He bent down and grabbed her hair, pulling her to her knees in front of him with one hand as the other stroked his thick manhood. "If you bite me, I will get a strap," he warned. "Open your mouth."
Chapter 4
Marriage is a chimera; a social construct built from the lie of felicitous matrimony, perpetuated by those who wish to maintain that unhappy state of existence, and is little better than prostitution. Love is for children and the simple of mind, much like St. Nicholas.
Elizabeth, Countess of Shepton
What he asked was beyond her ability to comprehend! The thought of taking him into her mouth was horrifying, but strangely tantalizing. Ignoring her curiosity about such a sinful act, she shook her head and pressed her lips together before turning away from him, her vow to obey forgotten as she tried to make sense of her confused thoughts. How could she be married to such a horrible man? She would have run if he didn't have such a large amount of her hair clenched in his fist. Pinching her nose closed with his free hand, he waited until she had to open her mouth to breathe then pushed her face down to his lap.
He thrust his manhood nearly to the back of her throat, making her choke around the hardened flesh. Salty sweet liquid dripped into her mouth from the bulbous head of his member, and she nearly tried to pull away, surprised at the taste. Letting go of her nose, he tightened both hands in her hair to hold her still as he thrust into her mouth. Her eyes watered as he cut off her air, dampening his thighs with her tears, and he let out a groan of pleasure as she gagged around his thick shaft.
Elizabeth's hands flew up to stop the vicious intrusion into her mouth. When she squeezed the base of his member to keep him from thrusting so deeply, he groaned and cursed softly. With a start of surprise, she realized he must enjoy the sensation. She did not want to bring him pleasure, but if her hands saved her poor throat from his abuse, she would use them.
Despite being forced into this ignoble act, she wanted to make him groan again. It gave her some small sense of accomplishment, though she did not want to do what he'd asked of her.
Everything was so confusing! If she brought him pleasure, would he leave her alone? She didn't know the answer, but she was willing to try.
Tentatively, she stroked him, following the motion of his body with her fingers. He growled out another low curse and tightened his fists in her hair as he used her mouth. He thrust too deeply and she choked, her throat spasming around his manhood.
He pushed her roughly, making her fall backward. She scuttled away, desperate to get out of his reach, but she was no match for his agility and speed. He grasped a handful of her hair once more, ignoring her screech of pain as he yanked her to her feet. Leading her by his makeshift leash, he pulled her to the bed and tossed her face down upon the coverlet.
"Get on your elbows and knees. I want to see that pretty bottom in the air."
She had to force her limbs to obey then turned her tearstained face toward him as he crawled on the bed and knelt beside her. Fear trickled through her body at the stern expression on his face. "Why are you doing this? I did as you asked!"
"Because I can, and because you must learn to obey me without question." He knelt next to her and stroked her hot bottom. "If you are obedient, I will make sure you find your pleasure." He pinched her thigh and added, "If you are not, then you will feel only pain."
He slapped her bottom, making her cry out. "Do you understand, Elizabeth?"
Her shoulders hitched tight with tension, and she nodded. He spanked her again, another half dozen blows to the backs of her thighs, making her whimper. She tried to crawl from the bed, but he tugged her hair until she had to arch her neck to release the pressure on her scalp.
"Say you understand."
He punctuated each word with slaps to her exposed sex, and she screamed, "Yes, I understand!"
She put her head down between her elbows and tried to hold back her tears as he positioned himself between her thighs and eased his shaft inside her, his hands on her hips holding her still. She whimpered at the intrusion, tightening her muscles until he swore viciously and slapped her bottom again.
"Relax, Elizabeth. I'm trying not to hurt you any more than I must. I want you to feel pleasure tonight."
Holding back hysterical laughter at the idea of pleasure coming from the agonizing pain, she tried to relax her muscles, allowing him to seat himself fully in her untried body. He held still for so long she wondered what he waited for. She wanted to tell him to get on with it and be done with this horrible encounter.
"Good girl. You're doing very well." He rubbed her back, the touch soothing despite the throbbing in her core.
His stillness allowed her to adjust to the intrusion and the pinching pain faded into a dull throb, but she wanted to ask him to finish and leave her alone. She held her peace when he sighed and bent over her back, his hand trailing under her to caress the bud at the apex of her thighs.
As he worked that bit of flesh, the discomfort eased and pleasure flooded over her. Despite the pain in her hot backside, her channel tightened around him as he moved, slowly at first, then faster, his balls slapping at her flesh as he pounded into her. He pinched the bundle of nerves, and she moaned at the sensation.
"That's a good girl," he murmured, kissing her shoulders. His hot breath tickled the damp hair at her nape, and the ghostly touch made her shiver.
He sat up, hands clenched on her hips as he moved her body on his cock. He released her right hip, gripping all the tighter with his left hand, and she felt him press on her bottom hole. She gasped in shock and tried to move away, but he held her too tightly. Though slick with her own juices, his thumb burned as he stretched the ring of muscle and pressed it inside her bottom. The fire eased, sending heated tendrils of pleasure into her core as he fucked her.
"Don't do that! Please! It's dirty!"
"Shhh, my dear. Relax, and it will feel good."
Elizabeth buried her face into the pillow, unable to decide if she wanted to scream or obey his order to relax. Despite the wrongness of something lodged where it shouldn't be, it felt decadent and wonderful once the burn left her. She bit her lip to hold back the needy whimper trying to crawl up her throat. When he pulled her hips toward him, settling his manhood deeper into her body, she screamed brokenly as she came around his turgid flesh. Her bottom clamped down on his thumb, and he groaned as his member swelled inside her.
With a tremendous roar, he emptied himself into her and collapsed on top of her, taking them both to the bed. He rolled over and pulled her against him, his softening flesh still locked inside her.
"You promised you wouldn't hurt me," she whispered.
"I'm afraid it couldn't be helped."
She turned in his arms to look at him and stared as his irises clouded, the blue shade darkening to black. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Richard's blue eyes, glassy with approaching sleep, met hers, and she shook off the discomfiting fantasy. Of course, his eyes were blue. One's eyes didn't change color in such a dramatic fashion. Such things were a scientific impossibility. Her fanciful imaginings were simply a product of stress and disappointment.
A bare second later, his eyes closed and he let out prodigious snore. She waited several minutes until he went lax with sleep and eased her sore body away from him, desperate to bathe the blood and seed from her thighs. The bath water was cold, but she sank into it and let the water soothe her aching backside and sex. She wetted the cake of soap and used her hands to clean her body, the tissues too sensitive and sore for a cloth.
She pulled the stopper and wrapped herself in one of the drying cloths laid beside the tub then huddled in a chair next to the window. Her husband was a liar and a sadist. A few tears leaked from her eyes, and she brushed them away with an impatient swipe of cloth as she thought about how to manage this new situation.
For a brief moment, she considered cutting her hair so he couldn't tug on it, but vain creature that she was, she refused to surrender her one beautiful featu
re.
He demanded obedience, and she had learned tonight that it would be better for her if she provided it. He was impatient, though. Would it help her or hinder her to ask for clarification when she didn't understand one of his commands? She didn't know and sat by the window for many hours pondering her choices.
He had given her incomparable pleasure. Even his spanking brought delight like she'd never felt before, but it wasn't worth the pain and humiliation. She was ashamed of herself for liking his spankings, but she had, and would admit the intolerable fact to herself, if not to anyone else. She could not understand how pain and humiliation could bring pleasure, and her head ached from thinking about it. She refused to consider the filthy way he'd given her pleasure in her bottom.
She knew he had lied when he said he wouldn't hurt her, but she accepted that small untruth, knowing the pain of breaching her maidenhead was unavoidable. Yet, fool that she was, she accepted his words.
"Angeline…" He whispered what she assumed to be his mistress's name in his sleep, and Elizabeth wanted to laugh. Angeline could have him, and good riddance. If she was very lucky, she would find herself increasing very soon, and he could return to his lover's bed. Once she gave him his heir and spare, she could demand a separate household for herself. It was a common state of affairs in the peerage from what she'd heard. She laid a trembling hand on her belly and prayed she didn't have daughters.
Her new husband rolled over, and still asleep, reached across the bed. He would want a warm body by his side now. She just hoped he wouldn't want to use her again. Her—cunt ached. Lord, how she hated that word. She slid between the sheets and allowed him to wrap his arms around her, not saying a word when he called her by another woman's name as she tried to ignore the stench of their coupling.
She tried to stay awake, unwilling to leave herself vulnerable to him, but her eyes grew heavy as dawn pushed silvery tendrils through the gap in the curtains.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth was very good at feigning sleep. She knew how to regulate her breathing and crack her eyes open the tiniest bit to survey her surroundings before letting her state of consciousness be known to anyone in the room. There was a trick to it. She recited prime numbers in her head. The familiar litany was soothing, one breath for every number. It became more difficult as she passed one thousand and nine, but she had most of them memorized and they followed a pattern. The magic in the pattern soothed her and allowed her to focus her thoughts without disturbance.
Her husband put a wooden box on the nightstand on her side of the bed. She supposed it would contain jewelry. Wasn't that the usual gift to an upset wife? She would accept his bauble, but not the apology. She opened her eyes fully, her course of action set.
Stretching her limbs, mindful of her sore backside, she pretended wakefulness and sat up. The sheet came with her, covering her breasts. He rose to his feet and passed her a dressing gown.
"Good morning, Lady Shepton."
"Good morning." She kept her voice steady and low. It was not impolite, nor was it particularly welcoming. Most importantly, it matched his expressionless countenance.
"Would you like breakfast?"
She drew the dressing gown over her shoulders, pushing her arms into the sleeves and tied the sash securely at her waist. She didn't have much appetite, but she ought to eat something to keep her strength and wits about her. Besides, refusing to eat would tell him that he'd disconcerted her, and she was determined to avoid giving him any more power over her than he already had.
"That sounds lovely. Thank you." He stood and tugged on the bell pull next to the bed. She tried to hide her flinch as he passed by then relaxed when he moved away. Once he was seated, she walked slowly to her clothes chest and pulled out a plain muslin dress with laces up the front and went into the bathing room to dress. She tried to hide her painful movements, but wasn't sure she was successful. Her backside was sore enough she considered taking another bath. She shuddered at the thought, unwilling to bathe with him in the room.
It might be better to get it over with and invite his touch. He had a mistress, after all. He would grow tired of her once she conceived. Her monthly time was due in just a handful of days, so she would know soon if she'd gotten lucky. She heard a knock at the door and finished tightening the laces on her bodice before returning to his bedchamber.
A young maid giggled as she laid out their breakfast, and Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. Neither of them saw her, and the maid continued to flirt outrageously, though Richard did not appear to return her regard. Elizabeth sidled back into the bathing chamber and waited until the maid left. She had no desire to interrupt him while he was busy. She sent another prayer heavenward that he hadn't given her one of those nasty diseases one contracted from overindulgence in the pleasures of the flesh, but there was no help for it now.
With maids, a mistress, and a wife, it was no wonder the man had fallen unconscious on top of her last night! She shrugged imperceptibly as she walked toward the small table. If the others kept him busy enough, perhaps he'd be too tired to bother her.
While she had been in the bathing chamber, he had taken the time to dress in worn trousers and a white shirt. He stood and pulled out a chair as she approached. "Thank you," she murmured as she sat down, ignoring the lingering ache in her bottom.
Returning to his seat, he asked, "May I serve you?"
She nodded, but wondered at the courteous treatment. Perhaps he was trying to make up for last night. He filled a plate with eggs and a slice of ham then pushed the toast rack toward her. She took a slice and spread strawberry jam on it. The eggs and ham were quite beyond her, but she thought she could manage toast. Hot chocolate steamed from a carafe, and she poured a cup for herself, enjoying the sweet, spicy scent.
She loved the confection, but chocolate was too dear for her father's house. It had been a very rare treat.
He watched her as she finished the slice of toast and picked at the eggs. She took a few bites, struggling to eat under his intent gaze.
"I have a gift for you." He leaped from his seat and retrieved the box from the nightstand. He placed the box next to her plate then sat down and looked at her expectantly.
She thumbed the catch open and looked down at the necklace laid out on snowy satin. It was lovely. The center emerald was as big as the top joint of her thumb and hung down from a rope of black pearls. It looked like something a princess from the east would wear, exotic and gaudy all at once. She shut the box and laid it next to her plate.
"Thank you. It's beautiful."
"Will you wear it?"
She nodded and tried to think of a suitable answer. "Yes. It will be lovely to wear when we attend a formal occasion."
She leaned back and finished her hot chocolate, staring absently out the window for several moments as her husband ate his breakfast. He spoke again, and she tried not to recoil at the sound. Her muscles clenched and she wanted to hide under the table, but ignored the atavistic need for self-preservation.
"If you're finished, I thought we might go out to the stables so you can choose a horse of your own. Would you like that?"
"That would be lovely. I look forward to riding again. I'll be ready in a moment." She pulled worn boots out of her chest and slipped them on her feet. She tied her wavy sable hair back into a neat bun at her nape and waited as he tugged his boots over his calves.
Of course, riding was out of the question today. With some asperity, she wondered if Richard remembered thrashing her bottom last night. She hadn't found any bruises, but her bottom was quite tender. Perhaps it would ease if she walked the stiffness away. Truly, she looked forward to having a horse of her own. Even an elderly cob would be a godsend if she could get away from Richard for a few hours while she rode.
After donning their cloaks and gloves, he escorted her to the stables and introduced her to his stable master, Roland. She nodded respectfully to the old gypsy, making his dark eyes flash in approval under black hair heavily threaded with gra
y. His lips spread into a wide smile under the wide protuberance of a Roman nose.
She walked down the first row of stalls, examining each horse with a critical eye and passing over several that would be appropriate for a child or a novice rider. At the end of the row, she stopped at a well-bred but rather plump stallion, cooing as she fed him a bit of toast.
The massive bay took the offering gently from her palm and nuzzled her cheek, making her laugh in delight. She touched her forehead to his and whispered in his furry ear. He nickered plaintively after her when she moved to the second row of stalls.
Aside from the overweight stallion, none of the others caught her eye. She came to the last stall and found it empty. "Is there a horse in this one?"
"Yes, my lady. We have a black gelding, but he doesn't come inside."
"Why not?"
Roland scratched his chin. "I have a few thoughts, but I don't know. We haven't been able to break him, either."
"I'd like to see him, please."
With a shrug, he led her outside to a small paddock holding the huge horse. She gazed at him speculatively as he trumpeted and raced around the paddock in agitation. The combination of tiny white scars on his rump and his unwillingness to enter the barn told her what had happened to the poor thing.
"He's been in a stable fire," she finally said. "Where did you get him?"
"I thought so as well, but no one would admit to such a thing happening. He came with a mare the master wanted to purchase. It was a condition of the sale that we take him."
"Give him a bigger paddock and build him an open shelter. He'll be fine. With some time and patience, I might be able to get him into the barn later in the winter."
She opened the gate and let herself into the paddock. Lowering her head, she moved to stand in the middle of the paddock, pretending to ignore the frantic horse. He was a lovely beast, all long legs and elegant carriage, and she forgot all about her husband as she began the task of gentling the horse to her hand. His precise gaits fascinated her, and she wondered if someone had taught him the graceful dressage movements of the Germans.
Wicked Deception (Wicked Magic Book 1) Page 5