by Renee Rose
She pulled away, stumbling back. “No, sir. It does not. I assure you, men do not excite me.”
He gave her a wolfish smile. “I’ve never seen two women together, but it might interest me to watch.”
She gave him an effectual shove. “I’m not interested in women, either, you boar!”
He laughed. “Mind your manners, or I’ll have you over my knee before supper. In fact,” he said, scooping her up by the waist and carrying her kicking and thrashing to the bed. “Let’s see how your little bottom fared after that thrashing I gave you this morning.”
“Stop,” she squealed. “No more spanking! No, please!”
“Good,” he said, wrestling her to his lap on the bed. “I’m glad you’ve finally learned to fear my punishments.”
“Stop it, you oaf.”
He delivered a slap to her wriggling arse. “Now I am an oaf? I wasn’t planning on spanking you, but if you keep it up, you will soon be sorry.”
“What are you doing?” she demanded, craning her neck to look over her shoulder. “Not… the other thing?”
“What other thing?” he asked, hiding his smile as he pushed her skirts up to reveal her pert, round bottom. He ran his roughened palm lightly over her skin. She bore marks from the whipping that morning but it did not look quite so tender as it had hours before.
Daisy had stiffened, her struggles ceasing as she lay over his thighs, panting, seeming to wait to see what he would do.
He took his time, lightly stroking her baby-soft skin, tracing circles around her twin globes, trailing his palm down the backs of her thighs. After a moment, he smelled the scent of her arousal. He pulled one of her thighs open and lightly brushed a finger along her slit.
She jerked and tried to close her legs, but he had anticipated her move, and held her thigh open.
“You’re wet for me, Daisy,” he murmured.
“I… I don’t even know what that means,” she said.
“I know, love. You don’t know anything about passion yet. But I will teach you. Little by little I’ll win your trust until you believe that what I offer you is something altogether different than what you’ve known.”
“Please,” she pleaded, sounding distressed.
He gave her bottom another pat and pulled her skirts down. “Let’s go down for supper,” he said, lifting her to her feet.
She hurried to the door without looking at him, but to his satisfaction, did not open the door. She stood facing the exit, waiting for him.
He smiled. Either she feared going out without him, or she was growing fond of him. Probably the former, but he’d take what he could get.
* * *
Sir Barrett had a bath sent up to his room after supper. To Daisy’s annoyance, the same serving wench from outside, Margrite, was one of the women who carried up buckets of warm water. She paced a small path near the window where she’d watched her… husband all afternoon. It seemed impossible she could be married, and yet Father David had pronounced them man and wife. She now had a husband. She belonged to Sir Barrett.
How odd that the thought did not distress her nearly so much today as it had the day before. The bedding part, yes. She still did not want to have anything to do with coupling, not even the electrifying things he had done to her the night before. But she liked Sir Barrett, despite it all. He had spanked her—three times already. He had tied her wrists and made a spectacle out of feeding her on his lap. He had locked her in his room like a prisoner of war and yet… she could not hate him. She could not even dislike him. In less than two days’ time, he’d already become familiar to her. Here at Rothburg, he was the only person she knew. But more than that, she felt close to him. As close as she’d felt to her sisters, God rest their souls. He knew her darkest secret, after all.
Margrite and her cohort clomped into the room again, carrying two more buckets, which they emptied into the wooden tub in the center of the room. “Is that enough for you, my lord?” Margrite asked.
Sir Barrett looked at the water level. “Yes, that should do. Thank you.”
Margrite set her pail down and sauntered over to stand far too close to Sir Barrett. “Would you like us to bathe you, my lord?” she asked in a sultry voice.
Sir Barrett smirked. “No, I have a lady wife for that now,” he said, tossing Daisy a wink.
“Are you sure?” Margrite asked, her voice dripping with honey. “We could show her how you like it…”
“Out,” he said, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on, move out. I am married now, and your flirtation offends my wife.” He did not seem angry with the wenches, though, only amused.
It irritated her even more to think he offered that same patient amusement with all of her antics. Mayhap she was not special to him at all, but just a female who offered a challenge for his seduction. She folded her arms across her chest and glowered at him when they left.
“You cannot be angry with me for the girls I tumbled before we were married. I will not be unfaithful to you unless you drive me completely from our bed.”
A cold, sinking sensation took hold in her abdomen. It was the answer to her dilemma—the way to be rid of his amorous intentions. And yet, the idea of him lying with another made her almost dizzy with nausea.
She looked up to find him studying her. “You are actually considering it, aren’t you?” he asked, sounding offended for the first time since she’d met him.
She hesitated. Lying would only earn her another trip over his knee. She shook her head and turned away. “I’m just—confused,” she said, which was truth.
“Fair enough. Come here, little wife and learn to serve your husband.”
She walked to him and knelt at his feet, unlacing his boots.
His large hand tangled in her hair, mussing her braid. He lifted the plait and cut the thread securing the end with the blade of his dagger. “Unwind your hair,” he said, his voice deepened.
She closed her eyes, breathing. Why did such a simple command have an effect on her body? Her breasts had grown heavy, the nipples tight and achy. The now-familiar swirling sensation had taken flight in her belly. Her fingers shook as she unwound the braid until her blond hair fell across her shoulders in thick waves.
Sir Barrett pulled off his tunic and undershirt, revealing his chiseled muscles. She had never found men appealing, but the mere sight of his chest made her heart pick up speed. Something about the power so evident in his naked form made the muscles clench between her legs in a mixture of fear and… what? Desire? Surely not.
She scrambled back and lurched to her feet, away from him when he pulled off his leggings. It may have been better to stay close, because now she had a clear view of his manhood, standing straight out like a jousting rod.
She must have shown her shock, because he grinned and covered it with one fist as he stepped into the tub. “Don’t be afraid of it. I’ll never take you before you’re ready.”
“Before I ask, you mean,” she said.
“Yes, that, too. But I mean after you’ve asked, when you’ve given yourself wholly to me. I still would never let it be difficult for you.”
Panic at the topic only added to her confusion. “I-I’m afraid I do not understand you, my lord.”
“Come over here,” he said.
The last thing she wanted to do was get closer to his naked body. But they had made a bargain, and if she wanted him to uphold his end, she had to keep hers. She came two steps closer.
He patted the floor beside him. “Right here. Kneel by my side and wash me.”
Bubbles of fear fizzed inside her but she obeyed, lowering to her knees and picking up the scrap of linen. Her hands refused to touch him with it, though. She just remained there, frozen by his side, staring into the water at his enormous cock.
“Wash me,” he commanded, his voice a shade more stern. She pushed up her sleeves but he shook his head. “Take off that gown or it will get soaking wet.”
It was a reasonable request, but it made her hea
rt skitter around in her chest like a rabbit on the run from a hawk. She stood up and peeled off the dress, praying he would not also ask her to remove the chemise. Lowering back to her knees, she dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed his knee with it.
Sir Barrett’s beefy arm snaked around her waist, the heat from his flesh seeming to scald her. “Higher,” he murmured.
It took her a moment to understand what he meant, and when she did, she was sure she blushed. She pushed the washcloth a little higher up his thigh, following the contour of hard muscle.
Sir Barrett’s hand stroked up the back of her thigh.
She scooted her knees closer to the tub, as if she might escape his touch.
Of course his hand remained attached, traveling ever higher until he gripped the very top of her thigh, his fingers just brushing the outer lips of her sex.
She froze, the washcloth unmoving on his upper thigh.
Barrett’s other hand came down on top of hers in the water, guiding it toward the place she had purposely refused to look.
She resisted, but he did not allow her to withdraw her hand. “I know it must seem grotesque to you,” he said, at the same time his finger began to slide lightly over her folds.
“Yes,” she agreed. She did find a man’s anatomy offensive.
“Go ahead and take him,” he coaxed, pressing her fingers around the base of his shaft.
“Please,” she said, this time trying to back her knees away from the tub. “I don’t—” She stopped when her efforts to retreat caused Sir Barrett’s fingers to press into her sex. She bit back the little cry on her lips as he began to circle one finger on a particularly sensitive place. She tightened her fist reflexively, only to feel his cock grow in response. “Oh,” she exclaimed, trying to release his manhood, but held fast by his other hand.
“Go on, Daisy,” Barrett said, his voice sounding rough.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her thighs quivering, a mysterious moisture dripping down her leg.
“You’re doing so well, little girl.” As his fingers continued to delve in and out of her folds, he guided her fist up and down his length.
She squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh,” she moaned, her embarrassment and unease equally matched by the powerful and growing need to have his fingers push deeper or faster.
* * *
“Do you feel the moisture in your quim, Daisy?”
She made a small sound of assent.
“That is how your body readies for me. It makes sex pleasurable. Without it, you might experience pain.” The flash of knowing on her face made him sorry he mentioned it. He wanted to avenge her rape, to tear that man or men apart with his bare hands. He kept his tone easy, though, for her sake. “When I said I’d never make it difficult for you, that is what I meant. You see, right now, your little quim wants me.”
The feel of Daisy’s slick sex under his fingers felt even sweeter than her hand around his manhood. He wanted to bring her over the edge again, to show her pleasure in every way he knew how. And yet he had resolved not to allow her to climax until she asked him to take her properly.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t reach completion, though. He tightened his hand over hers, closing his eyes. His feet began to press against the wall of the tub, his legs tightening and straining. His cock had been aching for release since the moment he first saw his Daisy. He pushed her fingers right up to the sensitive rim and back down again, as he began to thrust one finger inside her tight channel.
The sound of her labored breath and little squeaks excited him further. As his seed surged down his shaft he slid a second finger inside her, pumping them rapidly.
“Oh, please,” she squealed plaintively.
“No, Daisy,” he managed to say, removing his fingers at the same moment he found his desperate release. He lifted his hips and came into the cloth, to keep the water clean.
She gasped, staring, then scrambled back and stood up. After a moment, she asked in an unsteady voice, “Why did you say no?”
He finished washing quickly and stood up. “I meant you were not allowed to finish. Your turn in the tub; it’s still warm.”
She looked at the bath dubiously, her brow furrowed. “Finish?” she asked.
He smiled at her sweet innocence. “Climax. You may not climax unless I give you permission, or until you have begged me to consummate our marriage.”
She appeared uneasy, as if just beginning to understand the implications of his plan. She hadn’t moved from her place, so he strode over and pulled her chemise over her head in one swift movement.
“In the tub,” he said, slapping her arse.
She yelped and lurched forward, climbing into the tub and drawing her knees to her chest as if to hide her body from his view.
He stood over her, peering down. “There’s no hiding yourself from me,” he said. “I will soon begin punishing any attempts to hide or keep yourself from me. I am your lord husband and your body belongs to me. You’d best get used to it.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and frightened, but her perfect pink nipples stood in stiff peaks. He knew her mind battled her body at times like this and he rather enjoyed watching the war.
“Show me,” he commanded, because she had not moved from her position.
She moved her knees an inch away from her breasts.
“Spread your feet wide,” he said. “Show me your charms.”
She looked aghast. “My lord… surely this is not… proper?”
He grinned. “It is proper for a man to have carnal knowledge of his wife, is it not? I have made a significant concession in light of your fears. But you must hold up your end of the arrangement. Now open your thighs.”
She cringed, but slowly inched her feet apart.
The water did not obscure his view of her silken curls and the treasures that lay beneath. He made a show of looking her body up and down. “Beautiful,” he remarked.
An enchanting blush colored her cheeks, her lush lips opening as she stared up at him.
“You didn’t know that, did you?” he asked, surprised at the sudden realization.
She flushed a deeper shade of rose. “I never wanted to be,” she answered.
“You’ve been hiding from men.”
The tiny pink tip of her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. “Yes. I refused to cover my hair. I learned to trap and hunt like a boy, to play harp like a minstrel, to make myself seem eccentric.”
He crouched down to her level. “If the men of Hohenzollern passed you by, they were fools.”
She nibbled her lip. “You don’t find me… odd?”
He held her gaze. “I find you fascinating, intoxicating, beyond compare. Last night when I lay down beside you, I thanked God for my good fortune.”
She dropped her eyes to her hands. “You flatter,” she mumbled.
He walked around to her side of the tub and lifted her out, handing her a dry linen. “I speak truth.”
She dried off and reached for the discarded chemise.
“Ah, ah,” he scolded. “No clothing in bed. Don’t you remember?”
She looked pained, but dropped the chemise.
He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he laid her gently down. She thrashed a little when he lowered his own body over hers, but he didn’t put any weight on her, staying on his knees and forearms as he kissed down her neck. He dragged the tip of his tongue across the slope of her collarbone, cupping one breast in each hand and kneading. He began to torture her right nipple between his fingers as he suckled the left, teasing her with nips and bites, pinches and caresses.
She made the most erotic little grunts of protest, her belly tensing and releasing.
Keeping one hand focused on her breast, he crawled lower, kissing down her fluttering abdomen until he reached her little triangle of dark curls. He planted a kiss at the apex of her folds.
“No,” she said, sounding panicked. “What are you doing?”
“I’m
teaching you pleasure,” he said.
“No… please,” she said, trying to push him away with her legs.
“That’s a spanking,” he chortled, rolling her to her belly.
“Ack,” she exclaimed. “No!”
“All I hear is no, no, no,” he said, slapping her squirming bottom with each word. He didn’t hold back, hoping a little pain might help release her nerves. He pressed one hand down on her low back to pin her in place and spanked her over and over again, until her bottom took on a beautiful shade of pink.
He rolled her back over. “Naughty girl,” he scolded. “If you can’t open for me, I shall have to help you. Do not move,” he said sternly.
She delighted him by letting out a little whimper and writhing about on the bed.
His cock forgot about his earlier release, standing eagerly at attention at the sight of Daisy’s naked form. He grabbed some jute rope from his supplies and returned, picking up a new linen washcloth on the way. He tore the washcloth into strips and wound one around her ankle to protect her soft skin from the rough rope.
She watched him with wide, frightened eyes as he wrapped and knotted the rope over the swath of linen.
Tossing it underneath his wooden bedframe, he picked it up on the other side, tugging until her leg opened to the side.
For all their jesting about taming horses earlier, she did have the look of a nervous filly now, peering at him from the corners of her eyes, her chest rising and falling with quickened breath.
He caught her other ankle, pulling it wide, so she lay with her legs spread open, her sex mercilessly on display. He wrapped and tied the ankle, then gave her wrists the same treatment.
She tugged at the ropes, twisting and fretting.
“Shh,” he said, crawling over her and brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Easy, little girl. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
She said nothing, but her eyes remained fixed on his, her breasts lifting and falling open with each short breath. He kissed down her centerline again, using a little tongue, sucking in places. Settling between her splayed legs, he slid a hand underneath her bottom and squeezed the warm flesh of one cheek as he brought his mouth to her glistening sex.