by Renee Rose
“Will you marry me, Amanda Downy?”
She gave a little bark of nervous laughter and then beamed a brilliant smile. “Yes, Colonel Watson.”
He kissed her again, a kiss that started as rough as the first two but ended soft and slow and tender. Her lips were eager, her tongue sweetly inquisitive. She was standing on her toes, leaning against him so that he could feel the apples of her breasts pressing into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her slender back, running one hand up and down it as the other tangled in her hair. He explored her mouth, enjoying the feel of her body against his as he reveled in the knowledge that she was his now to kiss as often as he pleased. When they parted he stared down at her and stroked her cheek tenderly.
“You're willing to be 'trapped and financially comfortable with some stiff military officer'?” he inquired, reminding her of the words she had spoken that night of the carriage accident.
She groaned. “I was a fool. I wish I'd never opened my mouth that night.” She looked into his eyes earnestly. “If you recall, I said I'd rather be available for a love match.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed. “So in this case, the love match just happens to be with a stiff military officer.”
His heart flipped in his chest. He gazed at her lovingly and ran his thumb along her lower lip. “Incredible,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows. “Incredible?”
“That you should love a stiff old man like me.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she stood on her tiptoes to reach his lips with her own. He met her halfway and showed her the sweetest of kisses, filled with love and tenderness and the promise of more to come.
* * *
“Are you stalling, Mrs. Watson?” the Colonel—Charles, as she was learning to call him—teased as she sat in her chemise, combing her long hair on their wedding night. Excitement and trepidation were bubbling up in her as her first night as a wife approached.
They'd had a double wedding. The Colonel had sent for her mother and sister, inviting both of them to live permanently at the manor as his guests. He and Mandy had married first, followed by Miss Watson and Mr. Bates.
Charles had taken her to Bath for their honeymoon. He came up behind her now and put his hands on her shoulders. She whirled around, jumping a little. He took her hand and pulled her to standing.
“You don't need to be nervous, my sweet.” He bent his head and met her lips with his, gentle at first, then turning hungry—his tongue demanding access and caressing her lips and the inside of her mouth with insistence. She returned the kiss, reaching her arms around his neck, pressing her body to his. He groaned. “Come to bed,” he said hoarsely.
She followed him to the bed. “Charles,” she began anxiously.
“Yes?”
“When you were ill—when you thought I was Gracie—you told me wearing clothes to bed was against the rule.”
Charles began to smile.
“Do you have a rule… about clothes in bed?” She wanted to know everything that was expected of her. She wanted to know how to please him.
Charles's smile had taken on a wolfish look—there was a hunger there that made her skin feel warm and prickly. He sat on the bed and pulled her to stand before him, between his knees. His hand caressed her thigh, moving slowly up and leaving a trail of heat on her leg. He lifted her chemise as he stroked, lifting it over the curve of her hips, sliding it higher as his large warm hand molded to the curve of her back. His other hand assisted as he pulled the chemise up over her head and tossed it onto the floor. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the feeling of exposure. Charles's hands stroked up her sides to cup her breasts where he teased her nipples with his thumbs. Heat streaked through her like a fire as she felt her breasts lifting to meet his hands. He drew her closer and brought his lips to her breast, sucking and tugging on the nipple with his warm mouth. He flicked the peaking nipple with his tongue and she shivered at the sensation. He pulled back and surveyed her trembling form with satisfaction.
“Yes, little wife. The rule is no clothes in bed. I want full access to what belongs to me,” he said firmly, but the husky sternness in his tone made her pulse race with desire rather than fear now.
“Yes, sir,” she said with a seductive smile.
He pulled her down onto the bed and kissed her smile, taking her lower lip gently between his teeth, tugging at it a bit. “Good girl,” he said when he released her. He sat up and peeled off his own clothing. She remembered his torso from the night he'd come out half dressed with his pistol in hand, but the sight of all of him in his full naked glory made her tremble with desire now. His entire body was sculpted with muscles, the large frame providing the perfect canvas for their magnificence. Her desire was unfortunately matched by anxiety. She was following his lead, but her thoughts kept circling to worries about what was expected of her and how she would please him. She had no idea what she was doing.
He climbed onto the bed and crawled over her, making a line of kisses up her neck, causing heat to flood between her legs. His fingers reached down between them, as they had that time he'd thought she was Gracie. She tried not to stiffen when she felt his probing fingers, but she found her anxiety about what to do was growing. She squeezed her thighs together instinctively.
“Hmm…” Charles said musingly. He rolled her onto her belly. She gasped as he brought his hand down sharply on her bare bottom.
“Wha—?”
Another slap. The delayed sting of the first slap was starting to set in as he continued spanking, slapping her over and over again. She alternately gasped and held her breath, wiggling to dodge his punishing hand, horrified that she'd somehow offended him. He stopped and rubbed his hot hand over her burning flesh and she moaned softly at the pleasure of it. What was he about?
His fingers dipped between her legs again and he made a satisfied sound. “Ah,” he purred. “You see? Your body knows who its master is.”
She was confused for a moment, and then she realized that the way his fingers slid over her was different this time, her natural juices had lubricated the entrance to her sex and it was slick and open to him now. She parted her thighs and tipped her pelvis back, eager for his touch now. He chuckled and slapped her bottom again before rolling her onto her back. Charles slid his fingers up and down her honeyed folds, taking time to circle slowly around the nub at the top in a way that made her arch and pant with need. One of his fingers breached her entryway and slid inside her and she stilled, feeling the intense reverberations of pleasure and heat it produced. He slid in a second finger, stretching her tight passage so that she flinched just a bit, but he went slowly enough that the pleasure outweighed the discomfort.
He slid the two fingers in and out, deeper and deeper until they reached the hilt and he curled them inside her, tickling her inner walls so that she thought she would burst from the tension building within her. “Please,” she whimpered. She did not know what she was asking for, but Charles knew.
“Yes,” he murmured in a hoarse voice, pushing his fingers still deeper until she exploded under his touch, her muscles tightening around his fingers, ripples of release rolling through her entire body. He waited until the ripples had stopped and then he covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he simultaneously pulled her knees up, positioning himself above her. Limp with spent need, she was his puppet now—there was no tension left in her, no unease or fear. She circled his neck with her arms and kissed him back, sucking at his tongue in encouragement.
She felt the hardened head of his sex pressing between her legs and she moaned softly as he rubbed her entrance with it. He slowly pushed inside of her until she winced and gasped at a sharp pain. He stilled and lowered his lips to hers again, murmuring soft encouragement until she began to press her hips up at him, encouraging him to move again within her. He went slowly and she melted into the sensation of his thick length gliding in and out of her, winding up her need a second time until it becam
e almost painful. She started to moan her protest and he smiled and picked up his pace, driving into her with a force that satisfied even as it gave her slight pain.
Just when she was feeling supremely uncomfortable, clawing at his shoulders for release, she broke, waves of pleasure cascading through her. He paused until her shudders stopped, then drove into her again with vigor until he climaxed. She watched it with great interest—feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction at his obvious gratification. She curled into him afterward, tucked against his chest with his arm under her head, feeling the joy of their post-coital union.
“Charles… why did you spank me?” she ventured after a peaceful silence.
He stroked her hair. “It's just a way to help your body get ready. You felt the difference, didn't you?”
She nodded. “But why does spanking make me ready for… that?”
He chuckled. “I don't know. It's the animal in us, I suppose.” He had slid his finger between her legs again and was stroking gently. She sighed with the delicious pleasure of it.
“But you don't always have to spank?” she asked uncertainly.
Charles roared with laughter. “No, my sweet,” he said, still chuckling. “You were just a little nervous, so your body wasn't ready. It won't take long before you warm up to me.”
“What if I don't?”
He gave another bark of laughter. “Then I will have the distinct pleasure of spanking you every time.”
She giggled. “Aha! Now I understand it—you enjoy spanking me!”
“Mmm hmm,” he said lazily, his finger still stroking all around the outside of her sex.
“You were aroused that night you spanked me with the ruler, weren't you?” she demanded.
He chuckled. “You felt it, didn't you? I'm sorry for that. I never should have taken you over my lap that way.”
“Were you always… aroused? I mean, every time you punished me?”
“No. Well, yes, a little. I've wanted you since the day I first met you on that carriage.”
Mandy pushed herself to lean on her elbow so she could see his face. She was shocked and thrilled by this admission.
“It's true. So I wasn't aroused by punishing you, because inflicting pain like that isn't pleasurable, but I was certainly moved by the sight of having you bared to me.”
“Were you moved by punishing Julie?” she asked suspiciously, feeling a flicker of jealousy.
He laughed. “Don't tell me you're jealous when I spank another woman?”
“You didn't answer the question,” she said stubbornly.
He stroked her hair back from her face. “No, my sweet, I was not moved in the slightest by punishing Julie.”
She settled back against his chest. “Good,” she said.
* * *
After Gracie, Charles never thought he would want another wife, but his new happiness with Mandy eclipsed the pain of Gracie's loss. The children had also been ecstatic at the news that Mandy was to become their new mother and she had slid into the new role seamlessly, with Tom already calling her Mama by the time they married. Both children had taken to Mandy's relations instantly as well, relishing the warm attention they were paid by their new aunt and grandmother.
And teaching Mandy the delights of the marital bed was a pleasure beyond expectation. She was so innocent, yet eager to please. On the second night of their honeymoon he found her waiting for him under the sheets.
“Did you follow the rules?” he asked teasingly, gently tugging at the sheet. She clung to it for a moment, but then released it, allowing him to expose her magnificent naked body. “Good girl,” he murmured approvingly.
Her mouth curved into a smile and he marveled at how quickly her sweet innocence had turned coy. She was more tantalizing than any woman he had ever met. He pulled the sheet all the way off the bed and surveyed her full glory. A blush rose to her cheeks as he took his time absorbing every beautiful detail—the way her hair fanned out on the pillow, the delicate lines of her collarbone leading to the perfect notch at her throat. Her pink-tipped breasts were a perfect handful—ripe and firm, made for suckling. Her belly was flat, her waist narrow, accentuating the flare of her hips. Beneath the dark silky curls between her legs he could see the perfect lips of her sex. It beckoned to him and he knelt above her and parted her thighs, putting his head between them. He licked into her hot core, sucking and penetrating, then withdrawing to trace circles around her pleasure center with his tongue. She bucked against him and he grasped her bottom to hold her firmly in place, torturing her with his tongue. She arched and moaned and opened like a flower for him, her fingers coming down to tangle in his hair. “Charles,” she moaned with an edge of urgency in her voice. He slid a finger inside her and searched for the little button of flesh deep within her that hardened when he touched it. When he found it, she began to thrash against his mouth and hand, making little whimpering cries that built into one loud cry as her muscles contracted around his finger.
He sat on the bed and pulled her across his lap, his hand connecting with her perfect upturned bottom with a resounding slap. She jumped and wiggled as he continued to redden her backside. The sight of her beautiful, undulating bottom was almost more than he could stand, and it gave him a thrill of triumph that he could claim it as his own now. Amanda Downy belonged to him.
“Charles, no!” she protested. “I was ready this time! You can't do that!”
“Who says I can't, Mrs. Watson?” he said with mock sternness.
She giggled and seemed to actually raise her bottom to meet his hand. He gave her three more smacks and then laid his hand on her warmed bottom and lightly stroked the luscious curves. One finger slid in between her cheeks and she squeezed them together in protest. He gave her another spank, chuckling. “Don't worry, my little wife, I'm not going to take you there tonight. We'll save that for another time. I just want to look at what belongs to me.” He slid two fingers between her legs and found that after her spanking, her sex was even more slick and swollen, if that were possible. He murmured in approval. “I'm going to take you from behind this time,” he said thickly, sliding her off his lap and onto the bed. Instinctively, she knew to part her legs and roll her hips back for him and he slid into her easily. He went gently, knowing there was probably still soreness from the previous night, but she lifted her hips back to welcome him with each gliding stroke, seemingly eager for it. He watched with fascination the way her back arched and the way her fingers burrowed into the quilt, her mouth open to let out soft grunts and groans. As the intensity built, she thrust back at him each time he met her, creating a friction that added to the delicious sensation of her hot, wet sheath. He slapped her round bottom a few more times before he held her hips firmly and pounded into his climax. She followed immediately afterward, letting out a cry of triumph, shivering to her toes with the sensation.
“Good girl. That was very nice,” he murmured approvingly in her ear as he lowered himself down beside her and stroked her back.
She rolled into him and threw a leg over his hips. “I want to learn to please you,” she said softly, her fingers exploring the muscles of his chest.
“You already do please me,” he said, stroking her lips with his finger before reaching for her and kissing her deeply. “You please me very much.”
The End
The Knight’s Prisoner (Coming Soon from Renee Rose)
Danewyn, a tavern prostitute, has always been cursed with the Sight—the ability to see into the unknown. It is an ability she has learned to hide from others. But when she slips and makes a prediction about the Red Fox, the rightful king of Briton, she is overheard by a member of his band of rogue soldiers. Captured and carried off for questioning, she finds herself prisoner to Sir Ferrum, an enormous knight with scars covering half his face. She quickly discovers that Ferrum's discipline can be harsh and unyielding, yet his firmness is matched by a gentleness that she has difficulty reconciling. As the two grow more intimate, Danewyn must decide whether to
continue her plans for escape or accept her new role as Ferrum's woman and Seer to the Red Fox.
Sir Ferrum has never had a woman that he didn't have to pay for, and he believes the little whore Danewyn's sexual offerings are given only to gain favor. Even so, it is impossible for him to keep his hands off her, and she seems unafraid of the harsh animal passion she ignites in him. But things threaten to fall apart for them when she chooses to wield sex as a weapon for the Red Fox's cause. How can he ever trust that what she offered to him was real?
Excerpt
She was smart. She didn't struggle with him, surely knowing that she couldn't win any battle of strength, but her eyes darted around as if she were measuring her escape routes. She took in where the horses were tied and where the men were gathered. He could practically feel her making her plans to get away.
He took off his sword belt and slipped the scabbards from it as he sat down on the stool with an arm around her waist. She was exquisitely beautiful. Her coloring was very light—clearly she was of Viking, Saxon, or Angle blood. It was said the Angles had been so named because they looked like angels. If that were true, she was surely Angle-born because he'd never seen anyone who looked so lovely. Her hair was a pale blond and her skin was light. She had wide-set blue eyes that were angled down at the out corners, giving her an innocent look, with lashes that were so pale they were almost invisible.
He'd seen no smile from her since they arrived, although he'd seen a fake-looking one when she was trolling for men back at the tavern in London. He had a feeling the pinched, serious look to her face was a habitual expression for her. He had a strong desire to discover just what would ease that worry for her—to protect her from the life that had obviously given her hardship.
