The Dove Formatted

by welis

  She threw her head back and cried out when he impaled her with one brutal thrust, his pelvis coming up against her arse as he rested his body over hers, covering her, pinning her to the seat. She sighed as if in relief when he began moving inside of her, battering her body with his own, driving as hard, fast, and deep into her as humanly possible.

  He lifted his upper body and tore at her buttons, needing to touch her, to brand her skin, to access the parts of her he’d gone without for so long. Her gown loosened, and he kissed the ridges of her spine, ran his tongue over them, then sank his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She flew apart beneath him, writhing and crying out his name, her entire being shaken by the spasms rippling through her insides.

  He clutched her shoulders, his thumb tracing her healed gunshot wound, a feral anger tearing through him at the reminder that she’d almost died.

  “Mine,” he declared against her ear, nipping at the lobe and kissing the shell. “Never again will another touch you.”

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, Adam.”

  “No one will ever harm you again,” he declared, his fingers still pressed against her wound, a poignant reminder of the pain she’d endured for his sake. “I’ll kill anyone who even touches you.”

  She shivered, leaning her head back to rest against his shoulder, sighing as he dug deeper, his thrusts becoming less precise as he reached his end. It had been too long, and he could not hold back his completion. Fisting her hair, he yanked her head back, bending her neck until her lips were within reach. He clamped his lips over hers, moaning into her mouth as he went still, seating himself inside of her and finishing with a hot rush of seed. He filled her mouth with his tongue, drunk on the taste of her while he wrung himself dry inside her, pumping his hips a few more times and giving her every drop.

  He released her, and she slumped against the seat with a heavy, contented sigh. Taking his time, he pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and used it to clean her. Then, he buttoned his fall and set her dress to rights before taking her in his arms, pulling her into his lap as he settled back on the carriage seat. She moved as if to sit beside him, but he squeezed her, slapping her undoubtedly sore arse to keep her in place. He liked her weight on his thighs, the feel of her hair tickling his jaw as she curled up like a kitten settling in for a nap.

  A sound escaped him, a sigh … it almost sounded contented. He supposed that was exactly how he felt, the restlessness that seemed to plague him now eased with her here, her fingers toying with the buttons of his waistcoat. If she was not careful, she’d find herself impaled again. She was barely touching him, but it had been six weeks … far too long for him to be forced to go without his little dove. How had he ever expected to go a lifetime?

  A sudden thought occurred to him, and he rested a hand on her belly, absently rubbing her through the fabric of her gown.

  “It has been over a month since we were last together,” he remarked. “Are you …”

  She shook her head and sighed, nestling closer to him, fitting her head in the gap between his neck and shoulder. “No. I felt like such a fool for crying when my courses came. I wept for hours.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured, not certain he liked this feeling in his gut at the mention of her crying. It made him want to hit something. “We shall have to truly try, then … in earnest.”

  She chuckled. “Was that a marriage proposal, or do you simply intend to have me living with you in sin for the rest of my days?”

  Pushing her so she sat up and looked at him, he inclined his head, meeting her gaze. “Is that what you want from me? Marriage? A ring and a wedding and … and guests.”

  He shuddered at the thought of filling Dunnottar with people he hardly knew and certainly did not like—something that would be required due to his status as an earl.

  She shook her head. “Not if it isn’t what you want. In truth, I do not care about any of it, Adam. I only want you.”

  “You have me,” he declared quickly … so quickly, she grinned as if he’d just given her a palm full of diamonds.

  “Then I am content,” she said with a nod.

  That should have been enough for him, then. That she was coming back to Dunnottar with him, permanently, should be enough. They belonged to each other, and that was what mattered to him.

  Still …

  “You know,” he murmured with a smirk. “We have to pass through Gretna Green on our way to Kincardineshire.”

  Her face lit up like a starry night sky, and he felt torn between feeling smug he’d been the one to do it and being annoyed because they were Robert’s words, not his own. Still, he’d be the one marrying her, not the Honourable Mr. Stanley.

  “Truly?” she whispered, her voice becoming choked up.

  He nodded. “Aye. It seems as good a way to get married as any … and this way, we do not have to wait or plan some frivolous party. Unless that is what you want?”

  Shaking her head, she took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly. “No. Marriage over the blacksmith’s anvil sounds like the perfect way to me.”

  He kissed her back, agreeing wholeheartedly. This way, their bond would be sealed in a place that would be very much like the battlefield of their entire relationship—smoke and fire, darkness and ash. He would not have it any other way.

  “Then it will be done,” he declared. “When I take you back up my mountain, you will enter Dunnottar as Lady Daphne Callahan. What do you say to that?”

  She pressed her forehead against his and smiled. “I think, it does not matter what my name is, as long as I can always be your little dove.”

  He studied her and mulled that over for a moment. Despite the fact that he’d first compared her to a dove because of her purity and fragility, he had come to see her as so much more than he’d known she could be. It seemed better to compare her to a phoenix, or some other strong, resilient creature.

  Yet, the endearment still came to him as easily as ever as he stroked her cheek and returned her smile.

  “Aye, little dove,” he murmured. “That, you’ll always be.”

  EPILOGUE

  Dunnottar Castle

  Kincardineshire, Scotland

  One year later …

  Daphne retrieved a fresh sheet of parchment and laid it upon the escritoire before her, dipping her quill into a fresh pot of ink. She glanced up before she began, smiling as the warmth of a haven that had been created just for her surrounded her. Light and airy and decorated in shades of lilac, this sitting room was her own, a space Adam had spared no expense to tailor to her specifications. He’d only had one requirement … that the decor be all shades of lilac. He insisted the color made her eyes appear violet, and because she could do no more than smile like an idiot at his assertion, she’d gone along with it. The way he looked at her whenever he entered the room and gazed into her eyes … well, it almost always led to her being bent over a piece of furniture and fucked in a mindless fit, so it had been worth surrendering to his will.

  It almost always was.

  Sighing happily, she bent her head and began composing her response to the invitation that had arrived just that afternoon. She and Adam had been invited to attend the nuptials of Lady Cassandra Lane and Mr. Robert Stanley, a shocking match if ever there was one. Though, she could remember the two of them being formally introduced sometime during Bertram’s trial. As she had yet to set foot in London since running off after Adam, she’d had no idea that their acquaintance had blossomed into something more.

  The invitation had come with a handwritten letter from Robert himself, inquiring after her well-being and congratulating her on her own union, which had taken place one year ago today. Thus, her place at the writing desk.

  Pressing her quill to the paper, she began.

  Dearest Robert,

  Felicitations on your recent engagement. Adam and I will be happy to attend, though he will brood and sulk and pretend he does not wish to come. I know he will be just as glad as I am to s
ee you happily wed. Your letter was heartening, I must say. I cannot express to you my joy at knowing you have found true love. You deserve it, my dear friend, and so does Lady Cassandra. I cannot think of a better man for one such as her, and I wish you both all the happiness in the world.

  As to your inquiry, I am doing quite well, thank you. Life in Dunnottar is everything I’ve ever dreamed. Not one day passes in which I am not grateful to you for bringing Adam and me back together. As well, I am well aware that the suggestion of an elopement in Gretna Green was all your idea, something I never got to thank you for properly. It was wildly romantic, as I am certain you can imagine. I have not regretted it a single day of this past year.

  Pausing for a moment, she pressed her free hand against her belly, wincing at the feeling of a little appendage pressing against her from the inside. With a groan, she waited for the babe in her womb to shift, giving her relief from the pressure. With a contented sigh, she went back to her letter.

  I suppose you will know when you first lay eyes on me, so I suppose I ought to give you my own joyous news in advance. Adam and I are expecting a child. He is quite thrilled with himself, as I am certain you can imagine, even though I am the one doing all the work. You should not worry that I will collapse and go into labor at your wedding. I’ve a while yet until my time is to come, and look forward to shocking everyone with my condition when I arrive.

  Thank you for inquiring after my parents, by the way. I do write to them often, both of them, even though I have not quite forgiven Father for his part in Bertram’s crimes. Mother is getting on well, and seems to have finally come to terms with my marriage to Adam. I believe she has a hard time understanding how fiercely I love him. Or rather, she struggled to understand until I sent word of the babe. Now, she is elated to become a grandmama and already planning to visit Dunnottar.

  Father will not dare come here, but seems content to know that I am happy and protected. He sends his regards as often as he can, from his flat in London. He does not spend much time out in society, the shame of Bertram’s execution still hanging over his head.

  But, I suppose all is well which ends well. Again, I cannot express how happy I am for you, Robert. I look forward to seeing you soon and watching you pledge your heart to your beloved fiancé. Give her my love, and your mother, as well … unless you’ve already shipped her off to the Outer Hebrides. In which case, good riddance.

  All my love,

  Lady Daphne Callahan, Countess of Hartmoor

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  Submitting to the Marquis

  A BDSM Regency Erotic Romance (Can be read as a standalone)

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  Lady Sophie Baxter must wed a wealthy lord by the end of the Season, or risk the ruin of her family. However, her father does not have just any lord in mind. He’s set his sights on Simon Fitzwilliam, Marquis of Ashton—a man known amongst the ton for being as cold and aloof as he is rich and powerful. While his frigid gaze and reserved demeanor prove intimidating, Sophie cannot help but wonder if there isn’t more to the marquis than meets the eye. Curiosity leads her to accept the marquis’ suit, and before long she learns that Simon’s secrets are far darker than she could have ever imagined. Darkest of all being the hidden chamber behind a locked door, filled with ropes, restraints, and implements of torture … a chamber her husband has specified she is never to enter.

  Yet, Sophie soon discovers that what appear to be instruments of torment are capable of unlocking the most exquisite pleasure. Convincing him to teach her the ways of submitting to his dominance will be easy. Uncovering the secrets of his heart and soul will be one of the hardest things Sophie has ever done.

  ***Read a Sneak peek***

  Sophie stopped in her tracks, turning to face him with the box held beneath one arm. “Thank you, Ashton, for an enjoyable afternoon.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he replied, finding that he meant it.

  He had never spent an entire afternoon in idle pursuits, but with Sophie, it hadn’t felt frivolous. It had served a purpose—to make her smile at him just as she was doing now.

  “Perhaps tomorrow, we could go into town?” he suggested, hoping to seize upon her good mood. “There’s much to explore along Old Steine, and you might enjoy walking along the Royal Crescent, as well.”

  She hesitated for a moment, lowering her eyes and taking her lower lip between her teeth. Simon cursed himself for a fool. Things had been going so well, but perhaps he’d attempted too much too quickly.

  “If you would rather not, I understand,” he added.

  Peering back up at him, she shook her head. “No, it sounds like a perfectly lovely way to spend the day. I only …”

  “You are still angry with me,” he supplied when she fell silent.

  She shook her head. “No. I was, but over the past few days, my ire has cooled. But … Ashton, I am so confused. I believe we get along well, don’t you?”

  He felt his shoulders and spine loosening as relief stole the tension from his body. Confusion wasn’t nearly as hard to mend as anger.

  “I do,” he agreed. “We are well-suited, as I knew we would be.”

  “Except in one regard,” she countered. “Your predilections … I do not understand them. However, I find myself unable to stop thinking of them. I do not want them to come between us.”

  Reaching out to grasp her shoulders, he held her tight. “They will not. The promise I made to you before we left London holds true. I will never engage in those activities again, nor will I make any uncouth demands of you.”

  “But, they’ve already come between us,” she argued. “We might still be newly wed, but I thought we were coming to know one another. Now, I have discovered a side of you that I do not understand … that I might never understand. That saddens me.”

  Wrinkling his brow, he grappled in his mind with what he was hearing. “What are you saying, Sophie?”

  Taking a deep breath, she released it with a heavy sigh. “I want to understand, and I think there is only one way that I can.”

  Simon fought for several seconds to open his mouth and produce words. After a while, he began to think that, truly, any words would do, so long as they were not ‘I could teach you.’

  “You are asking me …”

  “To teach me,” Sophie said with a firm nod. “If I am going to decide whether your … tastes are something I might appreciate, I should need proper lessons, shan’t I?”

  His gut clenched while the rushing of blood away from his extremities and straight to his groin made him feel as if he might drop to his knees right there in the sand.

  “Sophie … I am not certain you know what you are asking,” he managed, his voice coming out rough and thick.

  “Then explain it to me,” she insisted, tilting her chin at an angle he had come to know as a stubborn one. “Were I to act as your submissive, what can I expect? How do you think I would perform under your dominance? Amelia seems to think that I have all the qualities of a good submissive.”

  A pounding sensation began between his eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to stifle it. “Damn Amelia, I am going to kill her.”

  Never mind that his sister had been correct. He had seen in Sophie all the qualities that his sister had likely noticed. His wife would be a splendid submissive.

  “Simon Fitzwilliam IV!” she cried, her voice rising as she stomped one foot in the sand. “We agreed to one personal question every day so that we might come to know one another. I am taking the liberty of asking in the light of day as opposed to the evening in our bed. You will answer me!”

  “No,” he growled, taking a step closer to her and lowering his voice. “I will not.”

  Damn and blast, he was succumbing to the desire causing his blood
to run hot. Not the desire to make love to her, but the compulsion to throw her facedown in the sand, toss up her skirts, and spank her for daring to command him. To show her without words just what being his submissive would entail.

  “I will not, because you are not to make demands of me … ever,” he continued. “You see, Sophie, that is what you should expect if I decide to allow you to act as my submissive. As a master, I require complete obedience at all times. You do not make demands … I make the demands. You will beg me for what you want, and will have it only if I decide you have earned it.”

  Taking another step, he stopped once his body touched hers and reached up to take her face in his hands, his grip tight on her jaw.

  “Your body would be mine to command, your pleasure subject to my whims. I would test the limits of your tolerance for pain and teach you the most exquisite pleasure you’ve ever known.”

  Her lips parted, her breath coming out in short spurts. Unable to resist, he slid his thumb toward her mouth, pressing the pad against her lower lip. Opening to him, she tentatively flicked her tongue out to caress the tip. A growl simmered in his throat, and he pushed it between her lips, demanding entrance. She fastened them around him and suckled, closing her eyes as he moved his thumb in and out, in imitation of what he wanted to do with his cock. The organ in his breeches grew harder and longer, straining toward her with a mind of its own.

  Simon had never been ruled by his prick, being a man of careful control. But Sophie proved enough to make him lose hold of his senses.

  Pulling the thumb free, he smoothed his hand down until his palm rested against her throat. Closing his fingers around her neck, he kept a gentle but firm hold. Moving his hands up, he tightened slightly, just enough that he could feel her pulse thrumming at the base of her jaw.