A Measured Risk

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She shrugged. “Fishing might prove interesting.” She looked up from her empty plate and gave him a bright, happy laugh.

  His broad, high forehead wrinkled as his dark brown brows drew together.

  “Are you sure you’re quite all right?” he asked. Then his frown deepened, his fierce expression sent the same curl of fear down into her stomach as it had the very first time she’d met him.

  She flinched away.

  He took her hand. “Was I too rough in the stable, Nan? Should we talk about this?”

  “Oh, that.” Her face burned under his regard. “It was…interesting.”

  “Interesting as in I frightened you and now you’re trying to put a polite face on it?”

  “I am quite all right.” She couldn’t look at him.

  “We should always discuss when something makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He leant forward and kissed her forehead. Then he stood and his boots sounded on the floor as he walked away.

  Their empty plates and dirty utensils clattered as he set to washing them in the basin.

  She leapt to her feet. “I could do that,” she said with no real confidence. She’d never washed a dish in her life. She went to his side and lifted the soap cake.

  He took it from her. “No, you are not to wash dishes.”

  “Why ever not? It is woman’s work.”

  “You’re not just a woman. You’re a lady.” He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed it. Teasing entered his expression. “And, more importantly, you are my personal plaything. I don’t want your hands roughened.”

  “But I want to pull my own weight here.”

  “It’s not your decision.”

  “They are my hands—surely I may decide if they shall be exposed to work or not.”

  “Nan, we’ve talked about this. Your body belongs to me and your hands are part of your body. I happen to prize your skin very much. If I want your body oiled every day and soft, it shall be. If I want your hands kept pristine, they shall be.”

  Defiance burned her. “But I may learn to hunt and catch fish?”

  “Yes, but you shall do so only when you are with me, like this.”

  “I see.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  He frowned. “What do you see?”

  “That you mean to control every aspect of my life.”

  “I never lied about that, Nan.”

  “Well, I can’t breathe like that.”

  “You’ll adapt,” he replied firmly.

  Her mouth fell open. Mere moments ago, she’d been ready to cry into her pillow because he might be disappointed in her. What insanity. The man was an impossible tyrant. “Did you expect this from all your other love affaires?”

  “They were nothing like this. This is…something very rare.”

  Her heart started pounding, but whether from fear or hope or some confused mixture of the two, she didn’t know. “Don’t sham me.”

  She couldn’t bear it if he did. She’d been laughed at and mocked by her own class too much. If he were to join them—

  “Anne, you knew this was something different too. From the first time we met.” He grew silent for a moment, scrubbing then rinsing a plate. “I don’t want this to end in October.”

  Her mouth fell open. “How many times must I say it? I shall go to live in Ireland, just as soon as I can bear to travel by carriage again.”

  She had no choice. Her sister was coming. She couldn’t be cavorting with a man once her sister arrived in England.

  “By the end of this month, you may not wish to pack off to Ireland so quickly.”

  She understood of course. He meant for her to be his mistress. Someone he could control at his leisure and dismiss at his whim. “I won’t be your mistress. Not long term like that.”

  “What are you so afraid of? Why does everything have to be so set over this? Can we not simply be lovers now and see where things lead?”

  “Everything is in your favour. And please, just understand when I say that I cannot be your long-term mistress.”

  “I already told you. I have an understanding with another lady and I never break my word once given. So I shan’t ever marry you, Nan. If that is where you are thinking to lead things—to pressure me into a proposal—forget it.”

  “I don’t want to lead things anywhere. I asked you for help and guidance. You agreed, if I would allow myself to become your…little wench, as you put it. I did so. Then you told me to take care, not to expect too much from you. I haven’t. I have kept my expectations on my future in Ireland.”

  “Living the life of a reclusive little nun? You’re not suited for it.”

  “It is my life, my decision. I am only here because it was my decision. Because of our agreement.”

  “Our agreement?”

  “Yes—my company in return for your help with the horses. That’s all it ever was. Surely you understood.”

  “I see then.” His tone was harder, commanding. His look burned into her for long moments.

  Unwittingly, she dropped her gaze. Tingling centred around her navel and awareness of her body came over her with breathtaking effect. No—no longer her body alone—but his to do with as he willed. Wetness began to seep from between her legs.

  “Nan, tell me again, what you agreed to when you left off your necklace.”

  She took a deep breath, willing herself to be strong in the face of his sternness. “To obey you, in all things, for the weeks while we are here.”

  “I shall hold you to it, Nan.”

  A delicious chill chased through her blood at his tone.

  * * * *

  Anne watched Jon as he filled the horse trough. His expressionless features sent irritation bristling through her. For the past two days since their quarrel, he’d been cool, polite and distant. In addition, aside from some brief comforting in the stable around the horses, he hadn’t touched her. She’d come to realise he wasn’t so much disappointed in her as a lover and companion—rather, he was displeased with her firm refusal to consider being his mistress long-term. The tension had her stomach aching.

  By God, she’d had her fill.

  Even his anger would be a welcome release. On impulse, she splashed her hands in the trough. Water came crashing up, sloshing him in the face.

  He glanced up and the startled expression on his fierce face filled her with vicious satisfaction. “Behave,” he said in serious voice.

  He walked away to fetch more water.

  A devil possessed her. She took the bucket, scooped it into the water. “Jon!” she said urgently.

  He turned and she drenched him.

  He stood there, his hair, face and the top part of his wool jacket dripping. One long fingered, large hand raked the hair from his eyes. The tension in her stomach turned into flutters.

  “I take it you want my attention,” he said, his expression now stern.

  She laughed, an airy, nervous expulsion.

  “Oh you’re going to have my attention, my lady.”

  She squealed, dropped the bucket and ran. He caught her about the waist with his arm. She screamed and screamed but he merely swung her up into his arms.

  “No, no!” she kicked, trying to beat at him with her fists, which mostly resulted in her arms flailing about. She alternately screamed and laughed, her insides a mass of frantic butterflies. He carried her into the first empty stall. She glanced down and saw a linen sheet covering the hay where it lay piled up. He held her suspended for a moment. She caught an awful suspicion about his intent.

  When had he put that sheet in there?

  “No!” she cried, her whole body tingling with anticipation.

  In the next moment, she fell backwards and landed on a soft cloud. Lavender scent wafted up from the sheet, blending with the pungent horse and sweet, fresh hay.

  He mounted her, his tall, strong body pressing her down. His azure stare was fierce and fiery as he grabbed her hair and pulled
her head back. His other hand gripped her chin roughly and his lips came down on hers, swift and hard. Her blood pumped through her body. He hooked his large, powerful hands into her muslin neckline.

  “No, don’t…don’t.”

  Tearing cloth sounded. Her head jerked back up and she gaped at him, too shocked to speak. With a few jerks, he had soon pulled the torn remains away. Beneath it she wore a chemise as thin as gauze. It tore as easily as paper.

  “I can’t believe you—”

  His kiss cut off her words. He touched her breasts, hefting them, squeezing them. Generally manhandling her. He twisted and pinched her nipples, sending darts of desire into her core. Hadn’t this been what she’d wanted? She closed her eyes and shivered with sensation. He ravished her nipples, licking and suckling her until she straddled his leg, seeking release. “Oh please, please, please.”

  “Hush.” He released her breasts and grabbed her shoulders, hauling her up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I am going to show you how naughty girls are dealt with in the stable.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Anne’s heart sped into alarm as Jon pulled her hands behind her. A delicious sort of fear went shivering down her spine. “I’ll be good. So very, very good.”

  “It’s too late,” he said, fishing in his pockets. Light coming through a crack in the wooden walls glinted on something metallic. Two pairs of silver handcuffs lined with padded, dark blue velvet. “Do you know I bought these just for you? In Soho, in a very naughty shop. A shop designed to help put naughty girls in their place. See the elegant scrollwork and the sapphires?”

  She glanced at the delicate-looking bejewelled cuffs, then back up to his hard, determined look. Her throat went dry and she swallowed hard. But her cunt started clenching in earnest.

  He took the cuffs and reached behind her.

  She couldn’t help struggling. Despite her resistance, he soon slipped them onto one wrist, then the other. She pulled hard on her hands, but found the cuffs were looped on a hook inserted in a post. He dropped to his knees, grasping an ankle. She tried to kick her legs but he had one already cuffed and now locked the cuff’s clasp about her other ankle.

  She tried to bend down but the bonds prevented her from lowering her hands. She couldn’t stand and she couldn’t sit. She could only kneel. “I don’t think I like this.”

  He laughed, the sound soft and sinister. “Now I can finish my chores in peace.”

  She fidgeted against the cuffs, succeeding only in making a scraping sound. He came over to her and placed one hand on his hip.

  “You definitely need something to keep you busy.” He rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Oh I know just the thing.” He pulled a dark blue velvet sack from his pocket and poured two silver balls out.

  “These are weighted balls. But first—” He withdrew a silk handkerchief, already folded over several times.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, he seemed to take a fiendish pleasure in blindfolding her. Why?

  “No, no, please no.”

  He rubbed the silk against her cheek. Hungry for his touch, she let her cheek lean into his silk covered hand. Then she caught herself and stiffened. He frowned. “Nan, do you remember the word I told you about? Sapphire.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you wish to say it now and go back into the cottage?”

  She stared at him, hating him. God, she’d never give in like that. He knew it, too. “No, I don’t.”

  “Then submit to this without playing the hoyden.” He wrapped the silk about her face and she felt him secure it.

  Everything went dark. He ran a hand down over her tummy, moving lower and lower until he reached her cunt. He teased her swollen inner folds until they started slipping on the deluge that welled out of her. Then he stroked her firm nub. She moaned, her hips arching despite her contorted position. Oh God, she wanted him so badly.

  And she hated him for it.

  His tongue touched her nub, flicking it and swirling around, driving her quickly to the very brink. Then he backed off, only to repeat the process.

  “Oh, please,” she whimpered.

  He ceased tormenting her. “Pardon me, my love, I was distracted.”

  Metal bounced on metal. A pure, sweet sound like music filled the air.

  “You’re going to love this. Absolutely love this.” Something in his tone put a cold dread in her belly.

  The cold metal touched her heated, swollen inner lips. She gasped, trying to bring her legs together, but of course they were bound. “What do you think you are doing?”

  One ball slipped up into her cunt, the cool, smooth pressure delicious to her heated cunt. Then the other slid quickly up the channel. The roughened feel of his fingers coming back down lasted for too brief a time. She bit her lip and moaned.

  Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!

  Dear God, she hoped she hadn’t said that aloud.

  Then she realised he’d left those little balls up there.

  “Jon? What. Are. You. Doing?”

  His wet fingers slid in a circular motion around her swollen nub. “Hush, or I shall gag you.”

  “Gag me? Are you insane?”

  He sighed pushed her hair off her face. “Now, Nan, last chance—is there anything you want to say to me before I affix this? A particular word, perhaps?”

  “I want you to—”

  He slipped the silk strip across her mouth, then his hands were moving behind her head.

  God, he had really done it. He had handcuffed her, blindfolded her and gagged her. Actually gagged her! Was he insane?

  He caressed her hair. “Can you breathe all right?”

  She glared at him. But he couldn’t see it! Rage seethed through her and she struggled against the cuffs. The balls banged together within her. Sexual stimulation sliced through her. Want like she’d never known convulsed her cunt. And that made the balls clang again. Harder. She cried out, the sound muffled by the gag, and her whole body froze as a series of these terrible quakes overwhelmed her senses.

  “What the bloody devil!” she tried to say.

  She heard his boots crunching on the dry straw. Then he put something between her knees. Maybe the small crate. It took her a moment to realise his intent. She could not bring her thighs together to apply pressure.

  She tried to hold herself still but her body shook and her cunt clenched against her will. And every time it did, the little balls bounced together. Pleasure crippled her. Her wetness oozed down the insides of her legs, its slow slide somehow heightening her arousal.

  She could hear Jon crooning to the horses. She could picture him brushing and stroking their glossy coats. She’d never thought to be so jealous of a horse. She hated that horse. As if sensing her dark thoughts directed at them, a horse nickered, startling Anne into awareness of how close to the creatures she knelt tethered.

  Without thinking, she jumped. The balls bounced and bounced and bounced. The pained pleasure forced a long and low groan from her.

  “Doing all right over there?” Jon’s calm voice echoed through the stable.

  “You bastard!” She spat the words against the cloth.

  He chuckled. “What? I couldn’t understand you, love.”

  She refused to say more. He’d already had enough satisfaction.

  Her legs cramped. Her feet went to sleep. She had to keep shifting her weight. Each time, the horrid little orbs rolled and sent waves of excruciating fire through her. Her inner walls clenched in spasmodic hunger, creating even greater waves of aching need. Sweat dripped down her face, down between her breasts. Itching. Her juices ran between her legs like a flood and her nub pulsed painfully with each beat of her heart.

  After a time, she heard his boots approach.

  “Christ almighty.” The words were one elongated exhalation. “You are so beautiful like that.”

  Wet, crunching sounds came to her. At first she couldn’t imagine what it was. Then she realised. He was eating an apple. Eating!
Amusing himself while he watched her suffer under torture. Finally, the sound ceased.

  “All right, wench, I have some time for you.” He squeezed and handled her breasts. “Would you like me to fuck you now?”

  She tried to hurl a new explicative at him. The results were muffled.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He unlatched her wrists from the post. Then he brought them back behind her back and refastened them. Hands on her arms, he eased her down on her knees, the little silver balls jostling the whole way, rendering her immobile with exquisite agony. Shuddering with desire.

  He removed the silken gag. She worked her mouth against the dryness it left behind. His hand gently pressed the angle of her jaw. “Open, Nan.”

  Despite her anger, his commanding tone had the same weak-in-the-knees effect on her as it always had. She wanted nothing more than to obey him. To do anything he wanted. Especially to let him shove his cock into her. Anywhere he wanted to.

  Desire to suck him, to take him as deeply as possible and savour him, warred with the pain the little balls caused her each time she moved. He seemed to take pity on her predicament, finally holding her head still and doing the thrusting himself. It didn’t help. She trembled hard all over and her inner walls contracted. His harsh groan caught her by surprise. Against her tongue, his cock shook, the roiling up of his semen. Oh God—no! Her cunt clenched, sending another agonising wave of hunger through her. The first jet of his hot seed rushed into her mouth and she moaned, a deep anguished sound in her throat. He gripped her head and groaned in gluttonous pleasure as his cock delivered forceful surges of honey-thick fluid into her mouth.

  His cock jerked in her mouth so violently, she had a very hard time keeping her mouth closed around it. She had to swallow and swallow and swallow. He was coming so hard, so fast, that she couldn’t get a breath.

  His ejaculations finally ended. He withdrew and she gulped air.

  He made a sound like a cross between an exhalation and a groan as he stroked her hair vigorously. “Damn, my girl.” He chuckled breathlessly. “Damn.”

  Caught up on her breathing, she sat back on her heels in dull shock.