by Zoe Blake
“Tell me, little one. Why did you run this afternoon?”
“The…the dead bird…it sickened me.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Remember, my little bird. I punish liars and disobedient little girls.”
Corinne cringed.
“Why. Did. You. Run?”
“Because…I…I…”
Lucian had circled around the table and cornered her by the fireplace. She could feel the heat from the flames against the back of her knees.
He leaned in, placing his hands on the mantle, trapping her between his arms.
“Tell me.”
“I…know! I know! You only brought me there to teach me a lesson.”
Lucian pulled on one of her tight curls, his lips quirking as it bounced back into place. “And what was that lesson?”
“That I am your…your prey. You hunted me like the falcon hunted that poor duck.”
Corinne was having a difficult time focusing. His nearness was off-setting. The rich, sandalwood smell of him. The tight way his evening coat skimmed his strong shoulders. The suggestive glint in his dark eyes.
Lucian reached out and stroked her jaw with the tip of two fingers. His touch more searing than the fire that licked at her skin.
“You are my captured prey. My possession. My caged little bird.”
“Why? Why me?”
“Because I saw you and wanted you. Protected in that abbey, surrounded by nuns, you were not easy to obtain. A challenging hunt.”
He stepped closer. His hips crushing her skirts. Bending forward, he pressed the tip of his tongue at the base of her neck. Slowly licking upwards, tasting her. Reaching the shell of her ear, he gently bit down on the lobe.
“I do so enjoy the hunt,” he rasped against her flesh.
Corinne whimpered. His nearness. His touch. The heat from the fire. She felt light-headed and overwhelmed.
The moment was broken when several footmen entered with large silver-domed covered platters.
“Your Grace. This evening, Chef has prepared an arbroath smokie leek and courgette tart and a roasted loin of Balmoral venison accompanied by girolles sautéed in cream, butter and mint. There is, of course, also the roasted duck provided by your grace earlier this afternoon. For dessert there is an apricot crepe soufflé on the sideboard. Is everything to your grace’s satisfaction?”
“Yes, Anthony. We will serve ourselves this evening. Please extend my compliments to Chef.”
With a bow, the footmen departed.
She could not believe the luxurious feast laid out before them. After years at the abbey with food that was only to sustain, not delight, her time at Ebonhurst Castle had been wondrously filled with warm scones and preserves, all sorts of game, fish and fresh vegetables, but still that did not compare to what was displayed before her now. Her papa ate like a king!
“Come. It is time to dine.”
Lucian grasped her by the upper arm and led her to the table. Corinne was grateful for his strong grip, unsure of her own step.
He stood her by the chair to the right of the head of the table. Reaching past her shoulder, Lucian picked up the long, pink silk belt which was draped over the chair back.
Fingering the soft fabric, Lucian asked, “Do you know why a hood is placed over a falcon’s eyes?”
Corinne watched his long, tanned fingers as they stroked the silk belt. She swallowed nervously before answering, “No.”
“It is to prevent them from flying away before the command is given. You see, the falconer is in control of when the bird is allowed to flee his grasp.”
Her fingers played with the seed pearl buttons down the front of her dress, anything to distract from his hard, intent gaze and the dark double meaning behind his words.
“Close your eyes, little one.”
Corinne raised alarmed, jade green eyes to him.
“Do as you are told.”
She reluctantly closed her eyes and felt the cool fabric against her cheeks before he tied it securely behind her head.
Complete darkness.
She was even more vulnerable than ever in his presence. She could sense rather than hear him slowly circle her body.
Warm fingers grasped her upper arms from behind. His hands slowly slid down her arms till he had captured both her wrists behind her back. She could feel the rough scrape of rawhide as a leather strap was secured around her wrists.
“You remember the jesses which secured Artemis to my arm, don’t you, little one?” His light tone belied his actions.
Corinne bit her lip as she tested the binds on her wrists.
Once again she could sense his movement. With the bind across her eyes, she could focus on the other smells and sounds in the room. The salty, rich scent of roasted meat. The grass scent of mint. The dull, rhythmic sound of the clock on the mantle. The sound of his deep, even breath. The scent of sandalwood and brandy that always clung to him. The warm feel of his touch.
She could feel a tug on the bodice of her gown. Another tug. Then the slightest breath of air against her exposed flesh. He was slowly undoing the small pearl buttons down the front of her dress. Per his own instructions, she was never permitted any underthings beneath her garments, so as the sides of the bodice flapped open, the curves of her breasts were on full display. The sound of rending fabric. The scrap of lace that passed for a dress fell in tatters. She was left in only her stockings and ruffled short bloomers. Warm fingers slid beneath the waistband to caress her stomach. Corinne flinched and held her breath. The fingers pulled down. Her bloomers joined her dress on the floor.
Except for her stockings, she was naked and bound. Vulnerable. Exposed.
“Kneel.”
The one-word command held a wealth of sinister intentions for all its brevity.
Awkwardly, Corinne fell to one knee then bent the other, the movement difficult with her arms secured behind her back.
“Good girl. Now open your mouth.”
She whimpered as a tear stained the delicate silk covering her eyes. She knew what that command meant. She hated when Papa forced his cock in her mouth. It was frightening.
Her trembling lips slowly opened…slightly. Something creamy and rich was placed on her tongue. Corinne chewed the morsel. It was one of the girolles. Its earthy flavor filling her mouth as it blended with the warm cream.
“Does the taste of cream remind you of something?”
Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the taste of the bowl of cream Papa made her lick after crawling on the floor. Even more humiliating, the taste of his cream covered cock after he had forced it inside her mouth after taking her bottom.
“Well, little one?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“What does it remind you of?”
“Please don’t make me say it.”
“I’m waiting.”
“The eve when I was your kitten.”
“And?”
“And I took your…your cock in my mouth.”
“Do you like when Papa puts his cock in your mouth?”
Corinne shook her head no.
“That is a shame because I like it very much. In fact, I believe it would be a fitting punishment for your running away again today.”
Corinne’s heart beat faster. The last two times she had been forced to do this, her arms had been free so at least she could rest her hands against his thighs to pull back if necessary. She would have no such protection now.
“I’m sorry. I promise not to run away ever again. Don’t make me!”
Ignoring her apology, Lucian pulled his cock free from his trousers. His thick shaft already hard and ready for her warm, tight mouth.
“I will show pity on you, little one. Spread your thighs open nice and wide. If Papa does not find the sweet cream of your own arousal on your cunny, you will be spared.”
Once again, Corinne bit her lip in nervous mortification. She already knew her body was betraying her. There was just s
omething about his strong, tall presence. The way he commanded her obedience. Touched her. The sound of his voice. As much as she wanted to scream and rail at his debasing treatment…still…there was something torn and twisted deep in her soul that craved it.
She could hear the rustle of fabric as he crouched down in front of her. Two fingers reached out to caress her cunny along the seam.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I believe the lady doth protest too much,” he teased using a line from one of her favorite Shakespearean plays.
He stroked her lower lip with the same fingers. She could smell the musk of her own arousal.
“Lick your lip. Taste the proof of my power of you.”
Helpless to disobey, the tip of her tongue swept her lower lip, tasting her own body’s betrayal.
“Now. Open your mouth.”
Corinne did as she was told just as a tear escaped the silk bind and rolled down her soft cheek.
The large round head of his cock thrust past her lips. She could feel a pinch on her lower lip as it was smashed against her teeth at his rough entry. There was a tug on her curls as his strong fingers delved into her thick locks to grasp her head on either side. Applying steady pressure, he pushed her head forward, impaling her mouth on his cock.
She started to struggle as the wide shaft pressed further into her mouth towards the back of her throat.
Still the pressure of his hands on her head pushed her forward.
The bulbous tip touched the back of her throat, causing her to choke and gag.
He roughly pulled her head back but only for a moment before forcing her mouth forward again. This time, the head of his cock pushed into her throat. Her throat painfully spasmed around the intrusion. Her lips felt bruised and swollen as her jaw began to ache.
Tensing his grip on her hair, Lucian groaned as he began to move her head rapidly back and forth onto his cock. Forcing her to fuck him with her mouth.
Corinne pulled at her wrist binds as she desperately tried to breathe through her nose.
Still the assault on her mouth continued. Her head swam from lack of breath.
Then just as ruthlessly as it began, he pulled free.
Corinne gulped in great gasps of air.
Fingers dug into her arms as she was hauled upright. Next she felt the smooth cold surface of the table as she was bent over it.
He entered her swiftly and to the hilt.
She cried out as her cunny stretched to accommodate his girth.
Her back arched as her head was pulled back by her hair. The sharp bite of pain adding an edge to the pleasure the friction of his cock driving into her body was causing.
“Oh god! God!” she moaned.
This was nothing like the night he’d taken her maidenhead. The feel of his body thrusting into her own was transcendent.
Possessing her. Completely and fully.
“I’m your god now,” he growled as his cock pushed in so deep she could feel his hips connect with the lush curve of her bottom.
A guttural moan was all she could manage in response.
His hard shaft pounded into her delicate flesh. Corinne held her breath as a deep pressure began to build. It swirled about her stomach, tightening then loosening. Twisting and turning. Her body clenched around his cock as a warm burst of color and light exploded inside Corinne. She felt as though she were being carried away by the winds across the moor. Floating and tumbling.
Lucian released his grip on her hair only to grab her hips and force her back down onto her knees. Once again grabbing her hair, he forced her head back. Ripping off the eye binds, he said through clenched teeth, “I want to see your eyes as you swallow my cum.”
Fisting his cock, he tilted his own head back with a roar as he released into her waiting, open mouth. The cream coating her tongue and lips.
“That’s it, my little bird. Swallow my seed.”
A short time later, she sat as primly as a queen at his dining table. Her breasts bare.
Lucian had removed his dinner jacket and linen shirt. Using the shirt, he had cleaned them both up.
Corinne spared a glance at him under her lashes. Despite his own bare chest, he still looked every bit the aristocratic lord and master of his domain. She admired the hard angles and dips of his muscled and tanned body. He was so powerful, dominating everything in his path.
Despite releasing her wrists, he still insisted on feeding her. Like the heathen god she believed him to be, he ignored the silver and fed her with his own fingers. Tearing into the cooked flesh of the duck and slipping morsels between her lips. Once, a small bit of cream from the girolles dripped onto the top curve of her breast sliding down to cover her nipple.
“Allow me,” he offered with a charmed smile.
She watched in fascination as his dark head dipped to suckle at her breast, licking the cream from her skin. The sight and sensation sent a tingling shiver straight to her core.
Would she ever feel balanced and under control in his presence?
“It is time for dessert and I already know how I want to eat it,” said Lucian as he grabbed her by the waist and propped her up on the table, thighs open. Taking a sweep of the sticky, apricot preserves and clotted cream from the soufflé with three fingers, he decorated her smooth cunny with the confection. With a salacious wink, he lowered his head between her spread legs…ready to feast on his dessert.
Corinne had her answer.
Never.
Chapter 9
One month later.
“No nonsense from you today!” scolded Nanny.
Corinne buried her head deeper under the covers.
Nanny swept the comforting blanket away. Corinne turned on her side and balled up tightly with a moan.
“Honestly, child! What has gotten into you? Turn on your belly and lift up your nightgown, I need to take your temperature before your daily bottom cleansing.”
“Just let me sleep, Nanny,” came Corrine’s muffled response as she pushed her face into her pillow to block out the light.
“Someone is about to earn a punishment bead,” warned Nanny.
Corinne did not care. She felt wretched.
Nanny placed her hands on Corinne’s hips and forced her to turn onto her front.
Shaking the glass thermometer, she clucked and fussed. Instead of asking Corinne to hold her bottom cheeks open as usual, she spread them herself and inserted the thermometer deep.
Corinne shifted her hips and let out a disgruntled groan.
“Hush!”
After several moments, she pulled the glass rod free and stared at it with a frown.
Gently lowering Corinne’s nightgown over her body and tucking the blankets back around her slight form, Nanny then headed straight for the bell pull to summon a footman.
Anthony arrived within a few minutes, standing discretely in the hallway. The footman knew better than to enter the nursery without Nanny’s express permission.
“Take this note to his grace. Hurry.”
“Yes, Mrs. Canon.”
The footman hurried away to do her bidding.
Nanny turned her worried gaze back on the small form tucked in among the bed covers.
Lucian rushed into the nursery. Without sparing a glance for Nanny, he went straight to Corinne’s bed. Throwing back the covers, he scooped her into his arms.
Her eyes remained closed, letting out a small whimper as she lowered her head to his shoulder.
He could feel the heat radiate from her body through her thin shift.
Pushing the golden curls back from her forehead, he rested his palm against her skin. It was on fire.
“What was her temperature?” he asked Nanny without taking his eyes off Corinne.
“One-hundred and one, Your Grace. This came on with no warning. After you sent instructions you would be away yesterday eve, I let the child play out in the garden. She wanted to pick some wild flowers for your study to brighten it up a bit. Then I sent for a lovely meal for the two us in the nursery. The
lass was a bit disappointed at not being able to see you, Your Grace, and I wanted to cheer her up with some sugared pasties. She had a healthy appetite. After a small amount of playtime with her favorite dolls, I bustled her off to bed. She made no fuss or complaint and went straight to sleep.” Nanny prattled on as her hands twisted and worried the fabric of her apron. He knew the woman had grown quite fond of Corinne and was almost as worried about her as he was. Even minor fevers had a way of becoming dangerous…deadly even.
“Send a note to the stables to prepare Thunder. Then have Anthony ride him to the telegraph station. Send a telegraph to Dr. Simms in London. Tell him I require his presence at Ebonhurst immediately.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Nanny curtsied and rushed out of the room to do his bidding.
Lucian cradled Corinne close, kissing the top of her head.
“Don’t worry, little one, Papa’s here.”
“Get out before I have you thrown out!” roared Lucian.
“Your Grace, you must listen to reason. I tell you the body cannot possibly accommodate more than one illness at a time. Were we to blister the girl or perhaps bleed her with leeches, the body would naturally release its feverish hold and focus on those injuries,” stammered Dr. Fitzroy.
Lucian grabbed the doctor by the back of his neck and forcibly threw him into the hallway. Standing over the irate but prone man, he warned, “Go now before I decide to throw you down the stairs for good measure.”
When he returned to the room, Nanny was straightening up the table he had knocked over in his anger.
“Well now, that did not go at all well. Perhaps we should bring back the doctor who tried those nasty plasters with all the dead bits and moss in them? What was his name?”
“Dr. Johnson and I’d rather cut off my own arm before I let that charlatan near Corinne again,” said Lucian darkly as he poured himself a brandy.
“And we don’t want to try Dr. Simms’ purging remedy. That just seemed to weaken the poor girl even more.”
Five doctors. Five extremely unhelpful, offensive doctors. The best money could buy straight from London. Bleeding, purging, and blistering…each solution worse than the last. The only thing more terrifying than the cures were the diagnosis. Cholera…no it is rubella…no it is scarlet fever…no it is diphtheria…no it is typhus. One even insisted it was merely a woman’s complaint and that her womb must have wandered out of place inside her body and needed to be coaxed back into position with a sweet smelling poultice placed between her thighs…placed there by the doctor, of course. Lucian rubbed the knuckles of his right hand which were still a little swollen from the pummeling he had given that particular doctor.
