"I have my own funds. My family is one of means. It is the reason my husband married me."
He stiffened. "That cannot be the sole reason.”
"That and our families have long been well acquainted."
He straightened. He cupped her chin and tilted her gaze up to meet his. His eyes bore into hers. "You could offer me a hundred pounds. I will not forgo you, my dear."
She could not breathe. She supposed he must be well situated himself for monetary reward to have such little consequence upon him. But what if he were not?
He pulled down her skirt, along with her petticoats, which he had apparently untied as well. She stood before him in nothing but her undergarments: her chemise, corset, stockings and garters. She began to wonder that she could survive the night with this man. Without her gown, her form was exposed to him. She tried not to think how he would assess her wide hips and plump thighs. But he dismissed her thoughts when he took her mouth in his. His hand cupped the back of her head, trapping her, so that he could devour her. The pressure of his lips roving over hers made her head spin. He pried her lips open, and his tongue was deep in her orifice, licking, caressing, probing. He kissed her with greater intensity than he had in the piano room. She could not keep pace with the assault. Yet, she found herself wishing that Leopold would kiss her in such fashion. When at long last he gave her a reprieve, her jaw was sore and her lips bruised. She was breathless. And warm. Extremely warm.
His free hand rested on her left hip before brushing across her thigh toward her mound. She began to struggle. If he should fondle her there, the odds would multiply against her. As she feared he would, he cupped her between the legs, pressing the fabric of her chemise into her dampness, making her quiver. She should speak the word of safety. She gave a half-hearted attempt, but the word was muffled by his lips atop hers. His fingers curled against her folds through the chemise.
“You wished to speak, madam?” he murmured against her mouth. He was breathless, too.
Heart hammering, she only managed a moan. He was stroking her, coaxing more moisture to her most intimate parts. Her mind commanded her to object. But the area between her legs spoke louder. The sensations fluttering from her nether regions were more delicious, more tempting than the finest of wines.
When she made no further sound, he took her mouth again, his lips enveloping hers, drowning her with his passion. Her arousal surged in response. She found herself grinding into his hand, seeking that euphoric end she had experienced in the piano room.
But he withdrew, leaving her bereft, her body groaning at the loss of his touch.
Sauntering behind her, he sat at the corner of the bed and reached for the ribbons of her corset. The garment would be his next victim. The thought of being completely naked before him, her rounded body exposed, jolted her to some semblance of order. She tried to take this opportunity to collect her wits and consider a plan of escape. Without the vision of him before her to distract her, she might actually be able to think. But still it was no easy task. The force of his kisses still burned her lips. She had appealed, threatened, and bribed him. What else could she do?
With her wrists bound atop her head to the bedpost, he could not remove the corset, nor could he tear through its whalebone as he had with the silk bodice of her gown. Aware of this, he untied the sash from the bedpost after he had loosened her corset. As soon as her arms came down, she attempted to wrestle away from him. Her wrists were still bound by the initial sash, and he used that to yank her back to him. She fell across his lap, grazing the hardness between his legs.
“Behave yourself,” he said gruffly, “or you may not like the consequences.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
In answer, he threw the chemise over her backside, baring her rump. She felt her cheeks turn red. A more embarrassing predicament could not be had.
Whack!
She yelped at the sting of his hand against a buttock. Horror filled her as he dealt another blow. She was being spanked! She had been spanked only once before in her life when, at six years of age, she had stolen her younger brother’s biscuits and eaten them all. But to be spanked as a grown woman! This was highly objectionable—more than objectionable!
She was about to protest when a third and even harder smack was delivered. She gave a cry of anguish. Damn his insolence! How dare he?
“Sir! I am a baroness.” She attempted to speak with hauteur to make herself more impressive. “And—and I’ll not suffer such treatment!”
“You may claim to be a duchess. Your treatment would not differ here at Château Follet.”
He emphasized his words with another wallop to her other buttock. It seemed as if little needles poked at her derriere, but the pain was easily tolerated. The humiliation was the harder aspect to bear.
“Stop!” she cried after another spank.
To her surprise, he did. But only to let his hand wander beneath her rump and between her legs. He caressed her folds, the bud between. She whimpered. The sweetness of his touch contrasted with the burn upon her backside, a unique pairing that confused and intrigued.
When he smacked her again, she made no protest, hoping instead that he would fondle her, which he did. He alternated between pleasuring her and punishing her.
“Do you still wish me to desist?” he inquired after her arse felt as if it were on fire.
She stared at the bedclothes beneath them, glad he could not see her face. She was sure her countenance blushed as crimson as her derriere. Despite the assault upon her backside, her desire had not diminished in the least. Rather, it had grown.
Slowly, she shook her head. Perhaps she was, as he had mentioned, a wanton.
TO HER DISAPPOINTMENT, he neither resumed his caresses nor spanked her. He undid the binding at her wrists, then lifted her. Her arms came out of the sleeves of the corset. She felt her breasts, which had been pushed up toward her collar, drop. He flipped her onto her back and straddled her.
“Please, let me keep the chemise,” she asked, unable to bear the thought of being completely naked before him.
“Will you behave?” he replied.
She nodded, searching for his eyes through his mask to find some assurance that he was not all ruthlessness. When his mouth seared the side of her neck, she ceased to care. She wanted him to address the agitation humming in her loins. He planted kisses all across her bosom before pulling down the chemise to bare a breast. Cupping it, he gazed upon the orb with reverence. He planted light kisses upon the mound, upon the large areola, then took her already erect nipple into his mouth. She shivered and closed her eyes. Leopold had done something similar their wedding night, and she had nearly leapt from her own skin. Though small, the nipple exuded an astronomical amount of sensation. She could hardly stand it. It was too much.
She tried to push his head away. He had begun licking the rosy bud, sending reverberations through her whole body, making her toes curl.
"Enough!" she gasped, trying to turn her body away.
But he had a firm grip upon her breast. “Behave if you wish to keep your chemise."
She whimpered and tried to still her body, tried not to heed the assault upon her defenseless nipple. But when he began sucking, albeit slightly, she did not think she could stand it any longer. Once more she tried to push his head off of her and nearly knocked his mask askew. This seemed to make him cross. He flipped her over and retied her wrists behind her before turning her back over. He adjusted his mask.
"You shall pay for your disobedience, madam."
Grabbing the neckline of her chemise, he tore the garment down the middle. She sobbed as her body lay exposed to him. She could not look at him, not when he could see all of her — her rounded hips, the swell of her belly, the ampleness of her thighs. Tears pressed against her eyes. She desperately wished to be anywhere but here.
She felt his hand lightly caressing her curves. His touch felt tender, almost as if he appreciated rather than abhorred the flesh.
I deserve this, she thought to herself. This mortifying embarrassment was her penance for the wrong she had committed. She lay in silent submission, unable to speak or move while his hands wandered all over her.
His mouth was over her nipple once more, and she gave a cry. She clenched her teeth when he sucked harder. It was oddly pleasing in small part but mostly torturous. One hand of his was between her thighs, stroking her, and this helped to alleviate a little of the discomfort of his sucking. She squirmed beneath him as he intensified his actions upon both areas. She could not tell which was greater: the delicious waves spreading from that other rosebud or the acute discomfort upon her nipple.
The latter won out when he bit her nipple. She gave a shriek.
"Please..." she begged.
The other words were lost in her throat for he had intensified his fondling. It was the strangest of delights, this agitation that both vexed and pleased, an agitation that left one worse off in its absence. She wanted that euphoric end, that pinnacle of tension that would leave her satiated and calm after the storm. And it seemed he would provide it to her, but he began nibbling on her nipple, occasionally nipping her flesh. Her body pressed into the mattress, as if she could sink into it and escape the ravaging of his mouth. The lower half of her body sought the opposite, seeking his hand when it drifted higher. She gasped in both pleasure and pain, groaned in agony and moaned in delight.
He slowed the ministrations between her legs and gradually came off her nipple. Her body was in a state of confusion. She panted heavily, and a tear slid from an eye. She quivered at the loss of sensation. She was relieved not to have his attention to her nipple, but that other part of her throbbed in need. Though wanting to know his thoughts, she dared not gaze at him.
"Do you wish me to continue?" he inquired.
She did not know. She could not stand his nips, but her body craved his fondling. He waited patiently for her response.
"Yes," she said meekly, then wondered if she had gone mad.
He held her other breast and licked the nipple. She began to regret her decision almost immediately. He swirled his tongue and coaxed the nipple to full hardness. She trembled at what was to come, but he eased her fears when he resumed stroking her between the legs. She yelped when he nipped the nipple with his teeth, but he rewarded her with more of his beautiful caresses, lifting her body towards the heavens of carnal rapture. With his attentions, her body climbed toward that longed-for precipice, but whenever she came near to going over its edge, he lightened his touch and bit down harder upon her nipple. It was a slow and arduous dance between pain and pleasure. Her body felt stretched to its limits. To her dismay, he groped both breasts, pushed them together, and alternated between the two nipples, kissing, roughly sucking, biting. Her body wanted to curl into itself like a snail into its shell. She screamed and sobbed. The word of safety was upon her lips when he stopped. He slid down her body and situated himself between her thighs. He tongued that nub of pleasure, making her want to scramble toward the ceiling. Her nipples still smarted, but there was no ignoring that blissful heat in her groin. He licked quickly but skillfully and deliberately. Soon the waves of pleasure melded with the soreness of her nipples. She could not sustain the storm raging inside her body. She felt herself catapulted into a sea of ecstasy. Her body convulsed violently, but he held her in place as his tongue continued its wicked, wanton assault. Her body shattered into pieces, each one shaking to its own tune, and she wondered that she could ever be put back together.
Chapter Eight
AS LEOPOLD SPENCER BEHELD his wife lying upon the bed, her body bared to him, he was struck by how beautiful she looked. Her chemise hung in tatters at her sides. Her arms, still pinioned beneath her, caused her breasts to thrust outward. Beautiful breasts with large areolas that seemed to occupy half the mounds even whilst her nipples stood hardened. He had assaulted those elongated rosebuds with much pleasure. At times her shrieks and sobs had made him wonder if he had gone too far, but she had not commanded him to leave.
He had overheard Trudie's conversation with his cousin Diana.
“Leopold broke his vows first,” Diana had said
“Two wrongs do not make a right,” Trudie had replied.
“No, they do not, but they make an equivalency, and it is not unfair to pay a wrong with a wrong.”
Leopold could not disagree with Diana, but still he was not happy that Trudie had come to Château Follet. The wicked debauchery that occurred here was not for Trudie.
Or so he had thought.
Another tear glistened in the corner of her eye, and between her legs glistened the moisture of her desire. Heat swirled in his body, and the stiffness of his cock was more than uncomfortable. But he was not done with Trudie. He had brought her to spend, which was more than she deserved. But he also felt sorry for her, had received her earlier statements about him with sorrow. He had not been a good husband, he realized. He was at best a decent one for he did not treat her poorly. But he had neglected her because, in truth, as she suspected, he had not been fully captivated by her. Taking her regard for him for granted, he knew he could have chosen for himself a prettier wife, a wittier one. Her boldness in coming to Château Follet had thus surprised him. Perhaps he did not know Trudie as well as he had thought.
Holding himself over her, he brushed his lips softly over hers. She sighed against his mouth. Gently, he kissed her and tried not to think on how she gave of herself to a stranger.
Reaching beneath, he cupped a breast, weighed the heaviness in his hand. She whimpered, then gasped and grunted when he rolled the nipple between thumb and forefinger. She squirmed. Her body was exceedingly sensitive, he recalled of their wedding night and how everything he did seemed to make her leap out of her own skin. Her reactions had him taken aback. They had consummated the marriage but not without tears and much distress on her part. He had made few attempts with her after that.
But the experience of Château Follet had proved quite different. She had spent, thrice now, at the hands of a stranger. His mask hid his identity from her, as she probably thought hers did from him. He tugged at her nipple, and with some anger, pinched it. She cried out. He slapped the side of her breast, making it wobble. He slapped the other orb. Her breasts were too beautiful not to ravish. Climbing atop the bed, he straddled her ribs. He unbuttoned his fall and released his shaft. She stared at it with widened eyes. No doubt she had never seen a man’s member this close before. He rubbed his arousal and tugged it before laying it between her breasts. He squeezed them together till they encased him with their warm suppleness. Slowly thrusting his hips, he slid his rod between her flesh. She watched in bewilderment—or perhaps amazement.
His seed soon spilled over her bosom and coated the area of her collarbone. He had thought to resist. The crude wantonness of spending upon her might horrify Trudie. But the loveliness of her breasts, the thought of marking her with his mettle, proved too enticing.
A drop had landed near a corner of her lips. Feeling wicked, he brushed it with his thumb into her mouth. The distinctive tang made her grimace. She coughed a little when he pressed his thumb onto her tongue.
He was going to go to hell.
Never would he have thought to find himself doing what he did to his wife, but she had engendered in him a mix of emotions in coming to Château Follet. It was wrong but intoxicating to see her both helpless and aroused.
Withdrawing himself, he climbed off of her. Her expression held some misery, and he felt a little ashamed once more. But he was seeing a whole new side of Trudie, one that greatly intrigued him. He wanted to know how far this dark and mysterious part of her extended, for her dismay at being undressed and tied up had not prevented her arousal. For the third time tonight, she had spent—and at the hand, shaft and tongue of a man she believed a stranger to her.
His vexation of her unfaithfulness had not completely dissipated, though he accepted that he had played a part, albeit not purposefully, in compelling her to se
ek a place such as the Château Debauchery. He recognized the hypocrisy of his anger—he had broken the marital vows first and had entertained a mistress for some time—but more was simply expected in the wife. Nevertheless, had he been a more attentive husband, he doubted Trudie would have ventured here.
At first, he had wanted to challenge her fidelity, then, out of pity, he had decided to grant her the debauchery she had sought, to provide her the thrill she lacked in her marriage. He had not expected the situation to arouse his own desires as much as it did. Trudie was not the plain simpleton he had once thought her. He found himself eager to take her to the world of wanton carnal pleasure.
Replacing his fall, he said, “Let us now continue with your lesson.”
ROLLING HER ONTO HER stomach, he undid the bindings at her wrists, then shed her tattered undergarments. She was now naked, completely naked, save for her stockings and garters.
“Stand,” he commanded.
With lowered lashes, she did as he bid. His mettle, adorning her collar, had begun to dry, but a bit of it slid down toward her breasts. He could have wiped it away but decided to leave his mark upon her to remind her that she was his.
She covered herself with her arms and hands, still clearly uncomfortable baring her body to him.
“No, you must not cover yourself. It pleases me to see all of you.”
Reluctantly, she lowered her arms to her sides. He circled about her, taking in her body at differing angles. Unlike his slender mistress, his wife possessed a full body. What he had hitherto deemed plump, he now found rather lush. Her rounded hips and thighs had a simple quality, her large breasts were ripe for delicious torment.
“While I do not disagree that penance is in order, I think a proper lesson might prove the better solution. Perhaps you would like to learn how to please your husband?”
She said nothing but seemed to consider his suggestion.
Surrendering to the Baron (A Steamy Regency Romance Book 7) Page 5