Page 61 of His Scottish Duchess

“I-I did not say that!”

“Then what are you saying? Because I feel as though you are intent on undermining my authority today,” he stated blankly.

“I was only…” Catherine swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. “I only meant to tell you that I believe I can finish the preparations and still rest before tomorrow.”

His hand dropped from her jaw, and for a fleeting moment, Catherine thought he would relent. But then his expression hardened, and he turned away, his movements swift and decisive. He strode to the door and locked it with a sharp click that echoed in the suddenly silent room.

Catherine’s heart began to race, echoing in her ears. The air in the room felt thick, charged with electric energy. She watched him turn back, his eyes dark and clouded with purpose.

“If you will not obey willingly,” he said, his voice a low growl, “then I will have to ensure that you understand the consequences.”

He moved towards her, and she found herself instinctively backing away, a strange mix of apprehension and desire swirling within her. He caught her easily, his hands firm on her waist, pulling her close until her body brushed against his.

“Turn around, Catherine,” he commanded as he leaned back, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Her breath hitched. A part of her wanted to give in to him, ached to bend to his will immediately.

But still, she had one last fight in her, and there was a desperate desire to push back.

So she looked him in the eye, inhaled deeply, and spoke, her voice quiet and nearly inaudible.

“Or what, husband?”

Sampson stared at her for a moment. Then, suddenly, his hands were on her again, and he flipped her onto her stomach. Catherine gasped, her palms flat on the bedcovers as she tried to look over her shoulder at him, freezing when he ordered, “Stay still and look ahead.”

She ceased her movements immediately, knowing that she had lost every defiant play she might have had and that it was much better for her to obey him now.

Her heart was beating harder and louder now, and just as she wondered if he could hear it, he tugged the skirts of her dress up and pulled down her drawers, causing her eyes to widen.

She now had an idea of what was coming. A blush heated her cheeks, a sensation that spread quickly through her body. Slowly, she curled her fingers into the covers, holding onto them for dear life.

She heard the soft rustle of fabric as he removed his coat, the silence in the room amplifying the sound. A moment later, she felt the sharp sting of his hand against her backside. It wasn’t a gentle tap; it was firm, deliberate, and surprisingly effective.

Catherine gasped, a sound that was part surprise, part something else entirely. Another sharp swat followed, and this time, a small whimper escaped her lips. Her cheeks were burning now, and a strange heat was pooling low in her belly.

He delivered several more firm swats, each one sending a jolt of unexpected sensation through her. Her grip on the covers tightened, and she found herself focusing on the feel of his hand, the slight rasp of his palm against her bare skin. It was… humiliating, yes, but there was also an undeniable thrill, a forbidden pleasure in the sensation.

Her mind was spinning with confusion and need, the latter growing rapidly and evident in the dampness she could feel between her legs.

“Sampson—”

Another firm smack landed on the curve of her buttock, making her arch her back as she whimpered.

“You do not get to speak to me. Not without permission. Not until I am sure you have learned your lesson,” he told her curtly as his hands rubbed soothing circles on her skin. “You are doing so well. Just a bit more,” he whispered.

Catherine pressed her forehead into the sheets and squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the next spank. It was odd, how instead of dread, anticipation flowed in her veins. And when she finally received what she was waiting for, it made her shudder with satisfaction.

When he finally stopped, she lay there, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, her body humming with a strange energy. She didn’t dare turn around, her embarrassment warring with the confusing arousal that had taken root.

“Do you understand now, Catherine?” Sampson’s voice was low, close to her ear. “When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.”

She nodded mutely, unable to find her voice, the sensations still swirling within her.

He turned her to face him, his gaze intense as it searched hers. Catherine knew he could see the lingering flush on her cheeks, the slight tremor in her hands. He knew he had elicited a reaction, one that went beyond mere obedience.

Without a word, he reached out a hand, his fingers gently tracing the seam of her lips. Catherine’s breath hitched again, her earlier defiance replaced by a nervous anticipation. He lowered his head, his kiss slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the earlier sharpness of his touch.

The kiss deepened, and Catherine found herself melting into him, her earlier embarrassment forgotten in the sudden wave of desire. His hands moved from her face to the curve of her neck, then lower, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone.

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