Page 41 of Brutal Serpent

Then the painful knot deep in my core seemed to burst, but exquisitely, and I was filled with a strange and surely ungodly wave of pleasure. I could feel my cunt convulsing around his fingers buried deep inside me, tightening in waves around him.

I cried out with the strange sensations as my skin seemed to burst, fill with the light, heady joy.

My husband’s fingers kept going and it was too much, I was too sensitive, and I begged him to stop.

“No more, please, St. Erth!” I cried and moaned, begging him without shame.

But he went until I burst again, so hard this time that I lost the hearing in my ears, my mouth open to scream but nothing to hear. I saw pinpricks of stars burst in front of my eyes, and when my hearing came back it was to my own long, shrill scream.

With a snarl, my husband climbed on the table and settled between my thighs, and I shrieked again as the hard length of his cock hit my sensitive skin, but he didn’t stop, just pressed his cock deep inside me.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, then he wrapped a big hand around the back of my neck and kissed me.

I felt limp and boneless, my arms so weak that I couldn’t even strain them anymore against my bonds. My mouth was open and panting and he tangled his tongue with mine, groaning louder as his cock stroked me inside.

I was liquid and he was fire, and I let him burn and consume me as my body seemed to wrap and flow around his.

When he finally untied me, my arms and legs ached from being stretched against the table. My cunt felt soft and liquid, a warm glow that seemed to suffuse the whole of my hips, even though St. Erth had gripped them as tight as he normally did.

“I expect,” said my husband, “that you will be a good wife from now on.”

CHAPTER 22

Catherine

Afew days later the Viscount announced that we were going to attend Sunday services. I was quite nervous because this would be my first trip to Rosewood Village. I had asked about going before and St. Erth had always refused. But I was anxious to meet more of the neighborhood. Even though the Wendovers had over-farmed and exhausted the land, I wanted to prove that I were weren’t all bad. And maybe somehow I would find a way to escape.

St. Erth said the people were the worst thing about living in the country, and we’d get no peace unless we made sporadic appearances.

“Behave yourself,” he said sternly, as I looked in the mirror to tie the white bonnet around my hair.

My maid Rebekah might look like a tartar, but she was quite a genius with my hair.

“What do you supposed I’ll do in church?” I asked tartly.

He frowned at me, putting both arms on the wall beside me and boxing me in with his great height.

“Don’t play innocent with me, little witch. I don’t want you attempting to enliven the proceedings by trying to get any of the gentlemen to spirit you away from me.”

“Why would they do that?” I gaped at him, brushing the soft fabric of my white skirt with the coiled pink rose ribbons. My new dusky pink purse matched it perfectly.

He grabbed my chin, cocking his head to look at me.

“You have a way of looking like a soft little kitten that might make any of them foolish enough to try to rescue you from me.”

I laughed, thinking he must be taunting me, and St. Erth tightened his fingers on my chin. “So don’t encourage it, little kitten, unless you want to see them killed in front of you like I did with the highwaymen. Now come with me.”

We drove in his smart equipage down the roads and into the little village of Rosewood. It was a snug place, if smaller than I expected. I saw the pretty little homes dotted along the path, and the village itself looked well-kept, with a large inn. The vicarage was neat, too, with a pretty garden and neatly stacked gray stone.

The church was beautiful, with a fine stained glass in the front. I was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps there would be people of culture out here after all!

However, I felt immensely shy as everyone turned to look at us as St. Erth pulled the equipage up and then hopped down to assist me.

They will wonder why a man who looks like him has picked a little inconsequential miss like me, I thought, trying to swallow the lump of anxiety in my throat.

How humiliating that the answer is that he wanted to be revenged against my father!

I thought I saw envious looks in the eyes of several ladies. And who wouldn’t be? St. Erth was the very picture of what a gentleman should look like. Thick golden hair that didn’t need a wig or powder, those blue eyes, the perfect cheekbones and strong jawline. Taller than everyone else, broader shoulders,and able to wear the tight-fitting pantaloons without a corset or padding because he had a fine large cock and thick thighs.

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