“Connie, I’m delighted to see you,” Malcolm said with a wide smile, rising to his feet and walking across to greet her.
“I’m very happy to see you too,” Connie replied. “My goodness, what a lovely room.”
“It’s relaxing, especially in winter, and it isn’t particularly large, so it warms quickly. My bedroom is right next door. Sometimes I come here if I can’t sleep, but enough about that. I’m sure you’d like some tea.”
“Yes, please.”
“Would you like me to stay and serve, sir?” Mrs. Melville asked, stepping forward.
“No, thank you. That will be all, and please make sure we’re not disturbed.”
“Of course, sir.”
As the housekeeper left, he followed her to close the door and turn the lock.
“Don’t be alarmed, Connie,” he said with a smile. “Sit down and help yourself to a sandwich or cake. I have some exciting news, but Connie, why are you looking at me like that?”
“Sorry,” she said quickly, realizing she was staring at him. “I wasn’t alarmed, not for a moment. It’s just...”
“Yes?” he asked, moving toward her. “What is it?”
“Forgive me,” she murmured, her brow crinkling, “but I cannot hold back.”
“I don’t want you to. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then...”
“I’m not a proper lady anymore; at least, I don’t feel like one. Malcolm, when I asked you to stay earlier, I meant it. You make me feel things, wonderful things. I want more, and I’m not ashamed to say it. If that makes me a bad woman, I don’t care. It’s how I feel.”
“My dearest Connie,” he murmured, taking her hands and holding them tightly, “it doesn’t make you bad in the least, and I never want you to hold back, not with me, not ever.”
He was standing inches from her, and as he released her fingers and moved his hands into her hair, her knees suddenly felt weak, and she thought she might faint.
“I’m going to kiss you, then you must have tea and a bite to eat. There’s something—”
“I don’t care about having tea and something to eat,” she interrupted breathlessly.
“But you’ve had nothing since breakfast.”
“I know, but I don’t care.”
“You’re not being difficult, are you?” he asked firmly, though his lips were curled in a grin. “Must I scold you?”
“I’m not sure it would make any difference,” she retorted, then taking a quick breath, she added, “but, uh if you were to, uh...”
“To what?”
“Nothing,” she said hastily, unable to summon the courage to suggest he smack her bottom. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
“Connie, Connie,” he murmured, shaking his head, “not if you don’t behave.”
“Then I will,” she said urgently, his remark making her tummy tumble. “Please, Malcolm, I can’t stand it one more minute.”
Chapter Eleven
As a rush of energy surged through Malcolm’s cock, the need in Connie’s sparkling eyes and her flushed face told him she too was in the grip of erotic heat. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he took hold, tugged back her head, and dropped his head to kiss her. But she suddenly flung her arms around him, pressed her body against his, and to his shock, thrust her tongue between his teeth.
The smoldering embers of their passionate fire ignited.
Relishing the feel of her breasts against his chest, he devoured her mouth, but as he heard her muffled moan, he caught himself.
She was vulnerable.
He could not—would not—take advantage.
“Connie, I can’t,” he panted, abruptly pulling back and cursing his good conscience.
“But why, Malcolm?” she whimpered breathlessly. “What happens if I’m run over by a carriage tomorrow?”
“That’s hardly likely. You won’t be leaving the house.”
“Then, uh, what if you’re run over by a carriage?”
Though his heart thundered, and he ached to rip off her clothes and throw her on the chaise lounge, the short exchange had allowed him to regain some composure.
“Believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to be with you,” he replied, wishing she hadn’t tasted so delicious, and her neck didn’t look so ravishingly kissable. “I ache to hold you, to send my lips across your naked skin, to listen to your moans of pleasure, but—”
“No, please,” she mewled, cutting him off. “I told you! I don’t care about society’s stupid rules. I know what’s right for me, and that’s being with you now! Not in an hour, or tomorrow, or next week, but at this very moment.”
“Connie, I understand, believe me, I do. You want to seize every opportunity at happiness. You’re afraid if you don’t it will be snatched from your grasp.”
She stared at him, but didn’t speak.
“Am I wrong?”
“Perhaps not,” she mumbled, “but you underestimate me. There is much more inside me than just the fear of missing out. There’s something between us, something amazing and wonderful. You feel it too, and don’t try to tell me I’m wrong. I may not be a woman of the world, but I know what my heart is saying.”
“Come with me,” he said softly, taking her hand and tightly wrapping his fingers around hers. “We need to sit down for a minute. After everything you’ve been through, it’s only natural you’re worried something might happen.”
“Malcolm! You’re not listening,” she retorted as they settled on the chaise lounge. “I want to be with you because of you, because of how you make me feel. Am I afraid of what tomorrow will bring? Of course. How could I not be? I’ve been living in fear so long it’s like a shadow that follows me, but that has nothing to do with my feelings for you, or how much I ache to be naked and wrapped in your arms.”
Her breathless confession had done nothing to subdue his stiffened manhood, and as he tried to fight his burning need, conflict raged in his head. His reputation as a rogue was well-earned. He rarely denied the urgent pleading of a beautiful woman, but Connie was different. She was special, and not just because of her tragic history.
“Have I shocked you?”
He’d been staring at the carpet, and jerked his head up.
“Almost, but I suspect we share a similar nature.”
“A similar nature?” she repeated. “I don’t understand.”
“You wish to live outside the restrictions of society, and I am already guilty of doing so, but—”
“You are?”
“Connie!” he said sharply, his voice suddenly stern. “You must stop constantly interrupting me.”
“Sorry. I can’t help myself. I was often scolded for cutting people off when I was growing up.”
“I’m not surprised. It’s a habit that must be broken, and if you don’t contain yourself I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
An abrupt blush sprang across her face.
A flash of excitement danced in her eyes.
They were signs he knew well.
Suddenly she was upon him, her arms around his neck, her lips urgently gliding over his and her body writhing against him. As her luscious mouth and urgent gyrations stoked the fires of his carnal fever, he hastily unfastened the buttons down the front of her blouse, quickly slid it down her arms, and pulled it off her body. To his surprise and delight he found no corset, just a flimsy chemise, and with their lips still locked, with an effortless tug, he ripped apart the flimsy fabric. Breaking away to gaze down at her bountiful breasts, he paused only a moment before diving his mouth to their delectable cherry tips.
As he drew a nipple into his mouth, she yanked at his jacket, begging him to take it off. Though loath to leave her luscious bosom, he obliged, swiftly removing the coat and tossing it aside, hurriedly following with his vest and shirt. Realizing the chaise lounge would not offer enough room for them both, he scooped her up and carried her to the larger couch against the far wal
l.
“You are so powerful,” she panted, staring at his bulging biceps as she leaned her head against his powerful chest. “Just the sight of you makes me weak.”
“Then it’s just as well I’m carrying you,” he muttered, thinking she had the same effect on him.
Laying her down, he deftly unbuckled the belt around her skirt, but as he shimmed it past her hips and down her legs, the sight of her petticoat gave him pause. He likened undressing a woman to unwrapping a precious gift. Whether in a fervent frenzy, or seductively removing every garment layer by layer, it was a ritual to be savored in a boudoir’s firelight, not the brightness of day in a salon.
“My beautiful Connie,” he said softly, stretching out next to her and wiping a stray hair from her face with his fingertip, “this is not where I will make love to you for the first time, but I—”
“Please, Malcolm, don’t deny me?” she mewled, cutting him off. “I want you to.”
“Tsk, tsk. You didn’t let me finish.”
“Sorry,” she said in a small voice, dropping her eyes.
“I was about to say, I will not leave you wanting,” he whispered, moving his lips to her ear, “but perhaps I will. Perhaps that will teach you to hold your tongue.”
He heard her quick intake of breath.
“Is that what I should do, Connie?” he asked, quickly pulling up her petticoat and cupping his hand against her pussy.
“Ooh, Malcolm.”
“You need correction,” he continued, artfully agitating her womanhood. “I can bring you right to the edge of your pleasure, then stop.”
“No, please don’t,” she pleaded, wriggling against him. “I couldn’t bear it.”
He paused.
An opportunity had unexpectedly presented itself. A devotee of corporal discipline, he could find out if she harbored similar fantasies.
“Then what punishment would you suggest?” he asked, sliding his hand across her hip and smoothing his palm across her backside. “I promised to take you in hand, and I’m a gentleman of my word.”
“Me? Suggest my own punishment?”
He’d heard a quiver in her voice.
“Surely you’re not feeling shy.”
“I, uh, I don’t know. I suppose I am—a bit.”
“Connie, you’re lying next to me bare-breasted in the full light of day. How can you be shy about proposing a suitable chastisement? Does that mean you have something in mind?”
“Perhaps... but I’m nervous about saying it out loud.”
“I see. You’re being awfully timid. Where is the brave young woman I saved from the clutches of Lord Cavendish?”
“I can’t help it.”
“Then whisper it in my ear, and if you won’t do that, you’ll leave me no option but to bring you to the brink of your orgasm and leave you wanting.”
* * *
Though Malcolm’s hand resting against her womanhood made it hard to think clearly, a scandalous book she’d once devoured danced in Connie’s mind. A Pirate’s Pleasure described scenes of unimaginable debauchery, and she knew exactly how she wanted to be punished.
But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she wanted to be spanked.
“I’ve waited long enough,” he declared. “I’m going to spank you, Connie, and spank you hard!”
Though a flurry of excitement rippled down her spine, it was tinged with fear.
“But, uh—”
“Interrupting is rude,” he scolded, roughly rolling her on her stomach. “Do you like it when someone cuts you off midsentence?”
“N-no,” she stammered.
“You may not hold to society’s rules,” he continued, sliding his arm under her pelvis, jerking her up and landing a solid slap, “but I still expect good manners in my house. Do I make myself clear?”
The keen smack shocked her. Letting out a loud cry, she wriggled from the hot sting, and though she couldn’t deny the thrill coursing through her body, his threat to spank her hard echoed through her head.
“I asked you a question, young lady. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Malcolm,” she managed, squeezing her eyes shut in readiness for the next swat.
It landed on the opposite cheek and stung even more.
“Ow, oh, Malcolm!”
“Keep the noise down, or do you want the servants to know I’m spanking you?”
“Not for a moment,” she said hastily, finding the thought completely mortifying, “but it hurts.”
“It’s supposed to hurt, and if you can’t control yourself, I’ll gag you.”
“No, oh, please, no. I’ll be quiet. I will.”
Swallowing hard, she braced herself for another smack, but to her horror, he raised her petticoats. An embarrassed flame crossed her face, and unable to yell out her protest, she violently gyrated her hips.
“Stop!” he exclaimed, delivering a hot, stinging smack. “A spanking should be applied directly to the skin. Your petticoats are coming up, and your drawers will soon be off.”
* * *
As Malcolm lifted the petticoats up to her waist, a devilish grin crossed his lips. Nude while in the grip of passion was a far cry from such blatant exposure, and though tempted to drop her drawers and expose her beautiful bottom right away, spanking through the thin silk carried its own pleasure. Holding her tightly around the waist, he smoothed his hand over the sensuous fabric.
“Remember, keep the noise down.”
“I’ll try.”
Flattening his palm, he delivered a sharp slap to the center of her backside. He heard her hiss.
“That’s better,” he muttered, landing another to the same spot. “If you must, bury your head.”
She didn’t answer him, but immediately leaned forward to grab the nearest cushion. Waiting until she had it securely in her grasp, he harshly squeezed each cheek.
“Now you will learn your lesson,” he warned, tightening his hold.
Lifting his hand, he let it fly from side to side in a flurry of scalding slaps covering the full breadth of her backside, then moving his palm to her sit spot, he whisked upward, evoking a series of muffled yelps.
He paused.
“Connie. You may take a moment to catch your breath.”
“I’ve learned my lesson,” she bleated earnestly, slowly lifting her head. “I’m so dreadfully sorry, but if you must remove my drawers, I’ll understand.”
A frown crossed his face.
Was the crafty young woman attempting to manipulate him?
Did she think her permission would spare her?
Chapter Twelve
Connie had discovered the joys of touching herself while reading A Pirate’s Pleasure. Late at night, she’d slip her fingers between her legs while reading the scenes of the swashbuckling hero chastising his comely wife, but she never imagined it would actually happen.
And having her bottom bared?
The thought filled her with dread.
But as she’d caught her breath and searched for a way to avoid the unbearable exposure, an idea had flashed through her head. Perhaps if she appeared acquiescent, Malcolm might change his mind.
It was worth a try.
Anything was worth a try!
“I’m pleased you see the error of your ways,” he began, reaching beneath her and untying the cord that held up her drawers, “but I’m surprised such a modest young woman is agreeable to—”
“No, no,” she protested, cutting him off. “I don’t want you to lower them.”
“As I thought! You attempted to manipulate me. Not only that, you just interrupted me again. You’re to be spanked on your naked bottom, and spanked soundly.”
“But, Malcolm—”
“Need I remind you about the servants?”
“Please,” she begged in a hushed whisper.
“A short time ago you had no qualms about me seeing you with no clothes on,” he muttered, yanking down her underwear.
“Malcolm! Oh, my goodness,” she groaned, buryi
ng her face in her hands, sure she would die from shame.
“You’re going over my knee,” he declared, abruptly sitting up and jerking her over his lap. “You’re about to find out it’s not wise to try to get the better of me.”
“I can’t believe I’m lying here like this.”
“Well, you are, and now, young lady, you’re going to be properly punished.”
* * *
In spite of his resolve, he couldn’t forget the lovely young woman had suffered through a tragedy, and had been living in fear and misery for months. Still, she had to respect his authority and she also needed to understand he wouldn’t tolerate being coerced through cunning.
“Tell me, Connie,” he began sternly, “why are you over my lap with your bottom naked and about to be spanked?”
“I interrupted you,” she whimpered, wriggling as she bleated her reply.
“What else?”
“I, uh...”
“Don’t lie and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Malcolm, I’m sorry. You’re right, and now I’m more embarrassed than ever.”
Without warning he landed a sound smack on each cheek.
“Ouch.”
“Tell me exactly.”
“Ooh, I lied,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t want you lower my drawers, and I thought if I said I understood, you might not want to do it.”
“You will never,” he declared, abruptly spanking from cheek to cheek with hard, hot slaps, “lie or attempt to manipulate me again. Is that understood?”
“Yes, yes. I won’t! I won’t,” she swore, then dove her head into the couch to let out a wail.
“This is what you can expect if you misbehave,” he continued, his palm punishing her sit spot. “You’ve learned to live by your wits, but you’re not to do that with me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir...?” she sniffled, unexpectedly lifting her head and staring at him over her shoulder.
“You called me Sir. Where did that come from?”
“It just sort of came to me, although...”
“The truth!” he said demanded, delivering a sound smack the middle of her scalded bottom.
Rough Gentleman Page 9
