by Alyson Chase
“I don’t tolerate lies, Elizabeth. Not to me, and not to yourself.” Smacks rained down on both cheeks. She tried to escape. She thrashed against his hold. She tried to cover her bottom with her hands, but he batted them away and continued the spanking, relentless.
Each blow stung more. The heat on her bottom increased until her skin was on fire. She fought for what seemed like hours, against his control, against the desire she could feel trickling down her leg. So little in her life was in her control. She couldn’t stop her father. She couldn’t help her sister. The least she should be able to control was the sort of person she was, what she liked. She didn’t want to be the sort of person who enjoyed being tossed over a man’s knee. Why did she like this?
Nothing she said or did stopped his onslaught. Her flesh burned. Each stroke of his hand resonated deep inside of her, the vibrations making her clit tingle. Tension started to coil in her core, and she moaned.
The duke’s rough hand petted her cheeks, squeezed gently. “Now you’re ready for your punishment.” His soft voice reached into her clouded mind, and she realized his other hand no longer pinned her to his lap. She was draped over his leg, boneless. She didn’t know when, but at some point she had stopped fighting. “Now you’re ready,” he repeated.
“You ran into a storm, Elizabeth. You ran along the cliffs, in the slippery mud and rain. And you ran from my help, from me.” His hand continued to soothe the fire he had built inside her, rubbing her stinging bottom in calming circles. The heat, his touch, left her aching. Yearning for completion. “I protect what’s mine, and I expect you to protect what’s mine, as well. I expect you to take better care of yourself. Your disregard for your safety has consequences. Are you ready for your punishment?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She was starting to feel light-headed from hanging upside down. Light-headed and dizzy and coiled so tight with a swirl of dark emotions that she was ready to burst out of her skin. And she needed. God, she needed something. Something only her duke could give her.
His fingers trailed down between her cheeks and through her wet slit. She moaned again, too tired to hold anything in. He rubbed her desire onto her bottom. “Now we begin.”
She jerked when his hand slapped down before relaxing into it. Her mind focused on only one thing, the rhythmic strikes of his hand. Where before the spanking had been frenzied, irregular, now Montague established a pattern, rotating where he struck. Her back arched with each blow, her bottom reaching for that sweet pain. When she was in Montague’s hands, the chaos of her life fell away. There existed only the duke and her, pleasure and pain, actions and consequences.
Her sense of sound was the first thing to go. The room grew quiet, her ears shuttering out the slaps of skin on skin, the crackle of the fire. All she heard was the blood pounding in her head.
Her worries evaporated next. In that moment, her problems didn’t matter. Only the heat, and the pain, and the pleasure did. So relaxed, she couldn’t hold on to her fear and rage even if she’d wanted to. They, too, slipped off of her like a snake’s shed skin.
Sliding her eyes shut, she closed out the world. Her breathing slowed, and she sighed. She was blanketed in warmth, protected. She could no longer feel her limbs. They were weightless. The only thing anchoring her to the earth was Montague’s hand, thump, thump, thumping on her bottom.
The spanking increased in tempo, rousing her from her lethargy. Montague concentrated the blows on the spot where her bottom met her thigh, each strike sending a spark straight to her clit. Her core pulsed. There was no longer any pain. Only heat, and a desperate longing. She needed more.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”
The room was filled with the sounds of his hand meeting her flesh. Her body was all nerve endings. The rub of the linen of his trousers against her stomach. The abrasion of the wool against her palms as she clutched at the rug.
“You won’t run from me again, will you, Liz?”
“No, Montague. Please!” Her body coiled tighter, tighter. She couldn’t take it. She clawed at the carpet, bucked against his grip. She knew an exquisite moment, poised on a knife’s edge, pain flooding her system while a wave of pleasure battered against it.
It crashed, and Liz exploded in a million shards. She howled. Sobbing at the release, she clung to the duke when he turned her over and pulled her tight to his chest.
“Shh, my little bird,” he murmured. “Shh.” Tilting her head back, Montague gently kissed her eyes, her brow. He licked her tears away, and rubbed circles on her back until she quieted. “Do you understand now?” Montague trailed a finger across her cheek.
“Yes . . . and no.” She sighed. As the last of her orgasm faded away, so did her focus, her peace of mind. Trying to hold on to the feeling, she squirmed on his lap, rubbing her abused bottom against his trousers.
“Honesty at last.” He leaned down and captured her mouth. The kiss started sweet, grew intense. His cock pressed firmly against her naked bottom, and she pulled back, breathless. “Close your eyes,” he said, his voice a low growl. She obeyed without hesitation, and he lifted her in his muscled arms.
Raw silk met her back, caressed her hot bottom. She was scooted a bit, prodded into position, and her arms were raised above her head. The whisper of a kiss tickled the crease of her elbow. The flutter of his lips as he nibbled down her arm to her wrist sent chills racing down her spine. Wrapping her fingers around a wood joint of the headboard, he said, “Keep your hand here.”
“Why?”
“Shh. And keep those eyes closed.” Her other arm received the same treatment, kisses and caresses down its length until Montague placed her hand on the headboard. The bed shifted. He trailed his fingers down her right leg, lifted her ankle. Pressing a kiss to the sole of her foot, he stretched her leg wide.
Cool air drifted across her wet folds. She gulped a deep breath. His fingers, and mouth, had touched her center before, but she’d never felt so exposed to him as she did now. It made her feel wicked, wanton.
Powerful. He wanted her. And right now, only she could give her duke what he needed.
Picking up her other foot, Montague sank his teeth into the pad of her big toe before laying it down so her legs formed a wide vee. Liz loosed a startled laugh at the unexpected bite, the sound turning to a moan as the duke trailed his fingers along her inner thigh. Legs spread, hands gripping the headboard, she panted in anticipation.
All was silent for a minute, and her nerves rose. The bed shifted, and his body crawled up hers. His naked body. Montague had removed his trousers, and Liz fought the urge to open her eyes, examine him as fully as he did her. Patience, she told herself. She’d get her chance.
He kissed her roughly, his tongue demanding entry, taking what it wanted. But she wanted it, too. Her tongue met his, tentatively at first, then grew bolder, meeting him thrust for thrust. Her desire spiked, and she dropped her hands, needing to touch him.
He pressed them back to the headboard. “Open your eyes, Elizabeth. I want you to see what I’m going to do to you. And what you do to me.”
The first thing she saw was his sandy-colored head kissing its way down her body, pausing briefly to nip at the tip of each breast. As he moved, his cock dragged down her leg, heavy and hard. Her mouth watered at the drop of liquid that glistened at the head. She dug her nails into the wood. She wanted to touch him so badly, give back a little of what he gave her.
“Patience.” He kissed the top of her triangle. “When you put your pleasure in my hands”—another kiss, lower—“when you submit, I’ll give you everything.” He glanced up at her with a wicked smirk, and lowered his mouth.
The first swipe of his tongue had her back arching off the bed. The second made her legs thrash around his head. By the third she was mewling like a kitten.
“Montague, oh God, that feels so good.”
A thick finger pressed into her. “Elizabeth, when I’m inside of you”—another finger joined the first, stretching her, infla
ming her—“I think you should call me by my Christian name, don’t you? In fact”—his tongue snaked out and flitted across her clit—“I want you to scream my name. I want my name to be the only thing you can remember when you lose control.”
His fingers, scissoring in and out of her, his tongue lapping at her clit, quickly brought her to completion. Her orgasm rolled through her, like waves gently breaking on a shore. She smiled in contentment. Again, Marcus had taught her something new about her body. There was variety to her orgasms; they weren’t all raging infernos.
Crawling up her body, he held himself above her on straight arms. The gray afternoon light from his bedroom window barely illuminated one side of him while flickers of light from the fire danced upon the other. His arms and torso were chiseled, and a light brown thatch of hair dusted his chest. She arched up, hoping to feel that crisp hair against her breasts, but couldn’t reach.
Smiling, he leaned down and took a nipple in his hot mouth, lazily swirling his tongue around the hard peak. Her fingers gripped the headboard so hard she was sure she was denting the wood. “You were awfully quiet,” he said. “No screaming at all. I must work harder.”
He took her other nipple in his mouth and suckled. The feeling was exquisite. “God, you’re good at this.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. The thought of all the women he must have practiced on made her heart ache a little. He was a duke and she was a chambermaid. Nothing more could come of this than the pleasure of the moment.
The plush head of his cock prodded at her opening and she tensed, knowing her future was changing. Any hopes of a good marriage were ending. But then, those dreams had ended the day her sister was sent to Newgate.
Marcus released her nipple with an audible pop. Rearing back, he scooped his arms under her knees, pressed forward until her legs were spread wide and high. He settled back between her thighs and leaned in for a deep kiss. “I have a rule. I don’t sleep with my servants. It’s the height of bad taste.” He rocked against her, his erection sliding through her slick folds. “But as you’ve stated your intention to leave my service, I can fuck you as I please. Isn’t that so?”
Her breath came in quick bursts. “Yes.”
The crown of his cock nestled in her opening. He pushed in slowly, eased back. He pressed in a little farther before rocking back again. His eyes, gray as the squall outside the window, bore into hers, never releasing her gaze as he worked his way deeper. His girth stretched her deliciously, and she dug her heels into his back, trying to force him deeper. His hand at her hip stalled her efforts.
On his next surge, she felt pressure in her womb, a pinch. Marcus’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and his movements stilled. Lowering his head, he whispered in her ear, “My little bird, my Liz.” He nibbled at her lobe, swept his tongue around the shell. She moaned in delight. Who knew the ear was so sensitive? His teeth nipped at her lobe again, then bit down, hard.
“Marcus!” She tried to tug her ear free, and he thrust deep. She whimpered as something tore inside of her, stealing her breath.
Holding himself still, Marcus laved at the hurt on her ear. A hurt she realized had been a distraction.
“Shh. It only hurts that once, I promise. Shh.” His lips captured hers, the kiss deep, drugging. The ache at her core eased, leaving her feeling full, complete. She instinctively rocked her hips into his, urging him to continue.
His movements were slow to start, his pelvis grinding into hers at the end of each shallow thrust. She went liquid around him, and moaned softly. Marcus pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained inside her, before pounding back in. He started a bruising pace, each slide of pleasure ending with a delicious nip of pain when he hit bottom. She watched in a haze of lust as a bead of sweat rolled across his forehead, dripped onto her shoulder. The friction he was creating made her squirm beneath him. “Montague!”
“No. No. No,” he said with each thrust. “When I’m deep inside you, what do you call me?”
“Marcus.” It came out as a gasp. He planted a hand near her head, pulling her leg higher until her knee was near her chin. His next thrust tunneled deeper than she thought possible. Deeper than what her body was willing to accept. She bit her lip. “Marcus, no, it’s too much.” He drove in again, determination writ over his face. He didn’t give her a moment of reprieve, demanded she give him her all. Her body, her pain, her fears. Her fingers loosened their death grip and she sank into the bed.
The bite of pain of each thrust transformed into pleasure, and her whimpers turned into soft moans. Placing one hand under her bottom, he tilted her hips. His cock dragged against a new spot inside of her, one that had her gasping, wanting to crawl out of her skin.
“It’s not enough, Liz. I can’t get enough.” His grunts mingled with the wet slapping as their bodies met. “Open your eyes,” he ordered.
When had they drifted shut? She forced them apart, tried to focus on his face. The pleasure building inside of her, so deep this time, threatening to tear her apart, had her complete attention.
Her breaths came in short bursts; her head spun. Her internal muscles clamped around his thrusting cock.
“That’s it, Liz. Let go for me.”
He shifted up, the base of his cock dragging against her sensitive nub, and her world exploded. The shock waves rippled outward until the orgasm rippled from her toes to her fingers. He hammered into her, each drive prolonging the ecstasy until she couldn’t take it anymore. “Marcus!” She screamed it, just as he’d wanted, unable to say anything else.
He withdrew from her until his crown rested against her plump lips. His brows pulled in, and a look of uncertainty crossed his face. With a groan, he plunged deep and his pulsating cock released deep in her core. His eyes slid closed and a smile of deep satisfaction curved his lips. “My Liz,” he whispered, and collapsed on top of her.
Their breathing slowly returned to normal. Rubbing the small of his back, Liz enjoyed the weight pressing her into the mattress, and stared at the canopy above. The Duke of Montague was on top of her, still inside her. It had been the most amazing experience of her life, and she didn’t think she could ever regret it. But she didn’t see where she went from here. Even if it had just been money she was to steal from him betrayal now seemed out of the question. The duke didn’t only have her body. He now held a part of her heart.
Best to keep it as small a part as possible, she told herself. And never let him know.
Chapter Eighteen
Marcus drew one leg up onto his study’s desk, crossed the other over it. A cut-crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid rested in his lap, and he released a satisfied sigh. His body hummed. Relaxed, yet brimming with energy. He’d forgotten how good he felt after a night of fucking, it had been so long.
He took another sip of cognac, the smooth liquid sliding down his throat with a small burn. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten. Perhaps no other woman had made him feel so good.
Resting his head on the back of his chair, he stared at the ceiling, imagining the warm bundle of flesh snuggled in his bed above. After that first time, Marcus had cleaned the both of them up, then spent the rest of the evening exploring every inch of her, making love to her as gently as someone so inexperienced deserved.
Before taking her hard again.
Blood pooled in his groin at the memories of the night before. It would be a long time before he would be able to screw the woman out of his system. He didn’t know if he even wanted her out.
Marcus rubbed his jaw, scratchy beneath his fingers. Not wanting to wake Liz when he’d risen, he’d opted not to shave. His poor valet had been aghast. And slightly discomposed. He’d been pacing in the hall outside Marcus’s rooms instead of entering as usual. It was obvious the man didn’t know how to handle the situation of a woman in the duke’s bedchambers, and no wonder. It had never happened before.
Sighing, he gazed out the large bay window. The grass lining his drive was dark green from yesterday’s rain and the land looked
lush and cheerful.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Cheerful? Damn it, that was the right word even though he was a right sot for even thinking it. But that’s how he felt and that’s how the world looked. And he wanted to hold tight to the feeling. Which meant holding tight to Liz.
There were several cottages a short riding distance away that he could install her in. And he would buy a town house for her in London. There was no question that she would travel with him. For the immediate future he didn’t want to spend even one night apart from her. He inhaled deeply and smiled. Her scent was still in his nose. Christ, he had it bad. If only . . .
His feet thunked to the floor. Pushing to his feet, he stood by the window, staring but unseeing. If only she weren’t a maid. If only they could marry. He tossed back the rest of the cognac. No use thinking about that. Wondering about what might have been never made anyone happier. Of that he had firsthand knowledge.
Why can’t you have what you want? a little voice whispered. You’re a bloody duke, powerful enough to withstand scandal, to force acceptance of her. A sharp bark of laughter erupted from his throat. Being a duke wasn’t the solution; it was the problem. If he’d been a clerk, or an apple seller, he could have asked for her hand, lived a happy little life with her by his side. As duke, he wouldn’t be by her side. She would be in the wings. They would spend every second they could together, but never openly. A shadow companion.
He thought about his decision to release inside of her, not pull out and spill his seed on her stomach as he was accustomed. In the moment it had felt right. Primal. He’d wanted to mark her. Planting his seed within her still felt right. And if children came of their union they would have all of his love.
But not his acknowledgment. A shadow family.
The liquor turned bitter in his stomach. What kind of life was he asking Liz to lead? Being the mistress of a duke had to be better than a life of service. He clenched the empty tumbler. He would make sure her life was better.
