by welis
“Think, little dove,” he urged. “The person who spread this rumor, they do not know the whole truth. Otherwise, they would not have told everyone that you sold yourself to me for ten thousand pounds.”
After a moment of silence, she gasped, her gaze meeting his and realization making her lips part in utter shock. “No … he didn’t … he wouldn’t …”
He nodded. “He would. It all makes sense. If he wanted to strike back at me for coming to London to publicly flaunt our relationship, then he might spread his version of the truth … a version that saw him compensated with ten thousand pounds in exchange for your maidenhead.”
Closing her eyes for a moment, she sucked in a slow breath, releasing it on a pained sigh. “Bertram … that bloody fool.”
Gently stroking her cheek with his thumb, he scowled to find more tears. He didn’t like seeing tears on her face unless he was the one who had put them there. Someone else making her weep, toying with her emotions … it made him furious. It made him want to maim and kill and rip them to shreds—both her idiot of a brother and the unnamed whoreson who had attempted to proposition his little dove.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, finding that he truly meant it.
This had been one line he hadn’t been prepared to cross, using the truth of what had happened at Dunnottar against Bertram … only because it would also mean using it against Daphne.
She opened her eyes and scoffed, her gaze now one of disdain. “Only because you did not think to do it first.”
He deserved that, so he said nothing in retaliation. It had made perfect sense for her to suspect him, to accuse him. Still, he refused to feel sorry for anything he’d done … not when it meant justice for the young woman hiding away in the suite adjoining this one.
“No,” he replied firmly. “I’m sorry for what I will be forced to do now.”
Sinking both hands into her hair, she gave it a little tug, as if trying to convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming. “Are you mad? If nothing else, this proves that things have gone too far. If one of you does not put a stop to this, we will all go down together. Can’t you see that?”
He reached out for her again, needing the contact, needing to feel her pliant skin at his fingertips … to force submission and regain control. Too much had happened in a short span of time, and he was unraveling, falling apart.
“I would tear us all apart if it means destroying your brother,” he hissed, his hand shooting out to grasp her face.
She whimpered, the sound sending another jolt of liquid heat straight to his cock. He saw the fear and excitement flashing in her eyes, the dark and deep yearning she hid in the black depths of her pupils. It called to him, beckoning, offering him sweet relief … peace … oblivion.
“And what of Olivia?” she challenged. “What of Serena? Adam, if you do not end this, Bertram certainly will not. If you believe that you can protect them from the consequences of your actions, then you are sorely mistaken. My brother may be a fool, but he isn’t an idiot. You will strike back at him, and he is sure to respond in kind. I cannot see how we will survive it.”
He pulled her closer, his fingers biting into her jaw, the urge to clamp a hand over her mouth and smother her words making his hands itch.
“Thanks to me, your brother no longer possesses the clout to come after me,” he snarled. “I dare him to try. I want him to try.”
She sighed, lowering her eyes and backpedaling so that he was forced to release her or leave bruises on her flawless skin. Biting her lower lip, she stared up at him in silence for a moment as if wrestling with herself, debating over spitting out whatever words sat on the tip of her tongue. He saw the moment she decided to speak, to strike out at him with whatever verbal assault she had built up in her mind.
“Very well,” she murmured. “Then I will do what I must for my own peace … my own sanity.”
Curiosity had him lifting his eyebrows while a sudden wariness had him studying her for any hint to what she might be getting at.
“What are you about, little dove?” he asked.
Folding her hands before her demurely, she raised her chin and squared her shoulders—steeling herself before speaking. “Robert has asked me to marry him.”
Something inside him began to wind taut, twisting and pulling in his middle. He clenched his jaw so tight, his teeth began to ache, his entire body trembling from head to toe as her words slammed into him with all the force of a massive boulder. He took one slow step toward her, then another, closing the distance between them.
“He what?” he growled from between his clenched teeth.
She maintained her defiant stance, displaying her intention to bait him, to fight him when he pushed back. She had no notion of how much danger she put herself in just now, with him already so on edge following the other events of the evening.
“He saw me home after the ball ended in disaster,” she replied. “And he offered to take me away to Gretna Green. He wishes to be married right away, so that we may escape to Suffolk and weather out the scandal.”
Her words proved a hard, sharp poker rustling the embers he tried to stifle, making them roar to life, the heat searing him from the inside out. He clenched his fists and loomed over her, so close now, he could smell her—some fragrance he could not place, but one he always recognized as being distinctly hers. Underneath it, much deeper, he smelled her fear, her need. The beast in him licked its lips, mouth watering to sink its teeth in and claim what was his, never letting it go.
“And what did you say when he made this gracious offer to save you, little dove?” he asked drily.
His voice held sarcasm, but there was nothing amusing about any of this. If she told him that she’d answered Robert with anything other than ‘no, and sod off’, he would not be held responsible for his actions.
Her chin trembled as if she realized she stood a few words away from the point of no return … just one step away from landing her foot in his trap and ensnaring herself.
“What. Did. You. Say?” he snapped when she hesitated.
Tightening her jaw, she tilted her head and challenged him, prepared to defy him, to beat her wings and taunt the demon lurking in the darkness. He waited with baited breath for her to say the words, to give him a reason to unleash the torrent of emotions swirling in his gut, giving it all to her.
“I told him I would consider it,” she replied in her haughtiest tone—that goddamn infuriating way of hers that made him want to make use of her mouth and shove those words back down her throat using his cock.
He had her hauled against him in an instant, his arm relentlessly tight around her waist, his other hand coming up to grip the back of her neck, digging in and refusing to let go, keeping her head in place and her eyes focused on him.
“What part of never did you not understand?” he whispered, his voice low and grating as he pressed his mouth against her jaw, trailing his stubble over her sensitive skin and inhaling her scent, letting it flood his senses. “I will never let you go, little dove. You are mine, and any man who is foolish enough to think he can have you must have a death wish.”
“You do not own me anymore,” she protested, trying fruitlessly to fight against his hold, to twist away from the touch of his lips. “Not since the thirtieth day of our agreement ended … not since you let me leave Dunnottar without so much as a good-bye or even a go-to-Hell. You have no right—”
“Oh, but I do,” he interrupted, nipping at the line of her jaw with his teeth and reveling in the way it made her shudder. “You’ve momentarily forgotten, but I think we both know how easy it is for me to remind you that I have every right.”
“Don’t,” she whispered weakly, already melting in his arms, and he turned and began carrying her to the bed. “Adam … don’t.”
Ignoring her feeble pleas, because nothing she could say would convince him she truly wanted him to stop, he threw her down and climbed on top of her. He straddled her, his knees on either side of her hips, his h
ands and arms caging in her upper body. Bending down until their lips touched, he grinned against her mouth, chuckling when she shuddered again, obviously still fighting him … fighting herself.
“Mine,” he growled before taking her lower lip between his teeth, his bite making her cry out then whimper when he began consuming her mouth.
He devoured her, drunk on her taste, but unable to get enough. He sought her tongue with his, fitting his mouth over hers until they were exchanging breaths, tongues writhing, teeth gnashing and biting. He nipped her, and she returned the bite, making him groan when she drew a drop of blood. He retreated and licked his lower lip, the tang of his life’s essence mingling with her taste on his tongue in a heady mix.
Taking hold of her hair, he yanked, tipping her head back and arching her neck the way she liked, exposing the vulnerable veins thrumming with every beat of her heart. He lowered his head again and opened his mouth, trailing his teeth over the taut tendons, lapping at her pulse.
“Mine,” he murmured against her throat, kissing, sucking hard enough to leave the marks of his possession.
She thrashed beneath him, and he could not tell if it were due to pleasure or if she was still fighting him … and he did not care. Sinking down until his body fit against hers, he thrust his hips, seeking out the mound between her legs with his cock. He groaned when he found her, his prick throbbing, begging for entrance.
But he wouldn’t give in yet, no matter how badly he might wish to. She had not yet learned her lesson.
She would. She would if it was the last thing he did.
Rearing up from her abruptly, he put some much-needed distance between them, saving himself from the madness of wanting her so badly, he could hardly think. He flipped her onto her stomach, attacking the buttons running down the back of the simple walking dress she had changed into. He missed the gold satin she’d worn to the ball, the color that had turned her into a walking, living flame of fire.
His hands shook as he tore the buttons from their holes, ripping a few of them loose in his haste.
“You cannot control me this way,” she panted, even as he removed her gown and tossed it aside, tearing off her slippers next and leaving her in only her white, lace-edged stockings and garters. “You can use me … hurt me … in the end, you cannot stop me from leaving this house when it is over and doing as I please. You cannot stop me from marrying him.”
With a savage snarl, he fisted her hair again and pulled until her back arched, her upper body bowing up off the bed. He leaned down until his mouth touched her ear, his breath harsh and ragged as he resisted the urge to ram into her from behind and fuck her until she begged him to stop.
“Perhaps I cannot stop you from marrying him,” he murmured, delving his other hand between her legs and finding her soaking wet. “But I can make your life with him very, very difficult.”
She groaned when he sank two fingers into her, curling them to find that soft, spongy part of her channel that was always sure to make her splinter, turn her into clay in his hands. He maintained a tight hold on her hair, keeping her in the position he wanted while he thrust in and out of her with his fingers, slamming into her all the way to the third knuckle, coating his digits in her juices.
“He will never know peace, and neither will you,” he taunted. “Wherever you go, I will follow. I’ll climb through your window at night and fuck you with him in the next room. I’ll still make you mine, even if you give yourself to him. And for every night that you part your legs for him, giving him what’s mine, I will take it out on your arse.”
She cried out, tensing beneath him as she neared her end, her inner channel quivering and clenching around him. Twisting his fingers inside her one last time, he swiftly pulled them out, denying her the full intensity of her rapture. She screamed in frustration, attempting to shift the position of her body, to take him back in. He slapped one of her buttocks, making it flush pink and forcing her to go still beneath him.
“Not yet, little dove,” he teased. “You do not get to spend yet … not after you’ve come here and accused me of things I did not do … flaunting your would-be fiancé, to boot. First, you are going to pay for that … then, I might let you earn your orgasm.”
He sucked his two fingers, wet with her essence, his erection pulsing at the taste of her, his senses heightening, coming alive in a way that only seemed possible with her. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent of her arousal, his cock fighting for freedom against his breeches, trying to batter its way toward her through the layers of his clothes.
He slapped her arse again, making the plump globes quiver, forcing another sharp breath from her.
“Bugger … you,” she ground out, clearly still doing battle with her own body and mind, trying to prove to them both that she truly believed what she’d said about not belonging to him.
It was so ridiculous, he wanted to laugh in her face.
He sucked his fingers again, wetting them, before using one to delve between her cheeks, pressing against the tight pucker of her rear passage.
“No, but if you’re a good girl, I might just bugger you,” he said with a chuckle.
She gasped, her hips rising up off the bed as he sank his finger into the tight hole, twisting and withdrawing before plunging again, teasing the passage he’d only invaded one other time. His cock wept, moisture wetting the front of his breeches as he thought of sinking into her arse, bollocks deep.
He pulled out, smiling when she grunted, clearly annoyed at having her pleasure taken away. But he’d meant what he’d said about making her earn it after what she’d just put him through.
Rising from on top of her, he came to his feet, swiftly shrugging out of his coat and snatching off his cravat, tossing both garments aside before reaching for her again. He pulled her toward the edge of the bed, positioning her so that her head tipped off the edge. He crowded her, using one hand against her throat to keep her docile while tearing at his fall with the other. Without smallclothes underneath, his cock was free to fall out, poised inches away from her mouth. He massaged her throat, brought his thumb up to press down on her chin, opening her up for him.
“Take me, little dove,” he rasped, nudging against her parted lips, seeking out her tongue. “Every inch … take it all. Let me feel that exquisite mouth of yours.”
She gave a helpless whimper as he nudged past her lips, groaning at the scrape of her teeth, the unrelenting clamp of her mouth giving way and letting him in. Her saliva wet him, her lips tight around him, tongue rasping against his underside as he stood there, resting in her mouth. Pausing to catch his breath, he let himself feel, registering the sensation of her simply holding him in her mouth.
Then, he released her throat and held both sides of her head with his hands, withdrawing slowly before plunging back in. She gagged, making a desperate sound around his cock. The vibration of the sound, and the pull of her tongue and lips forced a groan from deep inside him. His knees buckled, but he stayed on his feet, still holding her in place and pulling out again, pushing in, finding a rhythm that made his bollocks draw up tight against his body and his gut clench in reaction to the heavenly pleasure.
He let go of her so he could finish undressing, still steadily pumping his hips and fucking her mouth while undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, tearing it off and throwing it to the floor. The braces holding his breeches up came off his shoulders, and he let them hang from the garment as he impatiently tore at his shirt, sending the buttons flying in every direction before yanking it off over his head. Now naked from the waist up, he went back to touching her, stroking her face, her hair, running his thumb over her dainty little chin. His hips surged faster, harder, unrelenting as he plowed between her lips, seeking the back of her throat.
She gagged and moaned around his mouth, her nipples going into hard points, her back arching to bring her hips off the bed. He saw the desire smearing her inner thighs, the evidence of the way his cruelty aroused her, made her crave him, crave more of wha
t he could offer her when she simply gave in to him.
The familiar niggling of an impending climax warned him just before he could spill in her mouth, and he withdrew swiftly, taking hold of himself and squeezing, trying to stifle it, to keep from ending too soon. As much as he wanted to spend into her hot, wet mouth, he liked this feeling of being on edge … needing it to continue drawing out her torture.
She was mindless beneath him, sighing and moaning as she lapped at him, dragging her tongue over his knuckles and circling it over his sensitive head, groaning at the taste of the bit of seed she lapped away from the slit. He gasped and reached down to grab a handful of her hair, yanking and pulling until she could no longer reach him with her tongue.
“Enough, you little tart,” he groused. “If you think trying to make me come quickly will spare you what I have planned, you had better think again.”
He pushed her back onto the mattress, letting her roll over onto her side as he walked around to the foot of the bed, snatching loose one of the tasseled ropes tying back the bed curtains. He went to the opposite post and retrieved another, then moved around to the other side of the bed. She tried to scramble away, issuing a frustrated huff when he took hold of her ankle and yanked her back toward him.
Climbing back up onto the bed, he maneuvered her like a rag doll, forcing one of her knees to bend beneath her, and pulling her arm so that he could tie one wrist to an ankle. He repeated the motions on the other side of her body, until her knees were curled beneath her, legs spread wide, arse in the air. Tilted forward and forced to rest her cheek on the mattress, weight falling forward onto her shoulders.
Motionless. Defenseless. His.
Reaching down to begin loosening the braces from his breeches, he took in the picture she presented—all her most intimate places open and bared to him, her body contorted, forced to bend to his will.
He had just been about to touch her when he spied a foreign object on the counterpane—a small wooden box that had not been there when he’d first thrown her down.