Page 39 of Wedded to the Beastly Duke
Would he take what was due?
Would it hurt?
One of his hands remained on her breast, pinching her nipple until her core squeezed around nothing in a desperate display of desire. Something hard pressed against her stomach, and every so often, he would thrust, the movement almost unconscious, unintentional. As though he was helpless under his body’s urgings, just as she was.
“You should know the punishment for disobeying me is severe,” he said into her mouth as his other hand tugged at her dress, pulling it up. Next came her chemise, and he rolled off her to pull these items over her head. Her stays remained, and he unfastened them with nimble fingers.
All that remained were her stockings, but he left them where they were, looking down at her almost naked body with an almost savage hunger.
Insatiable, that was the word for the look on his face as he surveyed her.
“Well?” she asked, squaring her shoulders and pulling her knees together. Perhaps she ought to be embarrassed, but the way he was looking at her was eliminating any chance of embarrassment. “Do you like the way I look, Your Grace?”
“You are insolent,” he growled, sitting on the edge of the bed. With one easy movement, he picked her up and deposited her across his lap, face down, her legs to one side and her upper body half lying on the bed. “And this is your punishment.”
She had known what he was about to do, having been punished by enough nannies when she was a child, but her body still sang with nervous excitement in the space before he brought his hand down on her bare buttocks with a stinging blow. The pain was shocking, melting into something warm that went straight to her core. She whimpered, wiggling in his hold, not really trying to escape.
“You wanted to know if I like the way you look?” he asked, striking her again.
Her eyes watered, and she squeezed her legs shut, desperate for friction.
“I love the way you look now.” He slid a hand up her thigh, opening her legs for him. “Will you defy me again, Emmeline?”
“If you do not give me a good reason to obey you,” she managed.
He brought his hand down for another slap. The pain was just below her threshold, as though he instinctively knew what would be too much. His other hand caressed her leg, and the dichotomy of hard against soft made her chest swell with emotion.
“This is what you get for disobeying me,” he said. “You are my wife, and I am your husband.”
“How many?” she choked out.
“Seven more.”
One.
She moaned, squirming against him, deliberately pressing against that hardness she knew instinctively was connected to his pleasure.
Two.
His hand pushed higher between her legs, and she opened herself to him.
Three.
Four.
Five.
All three were in quick succession, and her core throbbed with frustrated need. Her buttocks were on fire, and the pain and pleasure combined, twisting and melding until she could not tell where one ended and the other began. She had never known it could feel likethis.
Six.
His fingers finally touched the slickness between her legs, and the rush of pleasure was so potent that her head swam. He cursed under his breath, the filthy word only adding to the fire in her veins.
“So you like this, don’t you, love?”
She was unable to answer, merely trembling in anticipation of his fingers traveling deeper into her secret place. She had never touched herself there—or at least not when she felt like this—and she had never known it had such potential for pleasure.
How much pleasure could one woman take? She felt as though she was drowning in it.
