by Golden Angel
"You'll be just fine, son. Just fine."
Simple words really, and yet they brought Edwin a large measure of relief. After all, Lord Harrington was the man he looked up to the most when it came to fatherhood. If he believed in Edwin, then maybe Edwin could as well.
Chapter 12
Enough was enough. The inane social niceties were driving Wesley absolutely up the wall. Normally he eschewed conversing when he was out in Society, unless it was with a particular man or woman that he actually wished to speak with. Being trapped in a room filled with gawkers who wanted to congratulate, gossip about, or seduce him and his new wife made his skin crawl.
The disappointed women were the worst. Their underhanded, catty comments seemed to slide right off of Cynthia, but they were infuriating Wesley. Worse, there wasn't much he could do about them, other than remain glued to his bride's side and do his best to deflect. If they were men, he could call them out. Then again, if they were men, they'd be direct instead of backbiting.
"It's too bad the Countess didn't bring you to London," a beautiful young matron was saying to Cynthia. Wesley couldn't remember her name. She was beautiful, but obviously spiteful. The man she'd come in with, whom he assumed was her husband, was talking with a different buxom beauty across the room. "A little bit of town bronze is always helpful when it comes to marriage. So many poor young women from the country become married without truly understanding Society... it leads to so much disappointment on their part when their husbands don't behave as they expected once back in Society."
The flirtatious glance she gave him made it clear what she meant. The invitation in her eyes did not appeal to him at all. It just made him furious that she was implying to Cynthia - on her wedding day - that Wesley would not remain faithful and that she shouldn't expect him to. Even if he and Cynthia hadn't made their deal, he would have been furious. Cynthia was worthy of more than a husband who chased other women. Wesley was that worthier husband and he didn't like that the woman was implying he wouldn't be. Especially because he certainly didn't need his bride getting any bright ideas about the sincerity of his promise to her - the little minx would certainly retaliate and then Wesley would have to kill someone.
"Oh, the Countess was too afraid to bring me to London," Cynthia said brightly, stealing the woman's attention back to herself before Wesley could completely lose his temper and tell her exactly what he thought about her brazen blandishments. "I'm sure I would have created quite the scandal... I have the most awful manners. Especially when it comes to things I consider mine. Why, I tried to stab her son Matthew with a fork when he poached one of my potatoes at dinner." She giggled and batted her eyes, making Wesley practically choke. "Imagine if I'd done that at a dinner party to a Duke!"
His unapologetic hussy of a wife pressed against him, beaming at the other woman, but Wesley could see the hard look in her eyes, despite the silliness of her demeanor. The message had gotten across, making the young matron look a bit leery. After all, this country girl had not only understood exactly what she'd been saying, but had indicated a penchant for violence!
"Yes... that would have been quite unfortunate," she said, rallying, although she still eyed Cynthia warily. "Excuse me... I ah, see my friend needs me."
Wesley forced his face to a stern countenance, hiding his mirth, as the woman hurried away. He bent his head slightly, his arm wrapped around Cynthia's hips, giving the impression that he was saying sweet nothings in her ear. The image wouldn't hurt, and perhaps it would help keep more of the harpies away.
"That wasn't well done, baggage, what if she gossips? My mother will be horrified."
"I'd rather horrify your mother than have to deal with any more women like Lady Vetch," Cynthia said tartly, turning up her cute little nose. Wesley had the most insane urge to kiss it. Marriage was getting to his head. "If she tries to poach you, I will use something much sharper than a fork."
"It doesn't matter if she wants to poach me," he replied, trying not to think about how adorable her possessive jealousy was. "What matters is that I have no interest in anyone but you. She can want whatever she likes, it makes no difference to me."
"Well it does to me." Cynthia scowled at him. "I'm a Countess now. They'll respect me."
"Or you'll stab them with a fork?"
"Exactly."
The worst part was, he wasn't quite sure whether or not she was serious, and he was definitely sure that he didn't care. In fact, part of him was highly amused by the idea of a fork-wielding Cynthia, chasing away amorous would-be paramours.
Staring up at her new husband, Cynthia had to admit, she hadn't been expecting the twinkling amusement in his eyes. While he was wildly exciting when it came to amorous pursuits, and she was incredibly attracted to his dominating authority over her, she'd honestly thought that she'd set herself up for a wedding day spanking. Not that she wanted one, but she wouldn't have regretted it for a moment. Lady Vetch had been the most recent in a long line of women hinting to her that she shouldn't be upset if her new husband chose one of them as his lover. If the woman gossiped and it kept any more hussies from appearing on the scene, all the better.
Cynthia hadn't even been deflowered yet, she was certainly not sharing her husband. She would keep him busy enough in the bedroom. There were so many things she wanted to learn! He wasn't going to have time to attend to any other lady's desires.
Not that he'd seemed all that interested in any of the importuning women, but still. If Cynthia had to put up with his stuffed-shirt ways and wicked punishments, she was certainly going to reap the benefits of being married to him as well. She hadn't wanted another spanking over top the welts that decorated her bottom, but it had been worth the risk. Especially since he seemed more amused than anything else, which was a relief for her poor bum.
She was probably the only bride in history to have absolutely no desire to sit down, no matter how much her feet hurt or how tired she felt. Every single part of her bottom was sore, and the welts left from the birch stung when she pressed on them. She knew because she'd poked at each and every one of them this morning while she'd been admiring them in the mirror. At long last, she'd had some physical evidence of what she'd gone through! The sight had fascinated her to say the least, although she was less enamored of how it felt when any pressure at all was placed on her tender cheeks.
"I think it's time we left, baggage."
"Oh but..." Not that she wanted to put off the good stuff, but she'd missed out on the last round of éclairs to go through the room, and the footman she'd snagged had promised to bring her some. Plus, she'd barely gotten to speak to Matthew and Vincent.
Unfortunately, the Earl was not impressed by her protest. His stuffed-shirt persona was firmly back in place, not a hint of amusement to be seen. He swept her up into his arms, one arm behind her back and the other under her legs as she gasped with shock. Titters and whispers swept through the room as he headed straight for the door, and Cynthia sighed. Apparently she wasn't going to get her éclairs after all.
Of course, she was going to finally find out what all the fuss of being a married woman was about. That perked her up. She gave a cheery wave over Wesley's shoulder, spotting Edwin and Eleanor, who were both laughing, and the ever-scandalized expression of Irene as Wesley swept past.
"Wesley, put Cynthia down this minute!"
"Sorry Mother," he said, blandly, as he reached the door, turning to look over the crowd. Most of them looked utterly overjoyed at this new display of the Earl of Spencer's unusual behavior. "Thank you all for coming, my bride and I are going to step out now for a private discussion, but stay as long as you like and enjoy yourselves."
"Here, here!" Several of the men shouted, raising their glasses of champagne and drowning out the Dowager-Countess' protests as Wesley pushed through the door.
"You're going to be in trouble later," Cynthia said, rather admiringly. She would have never dared ignore Wesley's mother in such a fashion. It was quite impressive.
Her new husband made an exasperated noise and eyed her. "You're more afraid of my mother than you are of me, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't you be?"
That made him laugh. Cynthia watched, fascinated. With one arm around his neck to help her stay in position, this was the closest she'd ever been able to observe him. She could see the pulse in his neck, the way his throat worked as he laughed, the small dark hairs that curled around the shell of his ear because they were too short to be tied back... With her free hand, she reached up to stroke his hair.
Immediately he stopped, in the middle of the hall. The sounds from the ballroom had mostly faded away and there wasn't a servant to be seen, giving them momentary privacy. The heat in his eyes when he looked at her made her heart beat faster.
"What are you doing, sweetheart?"
Her mouth went dry at the growling rasp in his voice. Beneath her dress, her nipples tightened into little points, rubbing against the fabric as his hands tightened on her.
"Touching you?" she asked, doing it again, and this time letting her finger slide down the side of his throat.
A muscle in his jaw clenched and then suddenly she found herself pushed up against the wall, her legs dropped down and no longer in his arms. But her feet didn't touch the ground either; his leg was wedged between hers, and he was tall enough that she could just barely feel her toes brushing the floor. All of her weight rested on her core, and even the sharp pinches flaring in her bottom as it was pressed against the wall didn't stop the flash of pleasure that streaked through her like lightening.
His lips devoured hers, his hard cock digging into her stomach, and Cynthia clutched at him, reeling from the suddenness of his passion. The gloves had come off, and she suddenly realized how much control he'd always retained in his dealings with her. Control that he obviously no longer felt such a keen need to hold onto now that they were married. She'd been poking a tiger in his cage, only to find that he'd slipped through the bars and now kitty wanted to play.
Cynthia whimpered as he rocked against her, making her clit pulse as her weight moved over it. The hardness of his thigh was almost painful against her soft folds, even through the cushioning fabric of her wedding dress. His tongue was dancing in her mouth, sliding against hers as if dueling for possession of the space, until she could barely breathe. It felt like all of her intimate parts, from her breasts down to her pussy, were swollen with arousal.
When his hands cupped her buttocks, making her rock even more firmly against his thigh, the welts fizzed with pain and made her writhe in intense, torturous pleasure.
It wasn't until she heard ripping fabric, as the train of her skirt came loose, and the Earl pulled away that she was able to come back to herself. Her lips felt swollen from his rough kisses, her breasts heavy, and she stared up at him, dazed as she gasped for air.
"I am not deflowering you against a wall in a hallway," he said, clipping off the end of each word in his frustrated angst, glaring at her as if it were her fault.
Maybe it was. But how could she have known that such a small touch could incite such a disproportionate reaction? Definitely something to remember later, if by some miracle her brain was still working.
Wesley hauled her up into his arms again, this time holding her in such a way that her own arms were trapped against her sides. Gritting his teeth against the temptation to throw caution to the winds and just take her here and now, he strode down the hallway as quickly as he could. Fortunately, for both their sakes, his bride remained absolutely silent as he kicked open the door to his room.
Their room.
A wave of masculine smugness washed over him, helping to temper his anxiousness to sink into her body. She was all his now. In his arms, in his room, and about to be in his bed where she belonged. Never again would she sleep anywhere but beside him. There would be no more nights waking up alone, aching for her. She'd be right there, beside him, soft and warm and reachable.
He tossed her onto the bed.
Blinking, her cheeks rosy and pretty pink lips slightly parted, she stared up at him in a kind of sensual daze. Wesley yanked off his jacket, enjoying the way her eyes widened as he started to strip. She sat up, watching with eagerness as piece after piece of clothing fell to the ground. The way she was looking at him had his balls aching, her eyes focused on his cock as it stood out from his body as if reaching for her.
As he stood there, enjoying watching her look at him, her eyes slowly went up his body to his face. Her little pink tongue flicked out, moistening her lower lip, reminding him of how sweet her mouth was. But that's not where his cock was going today.
"We're... going to..." Surprisingly, she flushed. It was charmingly erotic, to see his brazen little bride turning pink. She could crawl into his bed in the middle of the night, looking to be ruined before her wedding, but now that they were married she turned slightly shy.
"I'm going to make you mine. My wife."
He moved forward, kneeling on the bed and leaning over her as she began to slide slowly down onto her back, staring up at him.
"The right way?"
"What's the right way, sweetheart?"
She scowled up at him as he loomed over her, his mouth hovering just above hers. "In my pussy."
Dirty girl. Wesley didn't answer, he just lowered his lips to hers, kissing her again. Tasting her. Conquering her. The fabric of her dress scratched at his body, annoying him as he lay out his full length on her. She gasped into his mouth, her legs automatically spreading for him, cradling him against the unwelcoming fabric.
Blasted dress.
With a sound of annoyance, Wesley pulled away and grasped the neckline in both hands.
Cynthia shrieked as he rent the dress in two, revealing her corset and chemise beneath. "I liked that dress!"
"I'll buy you a new one," he muttered, tossing the ruined fabric on the floor, quickly sending the rest of her clothing after it. It was like unwrapping a present on Christmas morning, and he'd never been the patient type. He'd always liked to rip the wrapping paper from the boxes, and Cynthia was far better than any holiday gift he'd ever received. Chances were this wouldn't be the last dress of hers that he shredded. Of course, once she was naked, he fully intended on taking his time and savoring his bride.
Lush curves beckoned to him, her spread legs revealing glistening lips peeking out from her thatch of brown curls. The wide-eyed excitement on her face made her unlike any virginal bride he'd ever heard of, but it also made her perfect for him.
He bent over to take on pert nipple in his mouth, making her gasp and writhe as his hands pressed down on her thighs, keeping them open. His thumbs traced little circles on the soft, inner skin, slowly moving closer and closer to her untouched pussy. Well, he'd done a bit of touching, but that was different.
Moaning, Cynthia clutched at his head, sliding her fingers through his hair, because there wasn't much else she could do. She was on her back, spread and helpless, and utterly aroused. The slight pain of her bottom pressing against the bed was nothing compared to the fires her new husband was stoking inside of her. If anything, that bit of sting was like a sharp bite that made everything else more pleasurable by comparison. When she tried to move her legs, wanting to clasp them around him, she felt a surge of wetness gush through her pussy as he held her in place.
The domineering, conquering lord had complete dominion over her body, and it left her absolutely breathless. Any lingering ire over his treatment of her dress had completely washed away. She had more important things to focus on.
"Please... more..." she begged, as his switched nipples, leaving one wet and cool in the open air as he engulfed the other in his hot mouth. The steady sucking sensation and the flicking of his tongue against the sensitive bud had her arching as her pussy clenched. Her legs were forced farther apart as his hands slid higher on her thighs; she wanted to scream with frustration as they brushed against her pussy lips and then stopped. "Oh! Wesley..."
He groaned around her nipple as she sa
id his name, and she shuddered at the vibrations through her breast. It felt like her body was on fire, and she knew that he had the means to quench it. The wetness seeping from her cunt did nothing to douse the heat, her needy wriggling only frustrating her further as she sought some kind of pressure for her clit and found nothing.
"Patience, sweetheart," he said, lifting his mouth from her nipple, the look of amusement on his face rousing her temper again.
She scowled at him. "Now, my lord."
"It's going to hurt, this first time."
Cynthia just rolled her eyes. As if being spanked didn't hurt. Or birched. Or when he put his cock in the wrong place. If all of that could hurt and feel good at the same time, she was sure that she could survive whatever he was talking about.
Especially since she wanted it.
He shifted upwards, his eyes boring into hers, and she felt something hot and hard pressing against her pussy. Her breath caught in her throat as the most immense pressure suddenly assaulted her core, and then something tore. It didn't just hurt; it stung, pinched and burned all at the same time. Cynthia cried out, hitting at Wesley's chest with her small fists.
Catching her hands, he pinned them down on either side of her. She tried to close her legs, but his big body blocked the way.
"OW!" she said, her voice full of outrage and shock, not to mention just a bit of disappointment. "Take it out!"
"Shhh," he said, soothingly. Patronizing, really. "It will feel better in a moment. I won't move right away so you have time to get used to it."
She squirmed, trying to get away. If it was going to feel like that, then she definitely didn't want him moving at all! "I changed my mind, put it in the other hole."
Having him in her bottom might be shameful, and somewhat painful, but it had never felt like that. It didn't occur to her that he'd always been much more careful about preparing her bottom, and that he might have taken the same care with her virginity if she hadn't been so impatient. But he'd been impatient as well, and he hadn't expected her to be quite so well protected. Her maidenhead was broken now, but it had been rather thick, so he could only imagine that it must have hurt when he'd forced himself through. He'd wanted her to truly feel him taking her for the first time, but if he'd realized how painful the initial breach would be, he would have prepared her more with his fingers. That's what he got for giving into her pleas; he'd return to his original plan of taking his time with her.