her needs be met. How he loved that part. His mastery. His control. It was all in his hands alone. Reinier stopped, moving one hand to her soft, flat belly to hold her still against him.
Careful not to touch her heated backside too much when he leaned forward once again, he dragged the flat of his tongue across the shell of her ear. His breath teased the wet trail on her sensitive skin.
“Be a good girl, Lily, and don’t move.” Reinier put special emphasis on each word now. “I will give you what I think you need, as much as I think you need, at the pace I choose to give it.” Reinier simultaneously rolled his hips forward once, driving his shaft hard into her moist warmth to emphasize his point. “Is that clear?”
Stifling a moan, she froze in place and nodded quickly with a pleading whimper. This was true ecstasy, he thought, the purest and untainted of all power, where he would give and get everything in return.
His hand on her midriff moved to her smooth hip. Reinier rocked gently against her, heightening her enjoyment while each relentless thrust sent sparkly ripples of desire through him. His head spun. She felt so good, so hot and tight, and she was so wet, so wet for him. He became boneless, weightless; all that mattered was riding her, more, longer, harder.
Pleasure prickled through all of him and he began to move in earnest now. His thrusts roughened and deepened. Firm, long strokes went deep inside of her and sent friction battering through both of them.
She caught her breath and let her head fall forward, arching her body to his, thrusting her backside with its pink marks up to him. Reinier hummed male satisfaction in her ear when she moaned her own pleasure.
His hands clamped around her waist, holding her captive. He fought hard against his rising need for completion now, wanting what he had waited so long to have to never end. Whether having stayed away so long made him the wisest or most foolish of men he had no idea. The erotic surge of desire rushed through him, pooling, then building to become fiercer than anything he’d ever experienced before, a riptide of ecstasy coursing through him and numbing his mind.
Reinier’s thrusts intensified, got wild and abandoned, until he was pumping savagely, undulating his hips against her backside as they both cried out with each stroke.
Through the thick haze of lust covering his mind, he heard her pleading, “Please…please…I must…I can’t…”
“Oh, but you will,” he ground out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Not yet, Lily. Not yet.”
“Monsieur, monsieur, monsieur,” she repeated, breathless. Her litany sounded like a prayer, like a promise of surrender, and he couldn’t stop the wave from cresting. His consciousness began to fall apart under the fire they both nourished. “Yes, Lily, come for me now.”
Her scalding core spasmed around him and his own intense excitement grew like a torrent. He pumped inside her, pushing away sanity, pushing aside his control. Quickly, he pulled away to spray his seed against her perfectly rounded globes. He exploded, violent and intense, with a hoarse cry.
When he found his way out of the haze of his climax, he realized he’d leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the back of her neck. Her breathing was little more than shallow, rapid gasps; his was no more than hard and heavy gulps of air.
Their union had been perfect. She was perfect, so much so that he felt his eyes flood with tears he quickly blinked away.
God help him.
How arrogant he’d been to believe himself immune.
She was a siren and he was a complete fool. Still.
9
Just after sunset Emiline sat on the rose silk-padded stool by her dressing table. Her fingers played with the edge of her silk robe that matched the stool’s color while she watched her mother’s hammered brass and claw-footed tub being filled. Absently, she replayed their day in her head again and again.
When she and Reinier had returned to the house, he was as distant as ever. But before she could say anything, he suggested she take dinner up in her rooms and rest. At least he’d made it a suggestion and not an order.
At first she’d been relieved. Now she wasn’t so sure anymore.
All she’d been able to do ever since entering her rooms was think. Emiline was slowly coming to the realization that they would have ended up exactly where they had, no matter what either of them might have tried to do differently.
Well, maybe not in the tack room of the stables but together in some passionate way nonetheless.
There was something that seemed beyond their control; something that, for Emiline at least, drew her to him despite herself.
It had always been like that with the two of them, though. There had always been this fascination, this allure between them. At least she had always felt that way. Reinier had shown her a side of passion she’d have never believed existed outside her deepest, darkest dreams.
He had bewitched her once again, but this time it was only her body, not her mind. It was only a bargain and one she fully intended to go through with. If Reinier Barhydt had shown her anything by his example in the past four years, it was that one’s body and heart could operate completely independently.
“Almost ready, miss.” Justine’s familiar voice sent her thoughts fleeing like the chambermaids now scurrying to leave the room.
Emiline stood automatically so Justine could help her remove her robe.
“Lord!”
At Justine’s sharp gasp, Emiline turned to look over her shoulder, catching her own reflection in the full-length, filigreed dressing mirror. She was transfixed by the sight. Her skin seemed to glow, especially where faint and fading pink marks still decorated her skin from the backs of the thighs up to the small of her back. When her gaze travelled up even farther, she caught a look in her own eyes she couldn’t quite recognize. Her reflected expression seemed…proud.
Emiline was horrified by her own reaction. What had she become to feel proud of something that should be shameful?
“What has he done! Child, how could you!”
Justine’s words broke the mirror’s spell, and Emiline rushed to hide the marks by lowering herself into the steaming, welcoming water.
