Cat and Mouse

by Genella deGrey

  “It seems your groom has mistaken this room for the stables.”

  “What?” He walked over to where she stood. “Ah.” He chuckled. “No one knows this room exists, save myself and now you.”

  “No one? But—” She raised her hand to one of the whips and found that it possessed a wide tab of soft kid leather at its end. She swallowed hard. “Oh, I see.” That breathless quality had returned to her voice. She dismissed it as her curiosity overtook the moment. Her heart began to pound out a voluble tattoo. “Then, is this for—?”

  Maxwell slid his arms around her waist from behind. “Yes.”

  She detected that the same breathlessness had assailed him as well. Her gaze darted to each whip. One had fluffy down-like feathers for its end. One possessed a long, soft leather fringe. One had what resembled rough, braided horse hair that seemed more spiky than pliant. There were more, but she could no longer dwell upon them as her simmering blood was now at a boil beneath her skin. She turned in his arms and looked into his eyes, but just as quickly, her aplomb slipped away like a mist. She studied his shoulder as the words echoing in her mind struggled to be set free.

  “Maxwell, I—” Katrina drew a shuttering breath. “Would it be possible—?” She cleared her throat. “That is to say, could you—?”

  “Yes?” She could hear the slight grin in his voice.

  “You aren’t going to make this easy, are you?”

  “Make what easy?”

  No, he wasn’t. And she knew that if she didn’t exhume the courage from deep within her to ask him this very moment, then she’d never be able to. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Look, I want it.” Her gaze darted to his. “I want you to use those horrid little torture devices on my bottom.”

  “I’m sorry. Wha—?”

  “And don’t you dare make me ask you again. If you didn’t hear the first time, then turn about and we shall leave this room this instant.”

  She’d never seen such a wicked grin. Her breath became trapped in her lungs. He placed his hand behind her neck and drew her cheek to his. “Whisper your request into my ear.”

  Pondering his appeal for a moment, she realised that it certainly was easier asking him when he wasn’t looking directly at her. Perhaps she’d pass him a bloody note next time.

  Katrina turned her face so that his lips brushed the outer shell of his ear. One breath, then two. How in the world could she ask for what she longed for? At once it came to her. Without waiting for a single second more to pass, she whispered, “Spank me.”

  She nearly lost her breath he hugged her so tightly, but she had to admit, it felt wonderful to be enfolded and safe within his strong arms.

  Maxwell began nibbling her neck, placing little kisses up and down the skin there, tonguing her sensitive throat. She clung to him while he stoked her fire. He was oh, so good at fostering within her a great anticipation of what was to come.

  Finally he turned her around and placed her in front of the waist-high bench that protruded from the wall. He lifted her arms and wrapped a silken cord around each wrist. He then moved to a small ship’s wheel mounted next to the bench that she hadn’t noticed before. Turning the wheel to the right made the bench extend farther out from the wall. It pressed against her hips, causing her rump to stick out behind her. She held onto the restraints for balance. At her back, Maxwell nudged her feet apart. Painfully slow, he inched her short drawers over her derrière a little at a time—first a tug on the right side, then he’d tug down on the left, grunting and murmuring naughtily the entire time. “The skin of your arse is so soft.” He stroked a tickling finger beneath the fabric. “Oh, the things I want to do to this bottom.” She could feel his warm breath caress her skin with each tortuous reveal.

  If he didn’t lay his hands on her soon she just knew she would die.

  Finally he removed her drawers completely. He pulled yet another extension of the odd bench she leaned against from underneath, forcing her knees apart. This made it impossible to close her thighs.

  He stepped over to the wall to choose his weapon. She watched as he stroked his long fingers down each of his whips, lingering on the different tips. Katrina’s breath came forth in short pants.

  In her opinion, he’d dallied before his collection entirely too long. “Hurry,” she murmured.

  “Patience, my impish girl.”

  Her body began to shake, which puzzled her because the room’s temperature was comfortable. She returned her attention to Maxwell and observed him take the first whip she’d noticed off the wall—the one with the wide, soft leather end.

  He stood behind her for a few moments then she heard the rustling of fabric. Turning her head, she saw that he was in the process of removing his waistcoat, neck cloth and dress shirt.

  Good God. What had she got herself into?

  Finally he stood at her backside, pressing against her so that she could feel the hard length of his erection bearing down on her naked bum cheeks and the heat of his bare chest as he leaned over her. She watched as he brought the whip around to the front of her. Taking an end in each hand, he pressed it gently just beneath her breasts. He then drew it up over her nipples and back down again, over and over.

  “I’ve got you in my trap and now I’ll never let you go,” Maxwell whispered.

  Katrina closed her eyes, letting the sensation wash over her, allowing the gooseflesh to titillate her senses. A tiny moan escaped her as she tilted her head back.

  “Your body is so reactive, my little mouse.”

  She should protest the use of that silly nickname he’d given her. But then decided that he could call her whatever he wished as long as he pleasured her in this wanton manner.

  She felt something softly draw tiny circles down her spine. “That first time you left me on Lovat Lane I wanted to find you and have at your sweet cheeks with such a heated vengeance…”

  He’d spoken so quietly she had to strain to listen.

  “I wanted to strip you naked and tie you to a rack in some dungeon.”

  Katrina’s breath caught. He painted the naughtiest pictures in her mind.

  “Perhaps I’d let the other guards watch me whip your silky arse then take you from behind.”

  Before she could react, Maxwell took the whip and nudged a curtain aside upon the wall before her, a bit higher than eye level. An angled mirror hung there. He stepped away from her and moments later, the mirror revealed another reflection as a second set of curtains was pushed aside on the opposite wall. She gazed into it and realised it was Maxwell’s naked back she saw, and her bottom, bared to him—entirely at his mercy.

  He caressed her skin just before the first blow landed.

  She went rigid, but, surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as she’d thought it would. Another landed, more intense than the first. Then a third hit—the hardest of the three. She hissed an intake of breath.

  “Mm. It seems we’ve found the beginning of your pain threshold. Let’s see how far we can push you.”

  Five fierce blows in a row smacked against her bum. Her skin throbbed severely, but it felt oh, so good. Would he go further? He couldn’t possibly be finished, could he? It wasn’t enough. No, not by a long run.

  Maxwell dragged the soft tip of the whip over the welts on her bottom. “More?”

  Refusing to beg aloud, she didn’t reply, but hoped to heaven he’d continue.

  Seven, harsher blows cracked against her tingling cheeks, leaving Katrina shaken and needy. Yes, oh, yes.

  “Now remain very still. I’m going to give you twenty strokes this time. If you don’t cry out or move, I shall reward you most pleasurably.”

  Katrina fisted the restraints in her hands, ready to take her punishment and earn his promised heaven. A trickle of sweat formed at her temple and threatened to slide down her cheek. She wanted desperately to scratch at it, but she sensed that within their titillating game, the penalty for her disobedience would be too great.

  His twenty blows hit every inch of her ex
posed bottom that hadn’t been touched before by the whip. She thought she’d never sit again, so intense was the sting.

  Maxwell walked over to the wall of whips and Katrina, trying to catch her breath, rubbed her sweat-dampened face on her arm, quickly so as not to alert him.

  “You did so very well, mouse,” he said as he replaced his naughty device back upon the peg. He walked to the opposite wall. She watched him take down the feather fan and come once again to stand at her side. “Now be a good girl and come for me.” Then his hand slipped around the front of her, and he slid his fingers between her thighs, working her clitoris in tiny circles.

  Katrina moaned a luxurious, sensual sound.

  With the feathers he fanned the burning flesh of her bottom, stroking it lightly over her skin, easing the sting. “My God, how creamy you are,” he whispered. He eased two fingers inside her and out just as quickly, only to toy with her nubbin again. He stroked her in the same fashion that he’d slid those wicked beads of his in. Up and down, his digits strummed her instead of the jade. Katrina’s arms ached, but she needed to orgasm so badly she ignored the pain.

  “You want to come?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “You want to feel that sweet release, don’t you? The building up, holding your breath until rapture overtakes you, until your control snaps.” The fan fell to the floor and he stroked her faster.

  “Yes,” Katrina panted.

  With his free hand he pushed his finger into her vagina from behind. Still diddling her clitoris from the front, he stroked the opening of her anus with his other thumb.

  “I am so going to fuck you after you come,” he whispered into her ear.

  Nudged over the edge, she screamed as her orgasm hit. He sank his fingers deep inside her, lifting her up, her toes hardly touching the ground. “Yes, fuck my hands, that’s it.”

  She pumped her hips with short, jerking motions while she rode the blissful waves of electricity that pulsed all the way to her soul.

  Maxwell finally released her. He unwrapped her wrists and she leaned upon the bench, shaking as echoes of delight thrummed through her body. She barely noticed when he slid the underside of the bench back into place and was vaguely aware that he’d removed the rest of his clothes.

  He came up behind her and separated her bum cheeks, tilting her hips forward. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “but I have to have you. Right now.”

  His cock penetrated the lips of her slick vagina and without mercy, he drove into her.

  “God, your arse is so hot from my whip.”

  Katrina held onto the bench while her tender bottom bounced against his hips and thighs. Glorious orgasms that reached from her toes to her skull rippled through her, both of them singing their pleasure. It was almost deafening in the small room.

  The final ten or so powerful thrusts before he came nearly shattered Katrina. Maxwell held her gently by the hips. “Don’t move,” he panted. “God. I’ve never come so hard.” Moments later, he disengaged from her, but not without his breath catching as he did so. He led her over to the couch-sized bench, and they sprawled across it, limbs slick with sweat, heavy and entwined.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Max eyed Katrina over his eggs and sausage. She’d barely uttered five words to him since he’d whipped her last night. And now, hindsight nagged at him from the shadowy corners of his mind, plaguing him about his ill treatment of her. He should have offered to talk about what they’d done in his playroom after he’d taken her back to reality—back into his bed. They’d fallen asleep so quickly that conversation had been inadvertently sidestepped.

  He took a sip of his tea, using the motion as an excuse to glance up at her. Hell, it seemed she couldn’t even look at him today. Whatever was on her plate had captured her interest entirely. He set the cup gingerly upon its saucer and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin. Had she hated being tied up and swatted with a buggy whip? Had she enjoyed the sex afterwards? He’d taken her quite brutally from behind, after all—even before he’d had the chance to ease the pain of her welted skin. Did she despise him for his sexual depravities?

  “I beg your pardon, sir.” Simmons came into the room and broke up the boxing match Max was losing with his conscience. “Here is this morning’s copy of The Times.”

  “Thank you, Simmons.” His butler handed him the newspaper. “Don’t think they’ve ever been this late.”

  “Indeed.” Simmons departed from the breakfast room leaving Max once again alone with Katrina. “Um—”

  She glanced up at him, seemingly for the first time since leaving his room early this morning, her expression expectant.

  “Would you be interested in reading the paper?”

  “Oh, no, thank you.” She refocused on cutting her sausage into bite-sized pieces.

  Max stifled a harrumph. Was that all the conversation he’d get from her today? He slumped against the chair back and snapped open the paper, frustrated with himself for his deficient interaction.

  He sat up at first sight of one of the lesser headlines. “Dash it. I’d almost forgotten.”

  “What is it?”

  “They published Charles’ dissertation. This is the day he’s been waiting for.” He reached over and rang a silver bell. “Good God, we’d forgotten about this before we made our plans to meet at his office about Brenner. I’ll need to get to him at home before anyone else calls this morning. We’ll need a plan B, now that he’ll be the talk of the ton and in the spotlight of every gossip within a twenty mile radius.”

  “May I—”

  Simmons re-entered the room and Max stood. “Have the landau brought ‘round as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll tell Cook she can have it for the shopping upon your return.”

  “Excellent,” Max said as Simmons departed.

  Katrina eased her chair back by herself. “Maxwell, may I come with—”

  “No!” He hadn’t meant to answer so quickly and with such vigour. “It’s… It’s just that last night I saw two of Brenner’s thugs walking down Hamilton Place, which means they aren’t only sticking to the rougher areas of town.”

  She remained seated. “Oh. I see.”

  He felt like a complete cad.

  “May I at least go outside for some air? I—I promise to stay behind the walls. I’d like to see the garden and stable…in the daylight.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s all right.” She stood and placed her napkin next to her plate. “I know you didn’t mean it.” She started to walk around the table.

  Maxwell Aurelius Courtland, say something, you idiot! “Um—”

  Katrina paused at the doorway and looked at him. “Yes?”

  “I—I should be back in time for luncheon.”

  Her brows rose above her exotic cat-like eyes, but she didn’t utter a sound.

  Max swallowed. “Perhaps we could…talk, then?”

  She nodded. “Mmm.” And left the room.

  He could have dived in front of a hastily moving hackney right about now. He couldn’t stand to leave her like this, and yet he had to go to Charles, if only for an hour or so. What he wouldn’t have given for the ability to be in two places at once.

  * * * *

  During her soak in Maxwell’s bathtub, Katrina pondered the reasons why Max had been so quiet at breakfast. Had she done something wrong in his hidden room? Should she have played more the helpless victim instead of taking his blows and liking it so much? He’d enjoyed taking his pleasure, that much he’d admitted aloud, but the rest… His lack of interaction this morning had to be connected to her behaviour last night. There was no other explanation.

  Now, out in the daylight, she paced back and forth just outside the French doors, within the walls of Maxwell’s town home. The whole situation rolled around in her stomach resulting in an acute embarrassment. He’d never been at a loss for words since she’d known him. Why had he gone silent now? Surely i
t had something to do with her.

  Katrina tried to shake the feeling off with a turn around the garden, not five paces from where she’d worn her own worry path on the lawn.

  The herbs were kept separate from the non-edible flora by a narrow cobblestone path that also circled the quaint space. Birds twittered about, swooping in, out and around. The bees worked diligently at pollinating the blossoms. She sighed. Spring certainly had a curious effect on everything.

  A horse whinnied in the stable next to the garden, drawing her attention across the yard to the buggy repair port. Other horse-like sounds emitted from the same direction. Strange, but they sounded happy. How pitiful that a horse could seem in better spirits than me. She exited the garden and crossed the wide strip of pavement. The lame conveyance was yet inside. However, the wheels had been attached since she’d hidden in the shadows the night of Maxwell’s ball. She stepped inside and ran her hand down the cab’s black lacquer. No windows yet, but it was coming along nicely. God, it seemed like weeks ago she had been here trying to relieve that woman of her diamonds. Reaching up, she opened the door to the carriage, remembering the two clandestine lovers and how they’d had a terrible time of it.

  Odd, but Maxwell never seemed to have an awkward moment when they were in each other’s arms. No, he was smooth like a well-aged cognac—and just as potent. Perhaps she’d let him take her out here, on the bench of this nearly restored carriage. Heat washed over her face and neck. She shut the door, but steadied herself on the window sill. Drawing in a breath of cooling air, she shut her eyes and tilted her head back. What have I become?

  * * * *

  Thank God Max had arrived at Charles and Susanna’s when he did. Two minutes after he’d stepped into the parlour to discuss Brenner, droves of men and women callers began to pour in to congratulate him on his insightful article.

  Unable to catch Charles alone, Max had stayed and helped Susanna receive her guests. He’d even played butler, ordering up pot after pot of tea while his sister and brother-in-law gracefully accepted sincere accolades from adoring friends and neighbours. All the while he felt as if he were about to explode. It was imperative that he and Charles have their discussion—strike at Brenner while the poker was hot, so to speak. In less than twenty-four hours, Brenner’s suspicions, the ones that Max had noticed that the thief had held in check the last time they’d spoken, would prove disadvantageous and he’d probably skip town. Then they’d have no way of cornering him.