by Lavinia Kent
She ached. She ached so badly. She wanted to plead with him to move faster, to help her, to end the tension and unending need that filled her. Biting down hard on her lip, she forced back the words and moans. She would not beg.
His glance dropped to her lips, to the teeth nipping down on tender flesh. Her chest expanded and dropped again at the heat she saw in those eyes. The emotion was violent, a storm-tossed ocean. She wondered that he could hold it back, and yet feared that if released it would encompass her, swallow her whole. There was power in the knowledge that she could make him feel so deeply, but also vulnerability. She was not sure that she liked being the focus of such an emotional vortex.
And yet, she loved it.
What woman would not?
She swallowed, watched as his eyes followed the tiny motion.
His fingers had reached the top of her bodice and with a sudden jerk they tugged it down, baring most of her breasts.
Darkened eyes rose again to meet hers, to gauge her reaction.
Another swallow, but she held herself still.
His fingers slipped beneath the top of her corset and lifted her breasts, pulling them up over the top edge, until she was completely bare. The nipples that had pressed so tight against the fabric sprang free and hardened in the cooler air of the room. His fingers and thumbs curved about the turgid peaks, bringing them to even greater sensitivity.
And still his eyes held hers. He did not look down, did not peer at what he had revealed in the faint light of the pantry.
Her heart sped in her chest as emotion and sensation warred. Thought did not even enter into the battle.
His thumbs pressed harder, pulling her nipples out, stretching them tight and then releasing only to pull again. A moan began deep in her throat, crying for release. Still keeping his eyes on hers, he bent at the waist and flicked the tip of her left nipple with his tongue. Lightning shot straight between her legs, taking the energy already caught there and multiplying it by a thousand. Now the moan did tear from her. She pushed her head back against the wall, breathed in deep, caught the scent of lemons and apples from some shelf deeper in the pantry.
She’d never be able to eat fruit again without being back here, back in this moment.
Her whole body was crying for release, her hips thrust forward, longing for the feel of his fingers between her legs.
His hands stayed on her breasts, pinching, teasing, positioning them for that ever-darting tongue—and still his eyes stayed on her face, watching her, observing her every moan and sigh. Her face must be betraying every secret she’d ever held. There was no thought of holding back at this moment, only dreams of what was coming, coming soon.
Bending even more forward, he drew one nipple entirely into his mouth, sucking deep and then pulling back to flick it hard with his tongue. His teeth grazed her virgin skin, causing a whisper of pain and then a muffled scream of delight. And every moment, every second, she felt like he learned her, that he paid attention to each and every detail, saving it all for later use.
It was strange being so closely observed. Even now that thought floated in the back of her mind. She’d never felt like anyone paid that much attention to her and now she felt like every breath she took, every hair that moved, was seen. It was quite disconcerting.
Except there was no time to do anything but feel, feel and long for more.
He moved his head to the other breast, and she cried with the deliciousness of it all. His fingers still worked the nipple of the first breast, pulling and teasing, extending it until it stretched. She felt so swollen, so bursting, another touch and it would happen. The knot between her legs grew ever tighter and she could only beg. “Please, Duldon. Please make it happen. I need it. I can’t bear it any longer. Please.” Her hips moved even further from the wall, pressing toward him.
He pulled his head back and continued to stare up at her. He smiled, slowly. “I told you this was punishment. Are you feeling punished yet?”
“Yes, please. Please. I need—I need you, Duldon.”
“I think it’s time you called me Stephan.”
She stared down at him, desperate, and yet not too blind to see how much meaning those words held.
“Stephan, please.”
“God, you make me want to give in to you, but not tonight, pet. Tomorrow at Madame Rouge’s I will make all your dreams come true, but for now you must squirm a little more.” And then, for the first time, he dropped his eyes to her breasts and stared at them directly. She saw—and felt—his intake of breath. “God, you are beautiful. I always knew you would be, but you are better than any dream, any fantasy.”
She dropped her own gaze and stared down at her breasts. She’d never seen them like this. Normally she just thought of them as there, a slight nuisance when she wanted to run or ride with great vigor, sore before her monthly, something that didn’t require much thought. She knew men liked them, had become aware at the Evanstons’ ball that she could use them to her advantage.
But this, this was different. They stood out pale above the darker silk of her gown, the yellow a deep gold in the flickering lantern light. Her corset pushed them up high, bringing an extreme fullness to them, making them look like they were begging to be touched and felt. And begging they were, the long nipples shiny and slick, swollen and red from the teasing. The pale globes lifting and falling with every breath, wanting, wanting, wanting.
She could look at herself and feel the want, know the look of it, the taste of it. Her lips were suddenly dry and she dampened them with her tongue.
How could he leave her like this? He’d called it punishment, but it felt as if she might explode if he left her like this.
“Please,” she begged.
“I know it’s hard, love. I truly do know.” He took her hand and pulled it forward, resting it on the front of his breeches. He was full and hard and throbbing. She could feel his cock’s need for escape, feel the force with which it thrust against the fabric. She eased her hand about its thickness, wondering at its size—and its strength. She’d seen several penises now, but she’d never placed her hand upon one, never felt the power within.
She gazed up at him, with wonder—and an edge of fright. That went in her? How was that even possible? She’d thought it would feel fleshier, less like a rod of iron. Her fingers squeezed. Her belly shivered. She squeezed again.
“You are killing me,” he growled. “But it will not change things. All I can promise is that tomorrow when you come to me at Ruby’s you will understand that the pain of deprivation can lead to much pleasure when it is finally released. I swear that it will all be worth it.”
“But what if I decide not to come to Madame Rouge’s? What if I decide to do something else?” She knew as well as he that she would be there, but could not resist the words.
“You’ll come. I do not think you will deprive us both.”
“Us both?” She squeezed him again.
“God, yes. I am discovering I am not a saint. And I think your education and your curiosity are ready to move forward a step.”
“Did you ever really think you might be a saint? I have to confess I never even considered that as a possibility.” With some reluctance she removed her hand from him and moved away slightly so that she could take in all of him. “Nope, not a saint. And how do you propose to satisfy my curiosity? Remember, I wish to go to my marriage a virgin.”
“I promise I will do nothing to hinder that wish. And that is why I consider that I may qualify for sainthood. Although I think you may be beginning to realize that there are plenty of things we can do that will leave us both quite satisfied.”
An image of Green and Black filled her mind—and Lord Banks and Julianna—and even the Binkshaws. They had engaged in several activities before and after the actual—the actual fucking. Yes, there was plenty to explore.
Unfortunately this was not helping to soothe her aches; rather, her whole body focused on the area between her legs, on her swollen breasts, still
exposed to the chill of the air. Could she wait until tomorrow? Would she survive so long?
“You must, however, remember that you will have further punishment tomorrow,” he said, closing the small space between them. “Do not think you have escaped so easily.”
Easily? She felt ready to die with need. And why did his words make her desires coil even tighter? The current punishment already ate at her, pushing at her limits of restraint. Why would she wish more? Why, when she could barely face the return to the dance floor feeling as she did, did the thought of further teasing and torture make her tingle and grow breathless?
“Oh, and one more thing. I promised you something a little more lasting, something to make you think of me all this night and tomorrow.” He bent again and his lips settled again about her nipple.
She was not going to survive this. Did he not know how wrought up she already was? Did he really feel that more was necessary? Her head fell back against the wall and she gave in. Who cared what he wanted, what his purpose was? All that mattered was how she felt, how the fires grew within her. Her fingers tangled in the short blond curls, pulling him ever closer.
And then pain, one sharp all-encompassing blast of pain, of fire that licked from her breast downward, lighting every nerve in her with energy, that had her stumbling back against the wall, that had her on the brink of orgasm despite his promised withholding.
“You bit me,” she exclaimed, not even sure what emotion filled her voice.
“Yes, I did. Look.” He took a half step back.
A deep red circle was already forming about her nipple, the mark of his incisors clear. A circle of crimson on her white skin.
“What do you think?” he asked.
And what did she think? She should know this. It was her body. It was her mind. The pain had been hers also. How did she feel? What did she think? Why did being with Duldon only bring more questions, never answers? And why did her thighs feel even wetter? Her core more needy?
“Are you going to answer?” His eyes swept her face, the edge of concern filling his tone.
She shook her head, words more than she could manage. One of her hands reached up and traced the mark. It was growing redder and darker by the moment. This was not some light indent that would fade before he walked away. This would last a day or even a week. She was marked. Even getting the bodice of her dress fixed would require some explanation—or no explanation. She did not owe the maid anything, and no matter what she said, it would not matter. Nobody looking at the ripped lace and the mark upon her breast would have any conclusion but one. It would not quite be the right answer, but it would be close enough that she could not even protest.
She was marked, marked as his.
“You are blushing—now?”
Her eyes dropped. Even when she felt gentle fingers rise to softly stroke her and carefully raise her corset and fit her back into her bodice, she did not look up. The intimacy of being dressed, of being put back together, only increased her confusion.
“There, does that look right?” he asked.
She lifted her gaze just far enough to see her bodice. It looked much the same as it had before she met up with Duldon. It still needed to be repaired, but it did not reveal the happenings of the last moments—not that any maid would miss the marks upon her skin as she plied her needle.
“It is fine,” she replied.
His fingers brushed over her shoulder, then up to her hair, smoothing a few curls. “I will escort you to the retiring room and wait, then we will have that waltz I’ve promised.”
She nodded slowly.
He placed her hand upon his arm and led her back out. Her legs shook as she walked. Her entire body was still a tightly wound spring of desire. Her mind filled with confusion.
Outside of the retiring room she nodded at Miss Amy Samson and Miss Sarah Swilp. She turned swiftly as she saw Angela heading back down the stairs. Questions were the last thing she needed at this moment. There was no possibility that she could answer another when she had no answers for herself—except for that one answer, that answer she was trying so hard to avoid.
Duldon had marked her as his and she had not protested, had even delighted. Was it because deep in her heart she was beginning to think it might be true? Did she already belong to him?
Chapter Fourteen
“Lady Perse is here to see you.”
Bliss looked up as the porter’s flat voice filled the room. “To see me?”
The poor man looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. He managed to hold back. That was a relief. One never knew what to expect with her father’s servants.
She took pity on him. “Of course she’s here to see me. Who else would she call on? Perhaps father? Or one of my sisters?” Now she was rambling—and to the porter. She really was not quite herself today. All she could think of was the fullness of her breasts, the need between her thighs, the need coiled deep within her waiting for release. Every move she made brought only more awareness of her body, more want, more desire.
“Should I send her in, my lady?” The porter tried to help her get back on track.
“Oh yes. Of course. And have Cook send tea and something small to nibble in a few minutes. I would not wish Lady Perse to feel mistreated in any way.”
The porter gave her a slight glare. Oh dear, she had not meant to imply that the staff would mistreat any guest. Should she try to explain that it was only that she feared Lady Perse could take anything wrong? No, that would probably only make it worse. If only she could hide under a table until after Lady Perse’s visit. She dreaded trying to talk when her mind was fluttering about like a flock of sparrows at a field of breadcrumbs, her thoughts focused on the desires of her body, on the torture of need.
The porter left and Bliss drew in a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
She rose as Lady Perse entered the room and moved to greet her. “How good it is to see you, my dear lady.”
“I do hate it when people say things they don’t mean. You’d probably rather it was anyone but me,” Lady Perse stated, glancing about the room and settling in the most comfortable of the chairs, the one Bliss had just vacated.
What did one reply to that?
The answer, evidently, was nothing. Lady Perse continued, “I assume you’ve sent for tea so I won’t even mention it. And something to eat. I do hope your cook doesn’t use too many raisins. Horrible things, they always look like dead flies.”
Bliss crossed her fingers and hoped that there would be no mincemeat pies today. “Yes, I ordered tea. Now how may I help you, Lady Perse?”
“The question is more how can I help you?” Lady Perse opened her reticule and pulled out a cream-colored envelope with no name upon it. She set it on the table between her and Bliss, but made no move to actually offer it to her. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.
Bliss stared at the envelope, her heart starting to thud. It was the same envelope that Angela had received. Had there been a mistake? Was she about to get her invitation? “Yes, I believe I do.”
“Would you like it to be yours?”
“What young lady would not?” she replied.
“That is not as direct an answer as I would like.” Lady Perse looked at Bliss as if she were a very small girl who’d come to tea with muddy hands. “Do you want it or not?”
“Yes, I want it.” There was really nothing else she could say.
“Then what are you willing to do for it?”
Lady Perse wanted to bargain? She’d never heard of such a thing. “I am not sure that I understand you.”
Tapping a finger on the invitation, Lady Perse stared. “I am quite sure that you do.”
“What would you like me to do? Or what would you like? I have the most lovely string of pearls, yards of them. I could give them to you.” Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if Lady Perse actually said yes. Bliss could actually see the lady with wrapped in layers about her neck. She was probably the only one who could carry them off.
“Don’t be crass. I have more than enough jewels of my own.”
“Then what do you wish? A favor from my father? I can ask, but he’s never been good at following any type of direction, even when he means to.”
“If I needed a favor I have far better connections than your father.”
That was probably true. There were reasons that Lady Perse was so successful at matchmaking. She knew everybody in the kingdom, and Bliss did mean everybody, scullery maids as well as princes. “Then what do you want?”
“There, you do know how to be direct.” Before Lady Perse could say more, there was a scratch at the door and a maid entered with a well-laden tea tray.
Bliss nodded to the table beside her as the maid deposited the tray and after another nod left. With the grace of long practice, Bliss lifted the pot and carefully poured a cup for Lady Perse. “It is a nice China tea. Milk? Or do you prefer lemon?”
“Milk, of course, I cannot imagine lemon with such a tea.”
Bliss smiled, ignoring any possible insult. “I do agree, but a hostess must ask.”
Lady Perse did not answer.
Bliss held out the plate of sweets. “May I offer you a little bite?”
“Frightfully extravagant. I always instruct Cook that all a lady needs is a bit of black bread and butter.” Lady Perse took two biscuits and a cream tart. “Now, where were we?”
Bliss desperately wanted to say anything except the truth. “You were complimenting my directness.”
“Ah, yes, a wonderful quality if handled correctly. So many people mistake being rude for being direct. It is not a mistake I ever make.”
The answer to that was not clear. Did Lady Perse believe she was never rude, or did she simply not mistake when she was being rude? Bliss had a feeling that she wished listeners to believe the former while actually meaning the latter. “I will try to follow your example.”