Page 43 of Brutal Serpent

“It’s asermon,” I whispered back, trying to keep my voice down.

In response, St. Erth grabbed my hand and yanked, putting my fingers over where I felt his cock hard beneath his breeches.

I flashed a pleading look at him, shaking my head vigorously, the ribbons cascading down my back.

He couldn’t possibly! The whole town was here!

So close to him, I could see every sweeping line of his face. The sharp, chiseled cheekbones, the brilliant, angry blue of his eyes. The strong, set jawline, a muscle throbbing there.

The words of Mr. Elton thundered and reverberated in my ears.

For Satan himself can transform into an angel of light. . .

I shook my head again at my husband, trying to ignore the way the heat pounded through my body at his proximity, the feel of his thigh against mine.

St. Erth’s eyes flashed at me, and he shoved my hand down over his cock. I strained against his hold, trying to get away without making any noise. The rest of the church was silent except for the gentle rustling of skirts as Mr. Elton spoke.

I curled my fingers into a fist, refusing to touch his cock. I knew if I was at home I would have been over his knee by now, but luckily for me we were at church. And he wouldn’t dare!Would he?

Then St. Erth suddenly let me go and I saw him reach his arm down to the side of his leg. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t, too filled with horror at what my husband was capable of.

When he pulled his sharp knife out from where it rested against his silk stockings, I had to suppress a panicked shriek.

Was he going to kill me?My heart pounded painfully in my chest.

Should I scream for help? Tell everyone that my husband was a dangerous madman who had been torturing me ever since the moment we were married?

But fear for what he might do stopped me and so I sat there frozen in place as he palmed the dagger in his hand, only a tiny glittering tip showing between his fingers.

For a moment I was convinced he was going to slit my throat right there, and I’d die on the floor in front of him as he hissed in my ear that I should’ve been a good girl and obeyed him.

Then his strong fingers were in my hair and I heard a sharpschick.

With growing horror, I looked up at him, my springy bright auburn curl now held tight between his fingers.

I couldn’t resist a squeak, and I saw a few people look over curiously at me.

My husband bent his head to my ear again.

“Are you going to obey or am I going to keep going?” he asked, his voice low, scraping against my propriety and effectively slicing it to ribbons. “I’ll cut it off piece by piece until you obey me, Viscountess.”

Numbly, I reached my hand out and my fingers closed around his cock. Although I knew logically that no one could see any lower than our necks because of the walls around the family pew, my cheeks still burned with embarrassment.

My straining ears heard his low exhale as I drew my husband’s cock from his pants.

I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead, focus on what Mr. Eton was saying, as my right hand moved up and down my husband’s cock.

His cock was thick under my fingers, and I tightened them around him, wishing instead that I could run out of the church and escape in the carriage.

I stroked him slowly, the way I knew he liked, base to tip, my other hand tucked primly in my lap. I was afraid the whole congregation would be able to hear the sound of my hand on his flesh.

I could have moaned with relief when Mr. Elton struck up a hymn, and St. Erth made a low noise of pleasure. My hands tightened almost convulsively on his cock and he groaned again.

“That’s it, kitten. Just like that.”

I didn’t even have to look at him to feel his breath catch, feel the muscles in his legs tensing where we were connected together.

Gods. . .damn, was he really going to releasehere? I felt a horrifying panic that he would force me to my knees in front of him. But then he nudged me and pointed at my little purse clutched in my lap.

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