“Good.” But he gave her a hard swat just for taking so long to answer. When he stepped back, he saw there were tears sliding down her cheeks. He kissed them away, savoring their salty, familiar flavor. “You know it’s for your own good, don’t you?” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes, Edward.”
He crawled up onto the bed on his hands and knees. “Are you going to behave in the future?”
She gave a barely audible sniff that made his cock as hard as steel. “Yes, Edward.”
He smiled and tapped on her jaw. “Good girl, now head up for me, mouth open.”
He positioned himself in front of her as she raised up higher. He took his shaft in his hand and rubbed the fat bell end over her lips, smearing them with slick fluid. When she opened her mouth to take him, he gave a slight shake of his head. “No, not yet. I’m not sure you deserve it.” He swatted her wet cheeks with his cock, hard enough to hurt both of them. “You were teasing me tonight—you and Smith. Weren’t you?”
She swallowed hard and he reminded himself to try out one of his new collars on her before he finished with her tonight.
“Yes, Edward.”
He chuckled, an evil sound that broadcast all the jealousy and bile inside him. “I think you may not remember who you belong to—who owns you. You need a reminder and I’ve got just the thing. But right now I want you to throat me—I want to see if you compare to Emma or if I need to send you to Cecile for some training. Open up wide, that’s my good girl.”
❈❈❈
Nora would never make it through this night without disobeying him and coming. It was as if he’d spent the last week thinking of all the things she liked best and was now going to torment her beyond sanity.
Her buttocks burned and she knew there would be hand-shaped bruises for a week. He’d never struck her so hard before and she’d almost come after the last one.
And now this . . .
She opened her body to him and he slid all the way in, not stopping until his thick shaft blocked her throat. She experienced that second of panic just before she reminded herself not to gasp—not to struggle for breath.
“Ah, yes,” he said, his voice pulsing with pleasure over his mastery of her. He held her full, his balls against her chin. He groaned. “I could stay tucked inside here all day.”
Knowing Edward, he would try.
“Swallow,” he ordered
She did and he shivered and laughed—a genuine boyish laugh of pleasure that tickled her so much she did it again and again until he pulled all the way out.
She gasped for air, filling her burning lungs to bursting.
Edward chuckled. “That was very bad of you,” he slapped her cheek with the head of his cock and then backed away. “But I enjoyed it—too much.” He leaned close and whispered, “Oh, Nora! I wish I had three cocks so I could fuck all your holes at once.” He turned and hopped off the bed, leaving her reeling from his hot, vulgar words.
Nora watched him stride toward his massive armoire, his tight cheeks flexing enticingly, the corded muscles of his narrow waist flaring into his massive back. She had to swallow several times to keep from drooling.
He opened both doors of the big cupboard wide and she sucked in a breath at the profusion of implements. And then he dropped into a squat. The sight of his balls—hanging tautly between his spread thighs—caused her to clench, which sent a dangerous cascade of sensation rippling outward from her sex. It wasn’t the thought of displeasing him that made her grit her teeth and stop the orgasm that threatened to explode—but a competitive dislike of losing. And the tug of war between them could have only one winner. If Nora had any say, it would be her.
He came back to her with full hands. Thankfully, neither of them held any of the floggers or crops she saw hanging. But when she caught a glimpse of what he had in his right hand her entire body tightened.
“Ah,” he said, his sharp eyes catching her body’s reaction. “Are you looking at these?” He held out a black leather case that held seven implements, all made from black marble. They ranged in size from the diameter of perhaps a hazelnut to slightly larger than a walnut.
He tossed the plugs onto the bed along with a small bottle of oil. “I might not have three cocks, but I’ve got the next best thing—don’t I?” He smirked at whatever he saw on her face.
In his other hand was a wide leather collar with a silver ring attached.
“It is a posture corrective,” he said in a conversational tone as he slipped it over her throat and pulled it tight to fasten the buckles.
Nora resented the implication that her posture was in need of correction.
“Not that you need it, as you have such lovely posture.”
She couldn’t help preening a bit at his praise.
“But I knew I’d like the look of it around your slender neck.” He pulled the last buckle closed and then took her throat in his hand, roughly caressing her. “There, nice and snug. Can you breathe?”
She was surprised he’d bothered to ask. “Yes, Edward.” But just barely.
“Ah, well, next time I’ll tighten it up a notch.”
He disappeared behind her and she felt his hands, one on each cheek as he spread her. “I must say I like this smoothness,” he said almost to himself, his thumbs stroking the shaved skin that surrounded her back hole. “It seems like you might have missed a bit, right here.” He flicked an area that had been particularly difficult to reach. “I shall do better,” he promised. His hands disappeared and when he touched her again it was with fingers slicked with oil. He poured more at the top of her crack and she felt it slither down toward her anus. His thick finger spread the oil up and down, stopping short of her other opening.
“Mmm, I’ve been dreaming about this—but I think I already said that.” He probed at her tight hole and she bore down, pushing against him as he breached her with just the tip, twisting his finger from side to side, lightly stretching before invading a tiny bit more.
Edward was cruel when it came to her feelings, but he was always meticulous about preparing her body. Many men did not want to get too close to either opening, not even wishing to touch her with their hands, instead preferring to simply bull into her, often tearing skin and causing the wrong type of pain.
Edward, on the other hand, seemed to relish exploring her body, no part too distasteful or beyond his interest.
“God, yes, Nora,” he groaned as he pushed ever deeper, drizzling more oil on his invading finger. His breeding organ was so huge that even considerable preparation would not make taking him easy. Still, she enjoyed his efforts as much as the actual penetration.
Soon he was pumping in and out of her, burying his finger with each thrust. He paused and lightly kissed one of her still aching cheeks. “Are you ready for two?”
She was never ready for two, but she said, “Yes, Edward.”
He made a sound of pleasure and soaked them in more oil as he carefully worked another huge digit into her, stretching her slowly before pumping her with hard, deep strokes.
“You look so beautiful,” he breathed against her bottom, his voice raw with want. His cock, she knew would be hard and weeping.
“Please, Edward. I want you.”
He gave her a stinging slap with his free hand and rammed his two fingers into her hard. “I wish I cared what you wanted, Nora. But I’m afraid I don’t. You’ll have to earn my care.”
She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out, the tears streaming down her cheek, her pelvic muscles convulsing.
“And if you come, I’ll whip you bloody.”
And he would. And she would love it.
❈❈❈
Edward loved fucking her back hole—it felt like such a filthy, taboo activity. He especially loved to watch her take him. He was big, he knew that. Some women couldn’t bear it and didn’t find such impalement pleasurable. But Nora reveled in it, her slender body accepting anything he offered. Sometimes he filled her anus with a plug while fucking her cunt, the sensation
of another hard object inside her more curious than pleasurable. He’d considered what it would be like to have another man inside her when he took her, but the idea of getting so close to another male repelled him.
An image of Smith’s big cock sliding in and out of Emma assaulted him.
Liar.
He shoved the thought away as fast as possible, but his cock had already noticed it and pulsed with a demand he could no longer deny.
He considered tonguing her again—her anus this time—the thought making his mouth water. He loved tasting her—every part of her. He knew it was just another sign of how deviant, animal, and low he was—wanting to lick her arse out. But he’d accepted it. He’d always liked exploring his women, but never as much as her. And now that she was his and he no longer had to worry about the last man who’d been inside her, well, he could taste her whenever he wanted. Feast on her.
But not right now. Now he needed to fill her and mark her. He took out his fingers and drizzled oil on his already slick cock, giving it a few strokes and appreciating its rock hardness. Not every man his age could claim such stamina and he felt sure it was the result of vigorous bed sport since the time he’d discovered his prick and what it was good for. Nights in the workhouse dormitory had been a veritable symphony of boys groaning as they tossed one off. And other things.
He positioned his head at her tight pucker, enjoying the sight and tucking it away for later. He breached her slowly, not wishing to tear her. Edward wasn’t an utter deviant, he never enjoyed hurting a woman with unpleasant intercourse.
He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached as he eased into her, past the outer ring that squeezed almost painfully tight, deeper and deeper up her impossibly tight canal until his balls rested against her.
“All right?” he asked gruffly, holding her full and stretching her.
“Oh, yes.” She made a purring noise and he smiled. He’d never in his life met a woman who liked to fuck as much as Nora—and in so many ways.
Images of her fucking Smith and nameless, faceless others, assaulted him and his smile evaporated. He pulled out and slammed into her, as if such brutality could drive those phantoms away. The savage action jarred a guttural grunt from her and he gripped her narrow hips with white knuckled hands, his hips shaking as he struggled to control his unreasonable rage.
Jealousy.
“Yes, goddammit!” he ground out.
“Edward, please.”
He thrilled at the raw need in her voice. She would come tonight—he would make sure of it. And tomorrow night he would punish her for it. He pulled out slowly and slammed in, making both of them grunt with the violence of his thrust.
“I have a surprise for you, Nora.”
Thrust, grunt.
“Next week I shall embark upon a new project and you’ll join me.”
Thrust, grunt.
“It’s paragraph 9 in the contract—the part where you will act as my hostess, my ward, the shy and reclusive Miss Hudson, my poor sister’s only daughter.” He gave an ugly laugh.
Thrust, grunt.
“We shall be entertaining at least twice a week. Just small dinners.”
Thrust, grunt.
He wanted to draw this out—to make her suffer with doubt and anticipation, but he simply couldn’t hold back. “They will all be young ladies with their parents.” She clenched around him and he yelled. “Fuck! You just about broke me in two, Nora. I think that news excited you.”
Thrust, grunt.
“Or does it make you feel something else? Some other emotion.” He paused, breathing hard, grinning as he made her wait, knowing she would never tell him what she was thinking.
He resumed his thrusting, even harder this time, until it was difficult to fuck and speak. “I think you know I’m going courting, and these are my prospective brides you and I will be entertaining.”
Her body was so rigid beneath him he was surprised she didn’t fracture into a thousand pieces like glass, shredding him in the process.
He dropped onto his hands, covering her back with his chest, enveloping her smaller body with his, dominating her. He turned to look at the mirror across from the bed. “Look at us,” he ordered, their eyes meeting in the glass. He pumped his hips, relishing the sight of his powerful body covering hers. “We look like two animals in rut,” he said, demonstrating again but harder, devouring the pain and lust and—yes, if he wasn’t mistaken—jealousy on her face. “We’re two of a kind,” he whispered in her ear. “Two mutts who like to fuck like the animals we are.” He thrust again, very close to his climax now. “But my wife, Nora, she will be a purebred.” His dark eyes held her pale ones in thrall: black and white just like this room—their room.
“And I’ll pump my seed into her purebred cunt and breed my mutts inside her gold-plated womb.” He leaned close enough to kiss her ear. “And you’ll have to watch and suffer and want.”
He gave one last vicious thrust and they came at the same moment, Nora climaxing as he spent deep inside her, tears streaming from her eyes.
Part 2
Chapter Fifteen
Catherine
All her life Catherine had been groomed for this—to become the broodmare of a wealthy man and bear him two sons—one after the other, no daughters to get in the way, if she was fortunate. She’d accepted her lot in life long ago.
But this? No, she’d never expected this.
The man across from her, Mr. Edward Fanshaw, a cloth and coal and tin and whatever merchant, strained the seams of his well-made suit as he leaned toward her.
“How are you enjoying London, Lady Catherine? Your father tells me you’ve just come from the country?”
Cat was amazed when her voice—as normal as ever—came out of her mouth. “Very well, thank you, sir. Although it is dreadfully thin this time of year.”
“Thin?” He frowned, his great bushy black eyebrows descending over eyes that were almost black and far too penetrating. She tried to avoid looking at his mouth, whose fullness and sensuality made her tummy flutter with emotions she did not like.
“There is very little company, as yet,” she explained patiently. Could the man really be that thick? He was undoubtedly a barbarian, but surely even shopkeepers knew when the Season began?
“Ah.”
Cat couldn’t resist a little dig. “We normally don’t come this early, but Papa had some manner of business.” She knew exactly what that business was: the auctioning of her person to the highest bidder.
His disturbing lips curved into a slight smile and his heavy lids lowered. Everything about him was dark and thick and heavy—his too wiry black hair, his huge nose, his massive laborer hands with disgusting black hair on his knuckles.
Cat shivered at the thought of them coming anywhere near her.
“Are you cold, my lady?”
She wasn’t, but it was as good an excuse to go back inside as any. “A little.”
He stood immediately, his huge person all but blocking out the weak winter sunshine. Cat took the arm he offered and they walked through Blandford House’s pitiful gardens. Everything about her entire life was pitiful. But the most pitiful thing yet was having to submit to being drooled on, gawked at, and pawed by this pushing cit.
“I’m looking forward to showing you Fanshawe House tomorrow evening, my lady.”
Cat was looking forward to the wretched dinner party the way a martyr looked forward to their burning pyre. But she smiled demurely up at him and fluttered her eyelashes—luxuriant and beautiful, just as everything about her. “As am I, Mr. Fanshawe.” She could already imagine it—scarlet, black, and lots of gold—the way her brother had described a brothel he favored.
“It is a well-built and spacious house,” he boasted, “but in need of a woman’s touch.”
Cat wanted to retch, but instead murmured appreciatively. As if she’d love to provide that touch or any other kind of touch for a man who likely was born above a stable, if not actually inside a stall.
&nb
sp; “My ward, Miss Nora Hudson lives with me, and you will meet her, as well.”
Yes, another thing she could imagine, some great cow of a girl with the wit of a bale of hay. “I’m looking forward to making her acquaintance. Is she my age, sir?’
“Er,” he hesitated, clearly unsure of whether to ask how old she was. Cat considered letting him dangle but decided not even that was worth prolonging his presence in her father’s house.
“I am seven-and-ten, sir.”
“Ah.” He sounded rather nonplussed, as he did quite often, in fact. She was beginning to wonder how such a man had ever managed to accumulate a great fortune.
“Nora is, I believe six years your senior.”
So, an old crone.
“Will she be joining the festivities this Season?” Or has she given up after so many years?
He coughed on something, seemingly unable to walk and speak at the same time.
“Er, no. She is very . . . well, shy. She’s never been, er, out.”
Cat stopped and turned to him, having to look up an obscene distance for very little reward. “Truly? Not even when she was young?”
His lips twitched as if she’d said something amusing. “No, not even then.”
“But, what does she do all day?”
He blinked and then gave a helpless sounding chuckle. “I have no idea. But you can ask that and more tomorrow evening.”
Cat watched with widening eyes as he pulled out his watch, popped open the gaudy cover, and looked at the time. Why the rude, despicable—
“Dammit,” he muttered beneath his breath just before his head jerked up. “I apologize for my vulgar language, my lady. It’s just that I’m late for a rather important appointment.”
She frowned.
He grimaced as he realized the implication of his words. “Not that you aren’t important, of course. It’s just that—well, I’m afraid I must go. Would you like me to walk you back inside?”
“I shall be quite safe out here on my own, Mr. Fanshawe.”
Something like suspicion flickered across his face but disappeared when she smiled vapidly up at him and dropped a curtsey. “It has been a pleasure, sir. Until tomorrow.”
His Harlot (Victorian Decadence Series Book 1) Page 14