2Rakehell

by Debra Glass

  Oh yes…

  She wanted to obey. Every instinct she possessed implored her to relinquish all control to him. Instead she straightened. “No.”

  Now that she’d refused, would he entreat her to bend over his knee the way he’d done Lady Beckham?

  Primrose immediately shut the thought down. It was a sin to entertain such licentious behavior. She felt naughty even knowing about it.

  And yet, some rebellious part of her wanted to refuse him, to make him take what he wanted from her.

  A muscle in his jaw clenched. They stood, squared off for several seconds before he turned on his heel and started to leave the room.

  “Wait,” Primrose blurted. After all, he hadn’t even broached the subject of his terms yet.

  Looking triumphant, he stopped and turned.

  Holding his icy gaze, she stripped the chemise off over her head and started to hold it in front of her body but he wagged a finger at her. “Uh, uh, uh. Drop it.”

  She hesitated.

  “I know you want to. I see it in your eyes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper that seemed to hypnotize her.

  The soft, warm cotton slipped from her fingers and floated to the carpet. Again, his eyes appraised her, making her shiver with pleasure wherever he looked. Her legs. Her thatch. Her belly and breasts.

  Her face.

  A sweltering rush of heat infused her cheeks and she battled the need to avert her gaze.

  “You’re as lovely as I remembered,” he mused aloud. “But this time it will be different. I am no longer your cuckold.”

  “No, my lord.”

  “And you, my dear, are mine to command.” The fierceness that flashed in his whiskey-colored eyes should have terrified her.

  Instead that feral possessiveness excited her. The tips of her breasts puckered and hardened. She pulsed between her legs.

  “I have dark needs, darling wife. I realize that at first those needs might be a tad intense for your tastes, but if you are to go through with this scheme of yours you will have to do it my way.”

  Her mouth went so dry, she couldn’t even swallow. “Needs?”

  He came closer and she tensed, refusing to bolt against every instinct she possessed. Heat radiated through his clothes. The scent of his hair, his skin—of him—permeated her senses. She needed to focus, to listen to whatever his terms entailed but his very presence unraveled her at the seams.

  His fingers trailed along her jawline and her lashes fluttered at the exquisite pleasure that simple touch evoked in her.

  “It’s so plainly obvious,” he said, his voice but a low whisper that caressed her body and soul.

  “What’s obvious?”

  “Your desire to be dominated.”

  A shudder seized her spine and rattled her to the core. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. Not yet.” His gaze stroked her face as if he found her utterly beautiful. “But you will.”

  His fingers swept lower, down the column of her neck, and then across her collarbone. “You’re as curious as a cat.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t see me,” he said with the tiniest of grins.

  “See you?” She felt like a stammering idiot, and all she wanted in the world was for that hand to touch her in other places. Lower places. Now.

  “In the garden with Lady Beckham.”

  Her secret had been exposed. Shame swamped her.

  “You watched longer than any lady ought to have,” he teased.

  Oh God he was torturing her. Torturing her!

  Her fists clenched at her sides. “I didn’t fetch you from the bowels of that opium den to stand here and allow you to humiliate me.”

  “What I’m going to do to you, my darling, is a far cry from humiliation.”

  “You’re…you’re humiliating me now. This very instant. By having me stand here…naked.”

  His gaze drifted down and back up, reigniting that perfidious desire in her once more.

  “Are you not excited?” he asked. “Aroused by my eyes on your lush body?”

  She stammered incomprehensibly.

  He let out a little laugh, a devilish sound that made her want to throw herself recklessly into his arms.

  “Don’t answer that,” he said and put one finger on her lips. With the other hand he reached between her legs. Her body jolted as fingertips came into contact with her already slippery folds. “Your body tells me otherwise. It tells me you want my touch, my mouth…my cock.”

  Yes, yes and yes, damn you to hell you infernal bastard!

  “Have you lain awake at night replaying the scene with Lady Beckham in your head?” he asked.

  She didn’t want to admit it. He started to withdraw his fingers. “Yes, yes!” she confessed. Anything to ensure his touch remained.

  He anchored her by placing one hand on her shoulder as he pushed farther into her folds, farther into—

  She let out a yelp of mingled surprise and satisfaction as his index finger slipped into her body.

  “Did you touch yourself this way when you recalled those sordid events?”

  She wanted to lean against him, to spread her legs to give him greater access. She did not want to discuss her shameful habits with him.

  “Tell me, sweet wife. There should be no more secrets between us.”

  She swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

  “Mmm,” he voiced. “Describe your fantasy to me. In detail, mind you.”

  She couldn’t look at him and do this, so she gave in and leaned into the rock-hard wall of his chest. Her fingers clutched at the folds of his shirt. “In…instead of Lady Beckham, it is I who is…bent over your…legs.” God, she couldn’t think with that finger burrowing inside her channel. It felt so wonderfully, sinfully good.

  “Go on,” he urged as his finger plumbed her lazily.

  “My…my dress is up. My drawers are down just far enough to bare my…my bottom. Oh…” His finger worked with more insistence, robbing her of the ability to think clearly.

  “And then…” he encouraged.

  “You call me names.”

  “What sort of names?” he asked.

  “Naughty girl. Naughty…naughty, that’s all I can think of. Oh please…” His languid touch was propelling her toward orgasm.

  “Isn’t there more?”

  The words came easier now. “You tell me I must be punished, that I must be…spanked.”

  “Would you like to be spanked now?”

  She mewled. She could never request such a thing. Never! He was mad. She was mad for letting him do this to her, for allowing him to coerce her to admit things no sane woman should. Her body rocked against his finger, seeking, wanting.

  Needing.

  “Let me die,” she pleaded. “Let me die on your fingers.”

  His pace slowed. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

  “Would you like me to spank you?” he asked again.

  “No…” Her voice was uncertain.

  “Shall I stop then?” he asked, threatening to remove his fingers again.

  “No, no.” She was on the verge of tears.

  This time he did remove his fingers. He traced her bottom lip with one so that she tasted her own sweet essence. Disappointment threaded through her as she kissed the pad pressed to her mouth. This was improper. Everything about him was indecent.

  And damn her to hell, she wanted dreadfully to be a part of it.

  He thumbed back a strand of hair that had escaped her chignon. “To hell with it,” he muttered and with one pop of the pin holding it all in place her locks tumbled down around her shoulders, swinging to caress the skin of her back. “Tell me what you want, Primrose. Tell me how you want me to dominate you. Give me your consent and I’ll take you to the height of pleasures you could never imagine.”

  Searching his eyes, she stared.

  “Give me your will and in return, I’ll give you permission to feel, to know arousal and d
esire.” His warm breath fanned her cheeks.

  Drawing in enough air became difficult. Her mind clouded with the need for culmination.

  “Sexual indulgences beyond your comprehension,” he continued. “They can all be yours with one simple word, darling.”

  Need blossomed so strong a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “There is nothing to fear,” he promised. “You will see that what we will do together is an intricate dance with complex steps. Boundaries I will push you toward but will never cross—unless you so desire it.”

  He tipped her chin up and his lips brushed across hers. He hadn’t kissed her since their wedding day. There’d been a time when a chaste kiss from him was all she dreamed of. Not now.

  No.

  She wanted far more than kissing from him. She drew back. “If these are your terms then let’s be perfectly clear. What do you require of me?” Her voice was terse as she struggled to keep it from betraying her equal emotions of lust. Of fear.

  “Complete submission.”

  She jerked her chin at him. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Nor do I,” he chided with a grin. “That’s why you will have a word of your choosing that you can utter if you wish me to stop.”

  “A word? And you’ll stop whatever…whatever you’re doing?” It seemed too simple to work. “What about stop?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t believe you.” His eyebrow arched wickedly.

  “What do you mean, then? A word such as…mother?”

  He blurted a mirthless laugh. “I’m certain that particular word would bring the festivities to an abrupt halt. I’d prefer something less… unpleasant.”

  “Do you find the idea of me being the mother of your child so odious?”

  “You misunderstand.” He shook his head. “Not you, love.”

  She peered at him, still not comprehending. But his words gave her a brilliant idea. “Love.”

  He stared.

  She stood firm. “Love. That’s my word.”

  Although he seemed taken aback he nodded. His eyes glittered diabolically. “Well then. So it is. I hope never to hear it uttered from your pretty lips.”

  She didn’t care if he’d just insulted her. Right now she wanted but one thing from him. “I agree to your terms. Spank me.”

  Instantly she wondered if she’d chosen the wrong path. His amber eyes darkened. Gone was his playful demeanor. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “On your knees, darling.” He turned and strode toward the wingback chair in her room.

  Primrose gaped as he sat and patted his thigh.

  “You’ll receive an extra swat for disobedience,” he said calmly. “Drop to your knees and crawl over here.”

  Love, love, love…

  Her lips trembled but she couldn’t utter the word. Not before she saw what this was all about—this thing that had haunted her fantasies since she’d spied on him that night in the garden.

  But did he intend to punish her for deceiving him on their wedding night?

  “Hesitation will earn you another,” he warned.

  Slowly she sank to the thick carpet as he watched intently. Her heart pounded so hard it made her eyes water. The knowledge of what he was about to do to her coupled with the fear of the unknown seized hold of her like an intoxicating drug. She’d never felt so alive, so a part of her own body.

  He crooked his finger, motioning for her to come to him.

  She couldn’t do this. Every ounce of sanity inside her denounced this behavior. It was debauched. Lewd!

  And yet no one need ever know. The whole world already thought her a fallen woman for having married Adam Black in the first place.

  She cast aside everything she’d been taught about decorum and began to crawl. The carpet was soft under her palms and knees and the act of moving toward him in this manner, the illusion of being powerless, surprised her in its sensuality.

  His eyes warmed as she neared. The approval in his gaze aroused her and she began to move just for him. Catlike and lithe, her eyes holding his, drinking in his admiration for her.

  “Come,” he said hoarsely. “Lay yourself over my lap.”

  Her throat constricted as she positioned herself, knees on the floor, her abdomen across his thighs.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” he said softly.

  A strange excitement filled her and when she placed her hands at the base of her spine, he curled his fingers around both her wrists, anchoring her in place. The weight of his other hand settled on her bottom. Every breath, every beat of her heart seemed amplified. Her channel clenched with hard need over and over.

  The hand on her bottom drifted over her flesh, rubbing, massaging, his fingers working into the furrow between her cheeks as if he would violate her there. A strange opposition between shame and a craving for more caused Primrose to lift to his touch, her body betraying her desire for that particular orifice to be abused as well.

  For the first time in many years all her cares slipped away. Her focus remained solely on her body and what her husband was about to do to her. One word would put a stop to all this. One wor—

  Smack!

  “Ouch!” Sweet fire blazed through her bottom, sharp and hot, the sting only ebbing when he rubbed the offended flesh.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  She looked up over her shoulder, her lips pursed. His gaze searched hers and then he smiled and swatted her again.

  “Ah!” she cried, but when he began to rub again, the heat transformed into an iniquitous throbbing warmth that radiated to other parts of her body—parts she ached for him to touch.

  “You like this, don’t you?” he asked. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  She lowered her lashes.

  “There’s no shame in finding pleasure in the dark,” he whispered before delivering another firm swat to her backside.

  But it’s daylight outside… She dared not argue with him. Besides, intuition told her dark meant something completely internal. It was this nature. This aberrant need that left her confused, left her wondering who she’d been up until this life-altering moment.

  This time when he kneaded her flesh his fingertips flirted with her sex. She raised her bottom, desperate for him to touch her, to rub her clit until she achieved climax.

  Do what you want! Just give me release…

  He gave her two more hard smacks. “Stand up, back to me.”

  Shaking with erotic need, she rose and turned her back toward him.

  “Bend over. Show me your rosy arse.”

  He would see too much. She couldn’t. And yet curiosity compelled her. She bent from the waist, knowing her most hidden recesses were on full display for his viewing. The sigh of pleasure he exhaled sent a tendril of satisfaction through her. Was it so wrong that she felt more beautiful than she’d ever dreamed of being bared for her husband in this shocking manner?

  “Your pretty bum is red, Primrose.”

  She gulped.

  “Can you still feel the heat?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you wet for me?”

  Her eyes closed. “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  “I-I—” she stammered.

  “Spread your legs and then spread your cheeks for me. I want to see your cunny and arse.”

  Oh he was every bit the blackguard. Nevertheless, she reached behind and separated the halves of her bottom.

  “Bend down farther,” he said.

  Her hair swept the floor as she lowered her head. The muscles in the back of her thighs burned from the strain. Dampness trickled down in the inside of one leg. How could she take such wicked pleasure in this appalling act?

  “You are very wet,” he mused. “I should like a taste of that delectable treat. Come here.”

  A taste…

  Pulse rioting she straightened, turned and took the two steps that closed the distance between them. He patted the armrests as he slouched down in the chair. “One knee here and the other he
re.”

  Bracing her hands on the back of the chair, she climbed onto the armrests. The stretch the chair’s width created caused her muscles to burn anew. It felt naughty being spread this way so close to his face. Surely he didn’t meant to—

  Her breath halted when his lips brushed her abdomen. Her flesh trembled at his touch and when his warm palms skimmed up and down her thighs she thought she’d melt.

  “Tilt your backside toward me,” he told her as with both thumbs he parted her nether lips, opening her wide.

  His hot breath fanned her. Terror consumed her and she debated releasing their agreed-upon word, but somehow she managed to stop herself. This was too good. Too sinful. What had become of her?

  His fingers cupped her bottom and drew her closer and then the tip of his tongue swept along the crevice between her legs. The sheer intensity of the pleasure stunned her. Her thighs shook violently but he didn’t seem to notice as he moved impossibly closer. His tongue did decadent things to her, traced her folds, darted inside her and flicked the sensitive little hillock crowning her sex.

  His fingers tightened, holding her nearer while his mouth plundered her flesh. Her nails dug into the tufted velvet on the top of the chair. She pushed toward him, crying out when his lips latched on to her clitoris and began to suck.

  Ecstasy lurked just out of reach. Her mouth fell open but she couldn’t draw a breath. Sweet Lord in heaven. This was too much. It was too good.

  Every flick of his tongue, every pull of his lips, every hot breath against her flesh ratcheted her nearer and nearer to the crest. One of her hands tangled in his hair. Her head fell back. Bliss rushed over her, trampling her underfoot, devastating her. Inner muscles squeezed and tightened. She wanted him inside her. Even in the midst of this raging orgasm she had to—needed to—feel his body melding with hers.

  Long low moans spilled from her lips as she wilted over his head and shoulders. Her knees slipped from their perch and as she sagged into his lap, she took his face in her hands, tilted his face up and sought his mouth.

  His arms froze and then suddenly tightened around her. His lips parted to admit her tongue. She tasted herself, salty and sweet, as she probed his mouth with a passion she never knew she possessed.

  Never relinquishing their kiss, he fumbled to undo his breeches. He dragged her hips forward and all at once her body was filled to capacity. A groan escaped her but he refused to let go. One hand encircled her hips, the other burrowed into the hair at her nape, holding her head captive.