by Mason, Nina
“‘Tis not a threat, Maggie. I have no desire to frighten you.”
“Then, what is it you do desire, Robert?”
He laughed. “Right now, I desire to watch you play with your cunny whilst I stroke my cock. Better yet, let us make a contest of it. The one to climax first gets to make the other to do whatever he or she wishes. Tonight. When we are abed. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes.” She pulled her downy lips apart and poised her forefinger over her bud. “On your marks.”
Gaze glued to her dusky rose-colored petals, he ran his thumb over the hypersensitive dome of his glans, smearing a sticky bead of pre-ejaculate across the empurpling flesh.
“And go,” he said, and commenced pumping like a fiend.
Chapter Four
Much to Maggie’s chagrin, Robert won their plein air competition. Only by moments, mind—after which he’d been good enough to allow her to cross the finish line, defeated but still sated.
‘Twas late in the evening now and Maggie awaited Robert in her bedchamber, aglow with the dim gleam of candles. He’d not yet named his prize and her nerves were on edge. If he intended to keep her in suspense, his scheme was working prodigiously well.
“What might he propose?” She addressed the question to her own reflection in the looking glass. “Something sinfully wicked, I should imagine.”
Pivoting in her chair, she glanced around her bedchamber. ‘Twas large, but cozy, especially with a fire burning in the grate. The mantle surround, carved with scrolls and flourishes, was lined with soot-stained Delft tiles depicting the Last Supper.
Had she won the garden challenge, she would have asked for one of two prizes. A whole night spent with him in his big tartan-draped bed or a glimpse inside his secret chamber. The thought of the latter still filled her with dread and confronting the fear might help put it to rest. ‘Twas possible the infamous chamber contained naught so very terrifying.
Possible, but unlikely in light of Hugh’s warnings.
Whatever you do Maggie, do not marry my brother.
A well-timed knock on the door nevertheless gave her heart a jolt. She rose from the dressing table in a whoosh of silk and tightened the belt on her new dressing gown. The pale blue moiré silk perfectly matched her eyes, and the elaborately embroidered border almost made her feel like a duchess. Almost, though she strongly suspected self-pleasuring tournaments in the castle gardens were not the usual occupation of noblewomen of her newly elevated station.
The picture of Robert’s triumph crashed in on her thoughts. The guttural sounds of his pleasure and the spectacle of his fountaining semen had pushed her over the edge. The memory of it scorched her all the way to her vulva. Holy Mary! She fanned herself with a hand as she hurried toward the door, her nerves as unraveled as cheap cloth.
A playful idea struck her before she reached her objective. Rather than admit him at once, she stopped far enough away to allow the door to swing open. She fluffed her curls and set a hand on her pearls—more precious to her with each passing hour.
She cleared her throat, stretched her neck, and threw back her shoulders. “Yes? How may I be of service?”
“Open the door, Rosebud.”
“Why do you not open it yourself?”
“Because my hands are otherwise engaged.”
The image of him stroking his cock in the garden flashed behind her eyes. Her mouth twitched, half in anticipation, half in fear. Pray, let it not be a whip he held in both hands. Steeling her courage, she turned the knob and pulled open the door.
On the other side stood her handsome husband, a sight to behold in his own dressing gown—an elegant banyan of gold brocade and midnight blue velvet. ‘Twas tied loosely at the waist with the gold cord edging the velvet lapels. Underneath, he wore his shirt and, oddly enough, his neck cloth, still decoratively knotted. Did he plan to tie her with it? She gave him a timorous smile before dropping her gaze to his hands. In the right, he clasped a dark green flacon. Claret, most likely.
Alarm warbled inside her when she saw what he held in the other. A gold mask of the sort one might wear to a fancy dress ball. Venetian, probably. Flowing ribbons of black silk hung from the temples. Oddly, the eyeholes were covered with bits of cloth outlined with metallic embroidery inset with tiny seed pearls. ‘Twas lovely, but she suspected its purpose was less so. Lifting her gaze to his, she met eyes dancing with a devilishness that provoked a hard swallow.
“Why have you brought a mask?”
“For you to wear.” He stepped through the doorway, his robe brushing hers. “After I strip you naked and tie you to the bed.”
She gulped, unsure how to react. Wearing a mask whilst being tied did not seem so terrible, provided he caused her no pain. She examined his person as he strode deeper into her bedchamber and set both mask and bottle on the night table. He did not appear to have any sort of whip or other pain-inducing device on him, giving her some relief.
Intelligent words escaped her, so she asked the first question that popped into her mind. “Pray, will you be naked, too?”
“Aye.” His beguiling lips curled into a wicked smile. “Eventually.”
She went to him, not wishing him to sense her apprehension. “May I at least have a kiss before you truss me like a Christmas goose?”
His smile beamed and his eyes twinkled. He really did have the most bewitching eyes. At times, they appeared to be gray and at others, quite green. They were green now. Like a cat’s.
Something told her she was to be his mouse tonight.
“Aye, but only one.”
Setting her hands on his chest, she lifted her mouth for his kiss. He took her face in his hands and brushed his thumbs across her lips as he stared into her eyes. A dark fire she’d never seen before burned within them, scaring her some. Her gaze fell to his beautiful mouth. Longing pooled in her womb—a dull, throbbing ache.
“Kiss me, Robert.”
Her gaze remained locked on his mouth, even as her eyelids grew heavy with desire. Only seconds passed, but they seemed like days. The room grew warmer, her breathing more labored. The atmosphere betwixt them crackled with the static of friction as her insides fluttered like hundreds of fiery wings.
“You have such bonny eyes,” he said with heated gaze and crooked grin, “it almost seems a shame to cover them up.”
He pressed his mouth against hers. She closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness of his lips. As she parted hers to release a breath, he thrust his tongue into the breach. She welcomed it with enthusiasm and slipped her arms around his waist. Clasping his firm buttocks in both hands, she pulled his body hard against hers. Feeling his erection trapped betwixt them like a living thing unleashed a burst of warmth in her loins.
He ended the kiss too soon, leaving her adrift and anchorless in a dark, swirling sea of passion. He stepped back, removed two pewter cups from the pockets of his banyan, and filled them from the bottle he’d brought. He offered her one, which she took, before raising his in a toast.
“To pleasure.”
“To happiness.” She touched her cup to his with a soft, metallic clunk.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are they not the same thing?”
“No, Robert. They are not.”
He shrugged and sipped his claret. “Drink up, Rosebud. The wine will help you to relax.”
The comment had the opposite effect. Relax for what, pray tell? She emptied her cup and held it out for a refill. After he obliged her, she gulped it down. The wine warmed her blood and loosened her muscles, as intended.
Her body tensed again when he picked up the mask. As he placed it over her eyes, he said, “You must trust me completely, eschew all fear, and wholly give yourself over to the experience. Do you think you can do that?”
As the cruel hands of dread and doubt threatened to strangle her, he spun her round and tied the ribbons at the back of her head, pulling a few hairs in the process. Her mind spun like a tot’s wooden top. Could she trust him? She wanted to, but wondered i
f she could or should. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Naught you need fear.”
She was dissatisfied. “Pray, can you be more explicit?”
He untied the belt on her dressing gown. She wore a nightdress underneath—a bonny one of finely embroidered batiste. He peeled the robe down her arms. As the weight of it came off her body, cold air infiltrated the thin cotton of her rail. She shivered, not entirely from the chill. He cupped her breasts through the fabric and ran his thumbs across the nipples. Goose pimples pebbled her flesh as desire blustered through her.
“Are you not going to answer me?”
“I will not hurt you,” he assured her, “should that be your fear.”
‘Twas, and lingered despite his assurance. “Do you give me your vow?”
He squeezed her breasts with pressure just this side of painful. “Aye.”
“And this is supposed to somehow cement the bond betwixt us?”
“The best relationships are built on trust.” He kneaded her breasts, stimulating her nipples in a most distracting fashion. His mouth touched hers unexpectedly. He nibbled and kissed her lower lip before running the tip of his tongue along the seam. When she widened the gap to invite him to deepen the kiss, he withdrew.
“Do exactly as I say. Nothing more and nothing less. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
His mouth came back to hers and nipped her pouting bottom lip.
She gasped in surprise. His breath was warm and humid on her mouth as his teeth tugged gently on her lip. He smelled of wine and sin.
“What are you planning to do after tying me to the bed?”
He bit her lip hard enough to give her a jolt. “Do not speak unless spoken to. If you cannot hold your tongue, I shall make you wear a gag as well as a blindfold.”
Her anger rose in protest, but she kept still. As much as she opposed being made to keep quiet, she cared less for the threat of being gagged. The darker side of the duke both frightened and thrilled her. This was the man she’d seen that day from the closet, the serpent who’d lured her from the garden of childhood innocence into the orchard of fleshly desires.
One by one, he undid the tiny shell buttons on the pin-tucked placket of her nightgown. When the front fell open, he pushed it off her shoulders until it fell down her body like a feather-soft caress. ‘Twas the first time she’d been completely unclothed under his scrutiny.
She tensed when he put his hands on her and began to explore. “You have such flawless skin,” he said. “‘Tis like porcelain—nay, bone china—or better yet, white silk.”
The compliment pleased her, as did his touch. His hands were soft and warm and his caresses at once soothing and sensual. She wished she could see him, touch him, kiss him.
His contact ceased abruptly, leaving her bereft. The soft rustle of fabric whispered in her ears. Was he undressing or turning down the bed?
Wine-scented breath brushed her face. Something pushed betwixt her legs and into her womanly cleft. His hand. A finger tickled her bud, causing the muscles below her navel to jump in a most delightful fashion.
Warm moisture enveloped the crest of her left breast. His mouth. He sucked and flicked his tongue against the nipple whilst his finger went on teasing her clitoris. Waves of exquisite pleasure pulsed through her body.
As his suction strengthened, the pleasuring finger quickened.
Her muscles twitched, her insides grew molten, and her bones turned to jelly.
His mouth released her breast. Something pinched the nipple he’d sucked to extreme sensitivity. She flinched. Had he bitten her? She swallowed the question, remembering his command.
“How does that feel?”
It hurt a little, but mostly felt strange. “‘Tis difficult to describe the sensation.”
His mouth captured hers in a languorous kiss, surprising her. The finger ringing her bud stoked a delectable fire down below.
He coaxed her lips apart and gave her his tongue. She caught it betwixt her lips and sucked hard whilst caressing it with her own. The kiss was more than a merger of mouths. ‘Twas as if they were joined, body and blood. Two beings sharing a single soul.
His big, warm hand closed around hers, drew it forward, and pressed it against his erection. Desire fluttered in her womb as her fingers closed around its thickness. The mask magnified every undulation as she explored his phallus and testicles.
He removed whatever had been pinching her nipple.
Sharp, sweet pain followed the release. She wanted so badly to ask what he’d attached to her breast, but wanted even more to run her hands all over his body, to tangle her fingers in his hair, to take his cock deeply into her body, but she was too enslaved by her dark duke to exercise her will.
He withdrew from her, abandoning her to the draft of the room for a moment before scooping her up. He carried her a few steps and then set her down on her back on something flat and firm.
The bed.
“Raise your arms above your head.” His firm tone brooked no refusal.
She obeyed at once. His weight jostled the bed before fabric encircled first one wrist, then the other. Her pulse quickened as he secured them to the iron headboard. Bound and helpless, she sensed him looming over her. She held her breath. He kissed her quickly before moving to her breasts. He sucked each nipple in turn with vigor—the way he’d sucked Mistress Honeywell’s. Captivation gave way to jealousy. She flung the ugly emotion away. He was hers now. Her husband, her lover, her teacher. She would not let negative thoughts erode her bliss.
He trailed kisses down her body and blew softly on the moisture left by his mouth. Pleasure spilled over her body like warm honey. She wanted him inside her so badly she could hardly bear it. His tongue dipped in her navel before his mouth moved lower. Her muscles twitched and clenched as he kissed his way down to her pubic curls. Her hips bucked reflexively when his lips closed around her bud.
He applied the perfect amount of pressure and suction to ignite an intense, desirous yearning deep within her. As his tongue joined in the dance, flicking her clitoris and licking her inner folds, his hands pressed her inner thighs, urging her knees up and apart. She gasped and spread her legs as wide as they would go.
“Oh, Robert. Holy Mother of God. What are you doing to me?”
The raptures brought on by his mouth were utterly exquisite. As every nerve ending hummed with enjoyment, she writhed uncontrollably under his face.
“Keep still,” he commanded.
The spell broke for a moment, but he quickly resumed his devotions, driving her toward the crashing finale. Longing hummed louder and louder until her whole body sang with the need to be filled.
She groaned, pulled on her restraints, and rolled her hips. “Please Robert. Put it in me.”
“Put what in you?” He teased her, the scoundrel.
“Your cock, what else?”
“As it so happens, I have several tools for the job.”
Her mind reached for his meaning but found only an empty shelf. “Your cock,” she cried in frustration. “Put your cock in me, damn you.”
“Put it where?”
“In my cunny. Please. I ache for you so badly I fear I might die.”
He scoffed, still teasing her cruelly. “Your cunny? Goodness me, Rosebud. I thought you were ignorant of language of that nature.”
“So did I.”
“Do you know any other vulgar words you’d care to share with your husband?”
“I know swive.”
He licked her clit—delicious torture. She was wound so tight, she feared she might burst.
“What about fuck?”
She shook her head. “Fuck? No. What does it mean?”
“The same as swive, only even coarser.” His voice was seductive gravel. “I want you to say it. I want you to beg me to take you, using that four-letter obscenity.”
She bucked and rolled her hips in desperation. “Why?”
“Because you pledged before God to
obey my every command.”
She narrowed her eyes behind the mask. "I cannot imagine the vows support your purpose in this case." “Do it to please me, then.”
“Very well.” She sighed and took a breath to gather her verve. “Fuck me until my eyes cross and my teeth break.”
He laughed and put his fingers in her. Two or three of them, from the feel of it. He pushed them in and out, reaching deep. It felt good, but not as good as when he did it with his cock.
“My, but you are wet,” he said. “I was going to wait and subject you to sundry other tortures, but I’ve changed my mind.”
His erection brushed her crevice and came to rest against her aching entrance.
“Beg me again, Maggie. Only this time, call me Lord and Master. And when I penetrate you, wrap your legs around me, aye?”
Why not? If that was what it would take to relieve her suffering, she was not about to make a fuss. “Yes. Oh, yes. Fuck me, Lord and Master. Please. Ease my suffering. I beg it of you.”
He came into her fully with one long, delicious stroke.
She shuddered with core-deep satisfaction, certain she’d died and gone to heaven.
He eased back with exquisite slowness, almost breaking contract before burying his full length in her again. He did this again and again, driving her to the edge of reason. “How’s that?”
“Heavenly.”
“Put your legs around me, Maggie, so I can go even deeper.”
Deeper? Was that possible? Guilt twinged inside her. In her pleasure, she’d forgotten his request. Or was it a command? He did not seem angry, though ‘twas hard to gauge his emotions when she could not read his expression or posture. She did as he wanted, hooking her ankles in the small of his back.
This time, when he pushed into her, the head of his cock banged against the entrance of her womb whilst his pubic fleece brushed the part of her whose name she did not know.
“What do you call the part where your private curls now rest?”
“The perineum.”
He pushed up on his arms and rolled his hips, rotating his cock inside her.
