He emanated confidence, intrigue, and danger. Reputation not withstanding, Anna felt some of her old fascination return. All of the time she spent daydreaming about the man, and now here she was, bought and paid for by the very object of her wayward obsession.
Property. She was property.
What Anna did know about Vere was that, like most titled gentlemen, he maintained a large family estate in the English countryside, but spent most of his time in London. The carriage rumbled down a narrow lane. Anna tried to take deep, calming breaths, fighting the panic that grew as they drew closer to their destination within the city.
Moments later, they reached their destination. The carriage rolled to a stop, and her companion opened the door, disembarking without a word to her. Stunned, she sat there for a moment before the coachman appeared at the open door and helped her down. She saw Vere’s broad-shouldered silhouette ascend the front steps of the townhome, then disappear through the door that opened at his approach.
Anna lingered behind, clutching her bag in her hands.
The coachman nudged her gently towards the steps. “’E don’t like to be kept waitin’, Miss,” he whispered to her. “Best go inside quick.”
Squaring her shoulders, Anna strode up the walk and inside the open door. The interior of the home invoked warmth and comfort. The walls were decorated the same as the floor, with rich mahogany. Brightly lit pewter sconces lined the walls and bathed the entryway in soft, yellow light. A long side table sat against one wall, adorned with a miniature grandfather clock and a beautifully painted oriental vase.
To her left, a set of doors stood open, providing a glimpse of a modest dining room, complete with a wide hearth and a long rectangular table. A wide staircase curved upwards directly opposite the front door, gilt paintings of Vere’s ancestors were placed tastefully about the walls. The Fane family crest adorned the top of each frame, a bull’s head atop a three-point crown. Anna saw that it had changed over time, subtle adjustments having been made by each successive heir, including Vere himself, whose own image hung just to the left of the dining room. The painting showed him standing against the mantle of the dining room fireplace, a half-smile graced his lips that looked both playful and stern at the same time. She saw him in much the same pose now.
Vere leaned against one wall, right hand on his hip, watching her with a bored, expression. She met his gaze with what she hoped to be an equally bland look of her own, waiting for instruction. Moments passed, during which he clearly meant to make her uncomfortable. He succeeded, and she looked away. Though she refused to look him in the face again, she sensed he smiled.
“There is a room up the stairs, down the left hall, and the last door on the right. Go there now, and I will join you shortly.” He disappeared through a set of double doors off the right side of the foyer. She caught a glimpse of a large desk as the door swung closed. His office, she concluded.
Anna ascended the stairs calmly; some of her anxiety disappeared at seeing the rather normal interior of Vere’s townhome. Following his instructions, she entered the last door on the right and found herself in a small bedchamber. At first glance, the space seemed like a simple guestroom with a chest, armoire, bed, and two wooden chairs set around a small breakfast table. A cloth-covered bench sat against the wall, parallel with a wide bay window. A fire crackled cheerily in the hearth, bathing the room in soft, orange light. Upon closer inspection, though, the room was anything but ordinary.
A short chain was attached to each of the bed’s four posters with a metal shackle. Several large hooks hung from the ceiling. The walls were affixed with large metal hoops at regular intervals. They reflected the light of the fire with a sinister gleam, taunting her and her ignorance. She didn’t know what those were for and she didn’t want to find out, either.
Someone coughed behind her, and Anna jumped, whirling around to find Vere in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the jamb, one booted foot crossed in front of the other. He’d removed his jacket and cravat, and his unbuttoned shirt revealed a smooth, sculpted chest, hairless except for a dark trail that began just below his navel and blazed a suggestive path down his abdomen to disappear beneath his breeches. He tucked his unbound hair behind his ears. Despite her predicament, Anna’s breath caught in her throat. He emanated raw, masculine power that mesmerized.
“So,” he began, stalking forward and circling her like a predator, hands behind his back. She saw a riding crop gripped loosely in one hand. “You truly are a virgin?”
Anna said nothing, kept her gaze forward, and clenched her jaw in defiance. She vowed not to show her fear. After listening to Aunt’s stories, she had a good idea what the crop was for. Perhaps he only wished to intimidate her with it.
Perhaps…
“Darling, this won’t do.” With a flurry of movement, he stood beside her, the riding crop snaking out to deliver a sharp smack to her rear.
She yelped in protest, more from surprise than pain, and dropped her bag onto the floor. Even having seen the crop, she hadn’t expected him to use it, and she jumped, her head snapping around to look at him in shock. The sharp sting faded quickly but left her on alert, waiting for the next blow.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yes,” she spat.
He struck her again. His calm demeanor never changed, his patient expression never wavered. They could have been discussing the weather for all the emotion he showed. “That won’t do, either. For the time being, I am your lord and master, and you will address me as ‘milord’. Now, let’s try again. You are truly a virgin?”
“Yes…milord.”
“Better.” He grinned, and his gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts visible above the line of her gown.
“You’re spirited; I like that. You’ll learn very quickly that if you please me, I will reward you. And if you vex me, you will be punished. Don’t forget your place in all this.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but snapped it shut again, thinking better of it. Her bottom stung, and she had no desire to provoke him further.
“You wish to say something, darling?” he offered with a lift of his brows.
“I am not a whore, milord.” But you are, her mind whispered. Whatever you were two days ago no longer matters, you are now, and will for the rest of your life, be ruined.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, studying her. His gaze bore into her, seemed to penetrate through her. “And I find that very curious. Tell me, who are you? You look…familiar to me.” Fortunately, he didn’t wait for her reply before issuing his next order. “Remove your clothes.”
She shook her head. “No.” Despite the inevitability of her deflowering, she wouldn’t let it happen here, like this. Not if she could help it.
“What was that? Did you tell me no?” Grasping her waist with one hand, he bent her body forward and launched a volley of blows upon her rear.
She squirmed and tried to escape him, but he tightened his grasp.
“I think you like the sting of my crop, sweet Rose,” he murmured in her ear. “Why else would you disobey me?”
“Please,” she whispered, blinking back tears.
“Please what?”
“Please stop, milord.”
“Will you remove your dress for me, then? If you make me tear it from you, I won’t be pleased.”
Anna took a shuddered breath. “Yes, milord.”
She slipped out of her gown with trembling hands and clumsily undid the stays of her corset. Vere crossed the room and picked up the padded bench by the window. She watched mutely while he positioned it beneath one of the hooks that dangled from the ceiling. Once nude, she stood with one hand covering her sex, the other crossed over her breasts in a pathetic attempt to shield herself.
“Come here,” Vere ordered over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around. “Kneel on the bench.”
Anna dutifully walked over and climbed onto the bench, keeping her head down. She didn’t want to see his expression when he
looked at her. He disappeared from her peripheral vision, and she heard him move behind her and felt the coarse scratching of a rope around her ankle. “What are you going to do, milord?” she ventured.
“You’ll see.”
He continued to twist the rope along her prone form. He wound the rope around her other ankle. His thick arm rested between her knees, her chest tightened when she felt the rough rope pulled between her elbows and wrapped around her wrist. His breath fanned her ear, and she shivered. With each new twist, her movements were further restricted, her breath coming faster as she systematically lost control. She twisted, testing her range of motion, and found it nonexistent. He ignored her struggling, pushing first one arm, and then the other, into the air.
Some time later, Vere stepped back and admired his handiwork with a perfunctory nod. Anna sat rendered completely immobile by the intricate series of knots and loops, which began at her knees and worked their way up her body and around the hook hanging from the ceiling. Her arms were raised above her, tied together at the wrists, and suspended; the rope twisted down her arms and looped twice around her neck, then down her chest under each breast with a knot at her back. The coarse material crisscrossed her torso before wrapping around her waist and around each of her thighs, which were securely knotted to the loops around her respective ankles. Anna was forced to arch her back slightly to relieve the strain on her arms, pushing her breasts forward, and she kept her legs spread wide to avoid toppling over. She felt thoroughly, shamefully exposed.
“This works nicely, don’t you think?” Vere asked, circling her with measured steps.
“Yes, milord,” she mumbled, eyes downcast.
“I like this,” he commented, pausing at her front. One large hand traced the mound of her hairless sex. “Madame Girou’s doing, I assume?”
She nodded.
“Very nice, indeed. If you’re a good girl, perhaps I’ll enjoy a taste later.”
A taste? Horrified by his implication, her head snapped up, and she met his gaze. Her aunt had educated her on the basics of sexual intercourse, but the older woman never mentioned that. Was it just another of the earl’s abnormal preferences, or was this something she would be forced to endure with all the men she was now expected to service?
“Oh yes, darling, I promise you’ll like my tongue between your legs,” he laughed darkly. “But only if you behave.”
Despite her mind’s revulsion to the idea, her thighs quivered. His laughter deepened, indicating that her reaction had not gone unnoticed.
“You have much to learn, sweet Rose. You should thank me for being such a willing tutor.”
“Thank you, milord,” she replied dutifully.
“You’re quite welcome.”
Anna heard the riding crop cut through the air a moment before the blow landed on the small of her back. Another struck her, this time lower, followed by a flurry of strikes to her buttocks and the soles of her feet. Her eyes filled with tears, and she cried out; the pain radiated outwards from her abused flesh and warmed her skin.
“Why?” she shrieked, the harsh surface of the rope cutting into her wrists as she attempted to twist out of his reach.
“Why?” Vere repeated, slightly out of breath from the exertion.
“I did what you asked, milord!”
“You did,” he confirmed as the crop landed with another thwack, “you did very well.”
“Then I don’t understand!” The tears ran freely now, cooling her flushed cheeks and splashing onto her breasts, her breathing erratic and labored.
“Your job here is what?” he asked patiently, circling around to face her. He removed his shirt and she took in the sight of his strong, muscled arms, the crafted perfection of his chest. Even bound and at his complete mercy, she found him heartbreakingly attractive. The tongue of the crop touched her chin and lifted her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. He traced her jaw with the slip of leather but paused to brush a strand of hair from her eyes.
“To obey you, milord,” she whispered.
“Yes, and what else?”
“To please you, milord.”
“Precisely. And it pleases me to see you this way, sweet Rose.” This time, the crop dipped lower over the swell of her breasts. He traced one nipple, then the other. The pebbled flesh tightened traitorously, causing her to shiver. “Does it not please you as well?”
“N-no, milord,” she stammered. Liar, her heart whispered.
Vere leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “It will.”
She bit her lip and took a deep breath, mentally bracing herself for the next blow.
He didn’t strike her.
“Kiss me,” he ordered.
He must have seen the uncertainty in her eyes because he softened his expression and cupped her cheek with his free hand. This was the first time he’d touched her without the crop, his skin surprisingly smooth, his caress unexpectedly gentle.
“Have you ever been kissed, Rose?”
“No, milord,” she admitted, her cheeks burning.
“Good.” He brought his face closer. “Close your eyes.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she complied, afraid he would change his mind and strike her again. His lips brushed hers, soft and full, just the lightest of touches. He made contact a second time. This time, the touch lasted longer, a light sweep of his tongue across her bottom lip. He licked the corners of her mouth before capturing her bottom lip with his teeth and bit gently. She tried unsuccessfully to keep from moaning and felt his lips tighten in a smile.
She heard the riding crop fall, and a moment later, his hands covered her breasts, lifting the pliant weight in his palms. His thumbs brushed her nipples and she moaned into his mouth. He chuckled in response, but did not break the kiss, probing her mouth with his skilled tongue. Trapping the tiny nubs between his fingers, he rolled them first in one direction, followed by the other. Anna arched her back, pushing into his caress. Without warning, he gave her left nipple a vicious twist.
He alternated between gentle and rough, one moment stroking her, the next squeezing until she cried out. The unique sensation caused pleasure and pain indivisible. Somehow, the pain seemed to heighten the pleasure, for when he relaxed his grip on her nipples, she felt a rush of moisture between her legs, increasing her desire with methodical calculation.
Vere’s right hand dipped between her legs and probed her sex with one long finger. “You say you don’t like what I do to you, Rose, and yet here you are, positively soaking my finger. What do you have to say to that?”
She bit her lip, ashamed. “I don’t understand it.”
“You don’t have to. Just enjoy it and know that I have made you feel this way.” He shifted his fingers upwards and rubbed them in a gentle circular motion.
“Oh,” she cried out, her senses reeling.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered against her cheek. “Give in to it. Let go.”
She surrendered completely to the acute pleasure he created as he manipulated the tiny sliver of flesh upon which her entire being seemed dependant. His fingers moved faster, and faster still, until her moans became an unbroken chorus, echoing off the walls of the small room.
When she thought she’d reached the height of her pleasure, he withdrew his hand and delivered a sharp smack to her sex with his open palm. She shrieked and bucked against him, pushed her hips forward as best she could within her restraints. She wanted—no, needed—more. She lost control of her body and her mind. Whatever he wanted from her, she would give. Whatever he wished to take was already his.
“Come for me, darling. Now.”
She didn’t know what his instruction meant, but a moment later, as he plunged two fingers inside her body, she shattered. Any final vestiges of control slipped away, and she plummeted into an abyss of sensation, the ecstasy so keen she thought she might die from the sheer intensity of it.
“Did you like that?” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and withdrew his fingers with one final, gliding car
ess.
“Oh, yes, milord.” Her body still quaked with tiny aftershocks of pleasure. Too weak to hold up her head, she dropped it to his shoulder, panting. Her wrists burned from the strain of being held above her and from the coarse rope bound so tightly around them. Now that her pleasure subsided, her discomfort surfaced. She wanted him to release her arms so that she might cling to him, but he showed no intention of untying her.
“You see? I do reward you when you please me.”
“Thank you, milord.” The genuine gratitude in her voice surprised her.
“Would you like me to do it again?”
He kneaded the raw flesh of her bottom, soothed away the hurt he had so systematically inflicted. It felt…divine. The memory of the pain faded. A languid satisfaction replaced it, something akin to pride at having pleased him and having earned such a glorious reward.
“Yes, milord. Please.”
Vere chuckled. “Tomorrow.” His touch disappeared as he worked the knots at her wrists. His gentle hands massaged the abraded skin. She collapsed against him, asleep in moments within the comforting warmth of his embrace.
* * *
Anna woke to the sound of curtains being opened. She slitted one eye open with a groan and saw a young serving girl bustling about the room. In the same room as the night before, nestled between the red silk sheets of the overstuffed bed, she took in her surroundings, which looked decidedly different in the sunlight.
“G’mornin’ Miss,” the girl chirped. “I’ve put yer breakfast on the table an’ yer bath is bein’ drawn. I’m to take ye to the earl as soon as ye’re ready. Best not dawdle.”
Anna mumbled a groggy response and pulled herself upright. Hearing the soft rustle of fabric, she looked down and found herself in a luxurious nightgown of black satin with tiny beads sewn into the sleeves and neckline. Vere must have dressed her in it after he had untied her. Her memory had faded some after collapsing, sated, in his arms. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, a dull throb radiated from her lower back. Her wrists, too, felt mildly sore.
A Rose of Any Color: MaleDom: A BDSM Anthology Page 11