Page 60 of Madcap with a Marquess
His mouth landed on her neck, his lips skimming softly, almost leisurely. He slowly trailed his tongue down the column of her neck and her eyes fluttered shut.
“You want it, don’t you?” he whispered. “It’s why you push me. You want to be punished. Owned. By me.”
She nodded, a dry sob pulling from her chest.
“You are mine, Franny. Do you understand?”
Her body trembled beneath his as his words sank into her skin, settled into her veins, and bled through her. Emotion balled in her throat. She was. His. Irrevocably. All she’d ever longed for was to be wanted. And his fanatical need? It burned through her like fire.
“Mine to keep safe. Mine to take care of. You will never put yourself in harm’s way again.” An animalistic growl filled the room. “Promise me.”
Her blood roared in her ears, the intensity of emotion beating in her heart close to destroying her. “I pro-mise,” she said, voice breaking.
“Excellent.” He petted between her thighs lightly, approvingly. And then pulled away. “You better prepare yourself.”
She froze, and her eyes popped open at his low command. Unsure. Excited. An anticipatory shudder wracked through her. And then she felt him. The blunt tip of him rubbing, gliding over her slickness. He teased at her entrance but never gave her the pressure she craved. He left her empty and wanting.
“Brace yourself, love,” he whispered into her neck. And then he rose, both hands gripping her bottom. His cock pushed into her, tantalizing inch by tantalizing inch. Her inner muscles fluttered around him. Glorious.
“Because if you don’t hold on, I’ll fuck you right off this table.”
Oh. Dear. Lord.
He pulled back and slammed into her, their low groans mingling with the rattling dishware. He canted her hips, driving deeper. Harder. Hitting some secret spot inside of her. A shiver racked her frame. She dug her fingers into the linen tablecloth, pushing against the hard oak beneath, doing her utmost to hold steady against his onslaught. But still she slid forward.
“Do you like that?” he growled, his pace quickening. “Your punishment?”
He spread her wider, lifting one of her thighs so her knee came off the table, his grip so hard she knew she’d bruise, hoped she would. He flattened himself atop her, his other arm and chest caging her in.
“Do you feel what you do to me? I devolve into nothing more than a madman around you. Crazed. I’m deranged for you. You think I don’t care, Franny? I care. Too. Fucking. Much.”
A muffled sob escaped her lips. He had no idea what hearing those words did to her. He dropped her thigh, and his fingers came up underneath her to caress her neck. His fingers tightened over the side of her throat, pulsing in time to his thrusts. That slight pressure, not affecting her airflow, but restrictive in its own way…her core quivered.
His hand drew away, and she felt the pull of cold metal of her locket biting into her skin, then a snap. Her necklace went skittering across the table. Rupert’s hand skated underneath her, flying over folds, and she forgot her locket. He circled over her clitoris, the tightness in her core building, the heat rising to scalding. Her lungs struggled for air, her body spiraling out of control.
The sound of smacking flesh echoed around them. His thrusts demanding retribution. A part of her wondered if he thought he could fuck away the pain of last night, of the scare she’d given him. Because she knew for her—she’d never felt more alive, more safe, than she did in this moment.
And then he stopped, lifting off her again. She cried out, her body screaming as her muscles clenched and unclenched in frustration. On nothing, on emptiness.
“Don’t stop, Rupert,” she whimpered. But he ignored her.
“I’ve been craving this,” he said through harsh breaths. “Every time you’ve dared disobey me, boldly flaunted your disregard, I’ve craved bending you over and showing you what happens to bad girls.”
Smack.
Her body jerked as his palm made contact with her bottom. Her core pulsed, her eyes rolling back. Her nerves were frayed, the sting against her skin the best sort of pain. He slowly slid his cock in and out of her as his palm rubbed softly over her arse. Her core throbbed harder. That had been…
More. She needed more.
And she wouldn’t be Franny if she didn’t taunt. “That’s it?,” she goaded. “How disappointing.”
Cold air met her bottom, then a second later, so did his palm.
A broken sob escaped her at the contact, ending on a low moan. The sting was sharper now, her skin already raw, his smack carrying more power. She shimmied back against him. Offering herself up to him.Again. Please, again.She didn’t care what it said about her. What it said about him. She reveled in it, and she wanted more.
He growled.
“What a wanton you are. So…base. So…hungry…for your punishment.”
