When She Said I Do

by Celeste Bradley

  He was wicked to bind her thus, to take her to this dark plane of temptation and submission—and during her very first ball, too!

  Yet the pull she felt to him—more than simply the twisted ropes of domination and submission—and the need she felt emanating from his very skin kept her there, kept her still, kept her at his mercy yet again.

  Her eyes were fixed on a speck of light shining through a flaw in the curtain, but she’d become blind to it long before. Her bound wrists were truly quite immovable, for this was no game he played in this dark little room.

  No, for all his teasing, there was something that he wanted from her, something that he needed.

  He was not the only one. She stood completely still. Her hair was not even mussed! Yet she ached for him, for his touch, for his cock within her. Her thighs were slick with her wanting and when his hot hands slid up her legs to discover this, she nearly wept with relief.

  He pushed gently on the inside of her knees to part them, but she did not respond. She made him force her thighs apart with hard hands and shivered inwardly with delight when he spread her feet far apart and knelt between them, exposing her for his delectation.

  Her gown he pushed high, tucking the hem into her fallen bodice, keeping the silk far away from his wicked intentions. Then he slid the fingers of one hand between her swollen, slippery labia, seeking and finding.

  She didn’t make a sound, but she was quite certain her tongue would be sore for days from the biting.

  His fingers pushed into her, first one long middle finger, thrusting deep into her slick readiness. Then two long fingers, pressed together, opening her, spreading her. His thumb joined in, rubbing slow circles over her clitoris. She felt his mouth then, his lips kissing down her exposed belly even as his fingers began a rhythmic slow pace, invading deep and then withdrawing, spreading her wetness.

  His hot mouth descended upon her then, his tongue taking the place of his hard thumb. Hot, slick circles broken by quick sweeps from side to side, all while his hard, insistent fingers violated her as she stood bound, helpless, and exposed, just seconds from discovery.

  It was marvelous. She loved losing herself in the heat and need, that moment of time slowing until she could hear her breath panting in and out, could feel the slight calluses on his fingers. This closed, dark, rich place, here in his hands …

  If she’d been allowed, she would have driven herself into his hand thrusting and grinding upon it whilst keening like a banshee.

  She was not permitted such a release. Instead, she remained his statue, his creation to be sculpted by his hand alone. The teasing was exquisite.

  She needed more. She ached for him, ached to be impaled upon him, riding the waves of his lust. She needed her sweet, painful craving filled.

  To hell with her dress. Damn the ball! She needed to be taken, right now in the dark, in this secret wicked world he’d drawn her into!

  His hand withdrew from inside her and she wanted to scream her frustration aloud—but he’d commanded her silence and she obeyed. Her submission had taken on a life of its own somehow, as if he’d slowly built a vibrating sentient cage about her will, a cage she had no wish to leave.

  Not even when the cold, metal knob of his cane pressed against her hot, slippery labia.

  Though icy shock flooded her body, she did not so much as flinch. She was not on this journey alone. If he wished to see how far she would go, to know how much her loyalty would accept, to learn when it would be that she would reject him, well, the idiot man had a long row to hoe.

  Therefore, she kept as still as stone as he slid the egg-sized knob of gold slowly up and down her slit, wetting it, warming it.

  Ren lifted his mouth from her and rolled the ball over and around her swollen clitoris. The gold gleamed in the dimness, wet and slick from her.

  She must realize what he meant to do. He wanted to do it, wanted to shock and violate her, wanted to push her to the edge and beyond, to make her understand that she must never leave him—that she belonged to him.

  He held the cane a few inches below the ball and pressed it to her, slipping the blunt end just barely into her. His family crest disappeared into the sweet, wet heat of her. A warning. A promise.

  She did not move. She did not protest.

  Darkly enthralled and yet simultaneously disturbed by her seemingly endless obedience, he meant to test every strand of her delicious submission to its breaking point.

  Callie waited, her nerves strung like piano wire, her vagina hot and throbbing and aching for satiation. The anticipation of his act—of his alarming, arousing, insanely wicked act!—had her belly trembling and her mouth dry. Her stillness never faltered.

  “Mrs. Porter, I believe you are the most unusual creature I have ever known.” His breath was hot, tickling the soft curls of her mound. His voice was thick with lust and wonder.

  Then he slowly, implacably thrust the head of the walking stick into her. He penetrated her carefully, pressing far inside, yet never too deeply.

  Callie struggled not to move, nor even shift her weight, though hot wicked pleasure swept her. The depth of her own wantonness stunned her. She wanted this hot and unthinkable invasion. Furthermore, she wished he would get on with it!

  Ren paused, yet Callie stayed bound and silent.

  A submissive goddess. A whirlwind tamed by his hand.

  Mine.

  Triumphant, he once again dove his mouth down upon her clitoris. He savored her with his tongue as he pleasured her slowly with the golden ball.

  That she allowed him to do such a thing to her shattered him. He felt humbled by her trust even as his cock throbbed at her obedience. He buried the gold ball with the crest deep within her, planting it there, branding her with it as he drove her to new heights with his tongue, teeth, and lips. Did she know that he was her willing slave as well, bound to her by so much more than a length of lace? How could she, when he’d gone to such lengths to hide it?

  Yet now having proved his possession, he found he wanted more. He wanted her orgasm. He needed proof that she wanted this, that she was not simply rigid with revulsion and grim determination.

  And, to be darkly honest with himself, he knew he wanted to feel the power over her pleasure.

  Callie had no more thoughts of the people outside or her dress or even that what he was doing to her should have shocked her senseless. She was not Callie. She was simply sensation. Her stillness had taken over, allowing her to do nothing but feel.

  The thick hard ball moved inside her, rubbing and rolling, thrusting slowly and relentlessly while a hot, wet mouth devoured her, driving her on and on until her breath panted from her open mouth and her heart pounded. The point of light caught in her lust-blind gaze became a star and she was on her way to it, rising … climbing …

  When hot, hard fingers came up to torment her throbbing nipples further while he tongued her clitoris and thrust the ball into her, the star blurred in her vision. She could feel the orgasm rising within her, could feel the waves of it sweeping her up dangerously high. In a moment she would come out loud and there was nothing she could do to stop it—

  She broke. At the perfect moment, he stood and kissed her deeply, keeping his hands busily driving her higher, swallowing her moans as her entire body shuddered and spasmed. She tasted him, tasted herself, and the wickedness only drove her higher. The dark waves to which only he could drive her crashed together within her, a riot of heat and shadowy, wicked joy. She screamed into his mouth. He leaned into her, pressing her tight against the wall, keeping her upright as he purloined every last shiver of orgasm from her flesh.

  Her knees were weak. She could not catch her breath. As she gasped and leaned dizzily upon him, she was only barely aware that he was untying her hands, putting her gown to rights, tucking her swollen nipples gently away into the bodice, using his handkerchief to dry her slippery thighs. He was so strange, so outlandish in demanding this twisted obedience from her.

  And yet so kind.
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  Her own willingness she understood completely. This was her grand adventure. This was her journey of exploration and danger. One could not see the light of a new world without stepping into the shadows.

  She was still not sure what her compliance proved to him, but she knew he yet needed to know it. She pressed shaking fingers to her hot cheeks, cooling them. She wondered if their lovemaking would ever truly come out into the light, or would there always remain a shadow of the beast within him?

  I lost the pearl. Dimly she hoped she hadn’t swallowed it.

  Ren could barely look at her. Self-loathing swept him. The things he’d done, the things he’d wanted to do—she was his lady wife, not his plaything—except she was now, a willing one and it was all his doing. She could never recapture her purity, never again see the world through eyes unshadowed by worldly knowledge.

  Yet even now his body betrayed him. His erection was like forged iron, strangling within his breeches. He wanted it all still—everything he’d imagined. His black addiction to her submission shamed him. Even as her obedience inflamed him, deep inside he knew he was missing something. He was missing her passion, her desire, free and giving.

  That is … if he could truly believe that she did give it freely.

  Yet how could he know if he never asked?

  “Callie—”

  She was half turned away from him, fretting over the creases in her bodice. “Do you think anyone will notice? Oh, goodness, do you think Mr. Button will be upset?”

  Button, Ren thought sourly, would likely applaud. He handed Callie the length of lace that had somehow become draped over his shoulder. “Use this.”

  This time she took it gratefully, tucking it carefully over the exposed portion of her bosom, now reddened from his mouth and his stubble. Well, he’d accomplished one thing, anyway. He reached for her hands and folded them within his own. “Callie, stop. You look lovely. They’ve been dancing for an hour. You won’t be the only lady looking flushed and a little wrinkled.”

  She clapped her hands to her cheeks. “I’m flushed,” she wailed quietly. “I look all blotchy, don’t I?”

  There was no possible response but to kiss her silly worries away. She went statue-still the moment he touched her and he hated himself. “Kiss me back, Callie,” he whispered. “Just please … just kiss me.”

  As if released by a spring, she threw herself upon him. Her arms wrapped about his neck and she went up on tiptoe, and her sweet, hot mouth rose to devour his. Ren took the added weight upon his bad leg and stumbled backward, into the wall behind him. He cared not at all, for the deep fount of Callie’s passion was unleashed at last—upon him.

  And all he’d ever needed to do was ask.

  * * *

  Callie poured everything into that kiss—her gratitude, her determination, her need to heal him, her awakened desire—

  The taste of him, the feel of him beneath her hands, the softness of his lips as he submitted to her only fed her own need. She wanted so much!

  A tiny fraction of her mind retained sanity. Any more and she ought to salt him and serve him properly on a plate! Reining in her zeal, she released her death grip on his neck and stepped back with a small laugh. “Goodness, that’s a tap best turned another time, another place!”

  He gazed at her, his eyes shadowed by the mask in the dim alcove. What was he thinking?

  The sounds of the ball penetrated their privacy. It was past time to get back to their guests, but she hesitated, waiting, hoping for a response from him.

  Just as she gave up and reached for the curtain, she felt his hand close gently over her arm. He towed her back to him and enclosed her gently in his arms.

  “Callie,” he whispered. “Do you think that tonight we might … just this once—that we might put away the pearls?”

  Nestled against the warm silk of his waistcoat, Callie smiled. From the shadows into the light.

  “I suppose so … just this once.”

  Chapter 27

  When Ren reemerged from the alcove with Callie on his arm, as serene and composed as she could manage, it was to find the ball in full parade. The string quartet was pouring its heart into a swinging country dance and the guests were doing the old tune proud. It was familiar to Ren.

  In fact, he could even now hear Callie’s sweet voice singing the accompanying lyrics as she frolicked in the lane.

  Go on, fellow, grab your girl.

  Take her hand and let her whirl!

  If she comes back, then dance you on.

  He looked down. Sure enough, Callie’s foot tapped along with the beat. He released her hand and gave her a push. “Go on. Dance.”

  She blinked at him. “Don’t you wish to?”

  He looked down at her and smiled slightly. It was growing easier to do so by the day. “I can very nearly fake a waltz. Perhaps even a nice, slow quadrille—but this is quite out of my reach, I fear. Look, here comes Henry.”

  Henry, bless him, was cordially eager to dance and led Callie off to join in with the galloping couples now kicking up their heels. Ren drifted closer to the group of interweaving dancers, his gaze on Callie’s bright eyes and happy smile as she dipped and skipped.

  She looked like a child finally let out of doors in the springtime. The music, the crowd, the dancing—she obviously dearly loved a good and proper bash. How could he have ever thought to lock such a luminous and lively creature in this dark, stone cave with him and his shadows?

  Except that it wasn’t a cave any longer. She’d done that. She’d made it a home, quite against his wishes, just as she’d made him a husband, quite against his will.

  He lingered behind a group of village matrons, hardly even looming at all. Enchanted by the sight of Callie dancing, he nearly missed the busy commentary of the old guard.

  “She’s a pretty thing—and so finely dressed.”

  “I saw her once in the post office and she didn’t look nearly so fine that day.”

  “Well, we all put our finest feathers on tonight!”

  This was accompanied by much waggling of their own elaborately feathered masks. Really, the things people did to perfectly innocent ostrich plumes.

  Ren almost moved on, out of range of the cackles now rising toward the chandeliers, but one of the ladies went on.

  “It’s true, you know! My Adam spoke to Henry Nelson and he said that Henry said that he truly has been knighted!”

  “A real knight, at Amberdell Manor!”

  “And a real lady, too! With such a spritely sort of manner about her.”

  “Well, I heard from the vicar’s wife that the wedding was a brief affair, if you know what I mean!”

  “Is it true she wore an ordinary day dress? To be married in?”

  There was much tut-tutting. Ren resolved to buy out Mr. Button’s establishment by dawn tomorrow. These old cats wouldn’t find another word to say about Callie’s wardrobe!

  “I think it’s romantic,” one of them announced stoutly. “So swept up in love that she didn’t care a fig what she wore.”

  “But where did they meet? She lived in London and he never leaves the manor—at least, he never did before…”

  “Well, I for one don’t care what he’s been doing up here all these years, not if he’s finally going to be a proper master! And he’s a fine-looking fellow—well, he’s a fine figure of a man, anyway!”

  Ren looked around. He needed to escape now.

  “Oh, yes! I don’t know who started those silly rumors of a hunchback!”

  Hunchback? Hunchback? Ren forcibly resisted the urge to twist his head to check his posture.

  “Really, gossips can be so tiresome.”

  To Ren’s astonishment, all four ladies nodded sagely in agreement.

  “Poisonous as snakes in Eden.”

  * * *

  On the dance floor, Callie was being handed off to gentleman after gentleman in the steps of the dance. Finally, she found herself back with Henry. His dear suntanned face was aglow w
ith perspiration and good cheer.

  “You’ve done a marvel, you have!” He spun her enthusiastically. “The village is agog!”

  “Thank you, but I had a great deal of help. I never could have put it together without Betrice directing me to all the local merchants.”

  “Well, I for one am glad you’re here to take the burden from my Betty.” Then he smiled once more and spun her off to another fellow, taking up the interweaving steps once more. Callie smiled at her new partners easily enough, but Henry’s words rang in her mind.

  I’m glad you’re here to take the burden …

  It was becoming quite clear to her that if she stayed with Ren, stayed here as lady of Amberdell, it would not be all freedom and peaceful afternoons of sketching.

  If.

  The wife of the master of Amberdell had an important part to play in the community. She would indeed be in the matriarchal role, as lady of the manor.

  But for all Callie cherished her newfound time to herself, she had come to see that one was nothing if not the reflections one saw in others’ eyes and, in return, they in ours. Her bonds defined her. Daughter, sister, wife … lover. Alone might be peaceful but she was beginning to suspect it was also bloody dull. She realized that she was willing to be needed, and moreover, to need, which she had never truly dared to do before.

  She needed Ren. And, she hoped, he needed her. And Amberdell needed them both.

  * * *

  Across the ballroom, Betrice watched Callie dance with Henry. He was a bit of a buffoon on the ballroom floor, all swinging arms and galloping feet.

  Poor Henry. Affection and warmth warred with a self-conscious knowledge that next to the new and improved Sir Lawrence, Henry looked like a true country bumpkin. Of course, she’d hardly ever laid eyes on Lawrence before his impromptu wedding but he certainly was not the lurking, lurching fellow she remembered.

  Nor did he look to be on his deathbed, as Henry had so sadly assured her years before. In fact, he looked like a man in his prime, albeit battered and scarred.