by Colette Gale
Her breasts jounced gently as the cab trundled along. She felt the jerking motion as he unbuttoned himself, freeing his cock quickly and efficiently, and then he was on top of her again. Jane braced herself as he found the slit in her drawers, and knew she was wet enough that there would be no discomfort when he joined with her.
And then it would be over.
But then his fingers…they opened the slit, and slid in further to find her private, slick opening. He covered her moist lips with his hand, stroking firmly and sensually, teasing and fondling her tight little clit. She began to pant softly, trying to ignore his touch by gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes closed. No, no, no… But her body had a will of its own, and she fell deeper and deeper into a well of heat and pleasure and need as his stroking continued incessantly. His fingers teased her, slipping in and around her hot juices as he bent to roughly nuzzle and kiss her throat.
“By gad, what a passionate woman you are,” he muttered against her throat as his thumb moved busily over her clit, pressing down and rubbing the tiny little nib in a cross between pain and intense, hot pleasure. She felt herself straining against him, lifting her hips and pushing up to find more pressure, to find what she needed—then she forced herself to relax, to ease back, her heart thudding and her checks hot and damp. His mouth covered hers again, his tongue shoving past her lips to jam deeply inside, thrusting with a strong stroke that mirrored his fingers.
When he suddenly slipped inside her, thrusting three digits hard and fast, Jane couldn’t hold back a cry of shock and response. He moved, fucking her with his fingers, in and out, using his thumb to play with her little pip as he worked and worked. She gasped beneath him, feeling her body draw up and swell, hearing the sounds of her thick juices as he stroked and stroked. He pushed in deeper, twisting and turning and stroking as she shuddered and swelled around him, her hips moving, bucking and shifting, her insides hot and fluttery and wanting.
She pulled away from his mouth, panting and gasping, wedged down in the corner of the carriage as his hand stroked faster and faster, twisting and pushing and screwing her like he was a machine. She had no control of herself; she couldn’t fight the hot, powerful rise of pleasure as it grew and overtook her.
When she reached her peak, Jane cried out and arched up into his hand, shameful tears leaking from her eyes. She shuddered beneath him, mortified and yet sated, wet and throbbing and hot.
“For the love of heaven,” he muttered, his voice taut as he shifted away. “I’ve never met a woman like you, Jane Clemons. By gad, it’s going to be a thrill to tame you. To make you beg. I will master you.”
She was still undulating inside, panting and twitching, when he moved, adjusting his position between her legs. She saw his cock then: long and purple, thick and turgid, huge and ready, gripped in his hand. She moaned in spite of herself, a wave of heat rushing over her at the thought of being impaled by such a rod. Of being filled and stroked and pleasured. Jane was panting again, hot and throbbing once more.
Darkdale noticed and gave her a breathless grin, his eyes so dark they were like black marbles as he fit himself against her swollen, wet quim. His mouth was tight, and with one smooth thrust, he slid…and slid…and slid inside. As he filled her, deep and long and fat, his groan was low and heartfelt, shuddering through his body so she could feel the depth of emotion.
“At last,” he murmured, holding himself inside her, keeping her impaled on his massive cock. “At long last. You are mine, Jane.”
Then he moved, fast and furious and hard, holding her hips in position as he thrust like a piston. He was so thick and hard and long…and Jane’s well-trained body couldn’t ignore the pleasure of such a tool. No sooner was he pumping inside her than the familiar pleasure filled her, roaring back into play. She couldn’t keep from thrusting up to meet him, from gasping and panting for air as lust overtook her.
When the orgasm burst over her, it was even hotter and stronger than before. Jane cried out, bucking up into him, and he covered her mouth with his, drowning out the sound as he slammed inside her once more. She felt him go rigid and shudder against her, inside her, and then his body sagged against hers.
Closing her eyes, Jane let her head tilt back into the corner of the rumbling carriage. How could I? How could I let go so easily?
Could I have feelings for this man?
Then she shook her head. No. There was no sense in being ashamed for her body’s reaction. She had no choice, no control over herself—she’d learned that while with the jungle natives. Her body was like a fine instrument, a mechanism, that if played correctly would respond a certain way. Her pleasure at his hands meant nothing.
Darkdale pulled away and looked down at her. His eyes glittered dark and hot. “Well then, my dear…I do hope you enjoyed that.”
“I did not,” she managed to say as he sat up and began to put himself right. “Not at all. I wouldn’t even be here if you weren’t blackmailing me.”
“Indeed?” He glanced at her from the side. “Well, it matters not, for it shan’t happen like that again. You see, my darling Jane, from the moment you set foot over my threshold, into my house as my submissive mistress, there are rules that must be followed. Laws, if you will, that you must adhere to.
“And if you break those rules or disobey me, the punishment shall be very severe.”
— II—
Rules.
What sort of rules could Darkdale mean?
Jane’s heart thudded as the hansom cab turned through a gate and trundled down a short drive. A small brick mansion loomed in front of them. It was set on the outskirts of London, not very far from the Society area of Regents Park, but far enough away that there was a generous lawn—and a high stone wall all around it, to keep the vagrants out, and perhaps others in.
She drew herself up and straightened her shoulders. So there were rules. She could manage them. She could manage anything. This was all for dear, innocent Papa. She’d do whatever was necessary to save his life.
“Well then, my darling. Shall we?” Darkdale offered her his hand as the cab door opened. With the most gallant of manners, he helped her out of the vehicle.
As they approached the house, the front door opened and a very tall, elegant man stood there. He had a close-cropped, neatly trimmed mustache and beard, and his skin was smooth and darkly tanned. “Mr. Darkdale,” he said. “Welcome home.”
He bowed elegantly, his hand fluttering as he gestured them into the house.
“This is Jane,” Darkdale said as soon as the door closed behind them. They stepped down three stairs from the foyer into a large antechamber.
“I see.” The slender man perused Jane as if she were a racehorse. His almond-shaped eyes and dark skin gave him a hint of the exotic. “My congratulations, sir,” he said after finishing his slow, openly critical examination of Jane.
She bristled at his rudeness then looked around for any other sign of life. Surely a house of this size must have a full retinue of maids and grooms, along with this man—whoever he was. Normally the entire staff would come out to greet the master on his return, but there was no hint of any other servants.
They were standing in a high-ceilinged, octagonal room with three other doorways that opened into corridors, plus the foyer through which they’d just walked. Several small windows, positioned high on the walls, allowed in the gloomy London light. A fireplace had been carved out of one wall, and two armchairs were arranged in front of it. Another wall was lined with shelves. The floor, made of smooth, planked wood, was covered by a fine rug in the corner by the chairs.
Appalled by the slender man’s rudeness—not to mention that of Darkdale for not introducing her—Jane said, “And who are you? Are you the butler, then?”
“Ah.” Darkdale turned to her suddenly, his expression glinting with something that made her uneasy. “And now we must begin. Trevor, you are dismissed. For now.”
The elegant man bowed, but not before Jane saw a flash of amusement i
n his eyes. “Very well then, sir. Regardless…I am certain you will soon have things well in hand.”
“Indeed.” Darkdale watched until Trevor was gone, and then he returned his attention to Jane.
“Is he one of your servants? Are there others?” she asked before he could speak.
“That is none of your concern, darling Jane. Your only purpose is to please me; everything else will be taken care of.”
She swallowed. “Yes, of course. I understand I’m to share your bed.”
“When I require you to do so.”
Jane relaxed a trifle. Perhaps this wouldn’t be quite as difficult as she thought. “Of course. Will I have a maid—to assist me with my bathing and dressing, then? And perhaps you—or someone—could show me to my chamber?”
Darkdale smiled. But it wasn’t a pleasant or charming smile. It was cool and hard. “Your chamber?”
“Where I will sleep when I’m not…sharing your bed.” Even if he put her in the attic, three flights up in the servants’ quarters on a small, lumpy pallet, it would be better than sleeping with him every night. Jane shuddered, imagining what it would be like slumbering beneath the blankets next to his muscular body and very impressive cock.
“When you are not sharing my bed, darling Jane, you will be sleeping there.” He pointed to a shadowy corner of the octagonal chamber.
Jane looked, then turned back to him in confusion, then looked again. “But…”
“Yes, my darling?”
She swallowed hard and took a few steps toward the corner. There was nothing there but a small rectangular cushion, just big enough for a large dog—or a woman—to curl up on. “I’m to sleep there?”
“When you are allowed to sleep, yes, my darling. That is where you are allowed to rest.”
By now, an icy feeling had begun to settle over her. “Why that’s barbaric!” She’d had more comfortable sleeping arrangements in the jungle—even when held captive by the natives.
“Do you want your father’s name cleared?”
Jane drew in a trembling breath. Yes, of course she did. And sleeping on the floor…well, it might not be very gentlemanly of him to shunt her off like a pet, but if that was what she had to do to in order to keep her papa from the hangman’s noose, of course she’d suffer through it. She’d suffer through anything. “You know I do. And in regards to that, Mr. Darkdale, when will you be meeting with the barristers and the court to notify them of your intent to testify?”
“Very soon, my darling. As soon as I’m certain you’ve upheld your end of our arrangement. And we can start with the rules I mentioned in the cab.”
“Yes, of course, Darkdale. Whatever your rules are—”
Thwack! Jane cut herself off at the sound of a riding crop…being smacked against Darkdale’s hand. Where had that come from?
He smacked it again, his gaze suddenly flat and cold. “Then let me make them known to you, Jane, for the time of talk is over. You are now under my control, and our arrangement has begun. The first rule to which you must adhere is that I am Master in this house. Starting immediately, you shall address me as Master.”
Jane’s eyes widened and her lips parted in shock. “What?”
“What, Master,” he said sharply. Thwack! “I shall have no tolerance for disobedience, Jane. The second rule is that you shall never speak unless you are bid.”
“I—what?” She stepped back. “This is abs—”
He stepped closer, that crop in hand, and took her chin firmly. “I shall overlook your disobedience this one time, Jane, but that is only because you have not yet been apprised of all the rules. If you dare speak out of turn again—even just now—you shall find yourself at the very unpleasant end of a punishment.” His eyes glittered as if he very much wished to punish her, then he pushed her away and stepped back.
She stumbled and caught herself, still shocked and quite overcome by this madness. What on earth was wrong with Kellan Darkdale? How could he think she’d agree to sleeping on a dog bed, let alone such tyrannical terms?
Do you want your father’s name cleared?
Oh God, yes. Yes, she did.
“Very good, my darling. I see that you are indeed a fast learner. I will add one caveat to that second rule, however, now that I think about it. You may speak…but only to beg. You may beg me for pleasure whenever you like. In fact, my darling Jane, that is my fondest desire…my dearest fantasy. I shall have you begging and sobbing for me, willing to do anything for my touch, to give anything, to experience anything…hanging on my every movement, my every breath… Desperate for my very look. Begging. Hot and ready and desperate…” His voice trailed off, dusky and rough, and his gaze blazed as it scored over her.
No, Jane thought even as she quivered and burned deep inside, desire hot and liquid and roiling like a volcano. Never. I’ll never beg him. He had enough of her, having her here in this house. I’ll never give him the satisfaction…
Darkdale seemed to have collected himself, and he continued. “The third rule is even more simple than the others, and one I’m certain will come as no surprise to you: you must do as you are told. Without hesitation. Without question. If you understand, you may nod again, Jane darling.”
Still utterly shocked and confused, Jane managed to nod stiffly. Her heart was thudding so hard she was certain it would burst forth from beneath her clothing.
“Excellent. The fourth rule is: you shall be completely unclothed at all times while in this house…which is why you will not be needing the assistance of a maid. Unless we go out.”
Jane couldn’t help but glance at the two entrances to the foyer and wonder if any of the maids were lurking about. She saw no one. Then she realized what he’d said: Unless we go out.
Did he mean to parade her through Society as his kept woman? Her throat went tight.
When she looked back, Darkdale was watching her. Thwack! The crop smacked his palm as his eyes fastened on Jane. They were black and cold, and his lips were parted slightly.
And then it dawned on her, like the rush of a cold draft. He expected her to disrobe, right here. Right in the grand foyer. Now.
“I shall wait no longer,” was all he said. Thwack!
The threat was clear, and even though he hadn’t struck out at her, Jane realized she had no choice—at least not at the moment, and not if she wanted to remain unpunished.
She bent to unfasten her shoe: all twenty tiny buttons. Without a buttonhook, it would be a long and difficult process, which would gain her some time. A chance to collect her thoughts and decide how to proceed. But she’d barely started when something fell next to her with a soft clatter. A buttonhook.
Jane didn’t even look up; instead, she blanked her mind as she undid each button. At some point during the process, Darkdale took a seat in one of two armchairs by the fire, and she felt his attention focus heavily on her.
She removed her shoes, and then both of the knee-high silk stockings…and paused.
“Jane, darling…you seem much too eager to test my patience. Trust me when I tell you: I am more than eager to punish you.” His voice was barely a breath on these last words, and for the first time, fear stabbed her, deep and low.
Her fingers hardly trembled at all as she began to unbutton the fastening of her blouse—the one Darkdale himself had undone only a short time earlier. It was foolish of her to be modest and shy; after all, not only had he seen her naked while in the hot springs pool in the jungle, but he’d also partaken of her body. Twice now.
She had nothing to hide. She had nothing but her pride…and she had already chosen to give that up for Papa. As Jane allowed her blouse to slide to the floor, she heard a distant chime. Moments later, as she was untying the skirt around her waist, Trevor entered the room.
He carried a tray that held a cut-glass carafe filled with brandy or whiskey, and a matching tumbler. He barely glanced at her as he served the drink to Darkdale, and when Jane paused in her disrobe, she saw Darkdale’s hand flex over the ridi
ng crop. He looked up at her.
Heart shooting into her throat, she dropped her skirt, followed by the flimsy crinoline she’d borrowed on the ship. Now for her corset…
“You may take your time here, darling Jane,” said her master. His voice was dusky and low. “For this will be the last time I’ll see your lovely self thus revealed…bit by bit, like a gorgeous package.”
He’d adjusted the chair, and now sat facing her instead of the fire, legs sprawled wide, glass in hand. Jane’s breath hitched and she felt a sharp quiver of desire when she looked at him. She was shocked at her reaction, but he had never appeared so attractive: dark-haired and disheveled, yet frighteningly in control. He’d taken off his coat, tie and waistcoat, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt to reveal skin unusually tanned—at least compared to other men in London, who sported sickly white flesh.
She drew in a shaky breath, wondering where her mind was going…how it could even begin along this path when this man had manipulated her into such an untenable situation.
But she wasn’t quite able to ban the memory of his hands over her breasts, and the sharp, hard sucking on her nipples…and, of course, the feel of him filling her. The pleasure had been real even if she loathed the man and his “arrangement.”
You will beg me.
No, she would not. He could take what he wished from her, but she would never give him anything.
Jane’s fingers were clumsy as she began to unlace the corset, but she did as she was bid: taking her time, allowing the heavy, boned garment to sag away as it was loosened. Her breasts seemed more full than usual, eager to be freed, spilling over the top of the corset and filling out her chemise. Darkdale’s eyes never left her, even as he brought the glass to his lips and drank of the golden liquid.
When the corset fell to the ground, and Jane was dressed only in her chemise, she hesitated only a moment…then she pulled the thin cotton shift up and over her head and flung it aside.