Devil in Duke's Clothing (Royal Pains Book 1) (13 page)

She eyed him narrowly. “Do you promise to stop whatever you may be doing should I speak it?”

“Aye,” he said. “At once.”

“In that case, my word is
mortification
.”

Fear slithered through her as he put the mask on her. Could she trust his promise not to hurt her? As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t quite.

She started when he grasped her face in both hands and turned her head. His mouth met hers, lips parted, tongue at the ready. The kiss he gave her was hard, rough, and urgent, almost desperate, but not unenjoyable.

He means to strip you naked, tie you up, and tan your hide with a riding crop. You should be running for your life, not sucking his tongue.

Too intoxicated to flee, she stayed put.

His fingers found the laces holding her bodice and set upon them with purpose.

He drew back, letting her go, and continued to undress her, layer by layer, until she wore naught but the mask. His fingers swept over her flesh, giving her shivers and raising goose pimples. His touch was sure and sensual. He knew how to get what he wanted from a woman, how to bend her to his will. She was putty in his hands, soft and malleable.
 

Get thee hence, Satan.

He kissed her breasts and sucked her nipples hard enough to make her gasp as he pushed a hand betwixt her thighs. He stroked her folds, fingered her opening, and teased her bud until her reins throbbed with the dull ache of erogenous need.

“Oh, Robert. Can we please just make love in the normal way?”

“Do not speak except to answer me or invoke your safe word,” he said sternly. “Though know you will sorely disappoint me if you should feel the need to do so.”

The voice belonged to the duke she’d known before. The man whose intimidating stares made her feel small and worthless.

“I shall tie you now,” he said.

Her body tensed as the silken ropes brushed her skin, wrapped round her, and constricted. They were no tighter than her stays, but restricted the movement of her arms. All her senses and every nerve-ending heightened at once.

“Kneel down.” His tone was commanding.

Feeling awkwardly off-balance, she lowered herself to her knees. The floor was carpeted, but still hard. What was he planning to do?

Something struck her left nipple. The tongue of the riding crop. It stung, but not overmuch. Lavender scented softness brushed her shoulder. His hair. Moist warmth enveloped the aggravated nipple. His mouth. As he suckled her breast, she moaned with pleasure and frustration. She found him so appealing in so many ways. Why did he have to be so sexually depraved?

“Why must you strike me?”

He withdrew from her abruptly. “I suppose you believe me possessed of a demon.”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“I’ll have you know some of the saints were driven to the heights of ecstasy through self-flagellation.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you are far from a saint, husband.”

“I would never deign to make so bold a claim,” he said. “But neither would I confess to being in league with the devil. My pleasures may not fit your definition of conventional, Rosebud, but they do qualify as natural, whatever you choose to believe.”

He sounded perturbed, filling her with dread. She ought to have better sense than to challenge her husband whilst in so vulnerable a position.

“Have it your way.”

“I intend to, believe me.”

Snap.

The bite of the whip on her bottom jolted all the way to her clenched teeth. She considered invoking the safe word, but bit back the urge. He was testing her mettle. If she failed, he would likely discontinue his tutelage and find himself a mistress who enjoyed being whipped.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Not overmuch.” ‘Twas the truth. The sting had quickly subsided.

He moved behind her and attended the spot he’d struck with his mouth, kissing and licking her wounded flesh in ways she found both soothing and disturbingly arousing.

Jealousy plucked her heartstrings as her mind jumped back to that day in the housekeeper’s room. At the time, she’d envied only the maid’s curvaceous figure. Now, every liaison he’d ever had gave her pain. How many women had there been? Did she really want to know?

No! The past was in the past and there was naught to be gained and a great deal to lose by dwelling upon it in the present. Besides, ‘twas unchristian to judge her husband too harshly.

Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

She was far from irreproachable. Had she not watched him swive and spank her maid? And not just watched but become sexually aroused by the spectacle! She’d also had covetous thoughts, pleasured herself, and invented sinful scenarios involving the two of them.
 

He might be a rake, but she was in no position to pass judgment.

“Is there a name for someone who becomes stimulated by watching other people having sex?”

“Aye.” He planted more kisses on her backside. “A person who enjoys watching is called a
voyeur
.”

“Do you think I might be one?”

His hand came betwixt her legs and fondled her pleasurably as he went on kissing her posterior. “Do you make a habit of spying on people in the throes of passion?”

“No,” she said. “But I did see something at the convent—though I did not realize at the time ‘twas of a sexual nature. Do you think it counts as voyeurism if you do not know what you are watching?”

He chuckled. “For heaven’s sake, Maggie, what did you observe?”

“Two of the sisters at the convent, kissing whilst they washed one another’s private places.”

“Was the exchange of a sexual nature?”

“In hindsight, I believe so.”

“How old were you at the time this occurred?”

“It was right before your father took me away, so I must have been only nine or ten.”

“Did watching the two sisters arouse you?”

“It might have. I do not recall.”

“Would you enjoy watching me with another woman?”

“No!” The mere thought knifed her heart.

“Why not?”

“I would be wounded by it.”

“Would you?” He sounded genuinely surprised. He also sounded gladdened, which, in turn, gladdened her.

“Yes.”

He rose up behind her, slipped his arms around her, and took her breasts in his hands. As he caressed and teased them, he pulled her backside against his front. He was not only aroused, but unclothed as well. When had he undressed?

Sweeping aside her hair, he bent to kiss her neck. “Maggie,” he whispered seductively, “how would you like to fellate me?”

The question startled her. It also gave her leverage. “I will if you unmask and untie me. I want to touch you and see the pleasure it gives you.”

Whilst removing the mask from her eyes, he chuckled lightly. “Perhaps you are a voyeur at that.”

After untying her, he lay down and stretched out on the Persian carpet.

She bent over his pelvis, took his hard cock in her hand, and dragged her tongue across the dome of his glans.

His breath hitched and he thrust his hips to drive himself deeper.

Obliging his wish, she took the whole of the head into her mouth and sucked as she dug her tongue into the hole in the tip. What had he called it again? Oh, yes—the urethral meatus.

“Oh, aye,” he rasped. “That feels amazing.”

His cock was at once hard and supple, tasted mildly salty, and smelled of sweat, sex, and urine. She took it deeper and applied more suction as her tongue explored every undulation within reach. The pleasurable moans he emitted in response acted upon her like an aphrodisiac.

Admitting more of his phallus, she twirled her tongue up and down the underside of his shaft whilst twining her fingers in his wiry lower curls. Her other hand held his erection aloft as her lips and tongue moved up and down his length. She looked up to find him watching her with blistering intensity, front teeth docked against his lower lip.

She freed her mouth. “You look as if you are enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, I am,” he said with a breathless smile. “Exceedingly. The sensations as well as the view.”

She returned his smile with a cocked eyebrow. “You like watching?”

“Show me a man who says he does not and I will show you a liar.”

He groaned as she swept her tongue around the crown of his cock. He reached for her, buried his hands in her hair, and held her fast as he thrust his hips, driving more of his length into her mouth.

She bit down gently to express her displeasure at his taking the lead.

“Oh, aye,” he rasped, undeterred. “I like it rough. Bite me, scratch me, slap me, pull my hair.”

His request for mistreatment sent a wicked thrill through her. If abuse did it for him, who was she to deny him? She’d much rather misuse him with his full consent than be misused herself.

Drawing his cock still deeper, she bit down as she tugged a tuft of his pubic hair.

“Oh, aye. But you can be even rougher.”

She took him deeper, scraping her teeth along his shaft as her tongue throttled his glans. He seemed to like it, so she kept it up as she clawed her fingernails down the inside of his thigh.

He groaned and squirmed, igniting a dark fire in her womb. She had no idea sucking a man’s cock could be so arousing.

“More, Maggie,” he pleaded, his voice raw.

As she sucked and scraped with gusto, she flicked his cods, pulled his hair, and clawed his thighs and abdomen.

“Hurt me.”

Hurt him? She was at a loss. What else might she do to inflict pain?

Yes! The riding crop. Where had he left it? Letting him go, she sat up and looked around. She found it, on the floor, within reach. Snatching it up, she held it up to his view.

“Would you like me to whip you?”

“Pray do.”

“Where?”

“My ass, my cock, my balls, my nipples. Anywhere and everywhere.”

“How hard?”

“The harder, the better.”

Panging with guilt, she snapped the tongue of the whip half-heartedly against the head of his cock. He gasped and jumped, but did not seem distressed. Quite the opposite, in fact. She snapped the crop again, against his bollox this time.

He let his head fall back and moaned with a tenor quite unlike agony.

“Roll over,” she said. “You’ve been a naughty boy and I need to blister your behind.”

He turned over, keeping his front end low and his back end high. Rising over him on her knees, she cracked the whip across his buttocks, raising a red welt on one darkly downed white cheek. Suddenly remorseful, she bent and smothered the mark with kisses.
 

“Forgive me,” she said. “I know not what came over me.”

“No apology is necessary, Rosebud. You only did what I asked of you.”

He pushed up on all fours, spun round, and pounced.

In a blink, he’d pinned her under the weight of his body. His gray-green eyes were aflame with passion. He came down on her, mouth to mouth, coaxed open her lips, and inserted his tongue. Capturing it betwixt her lips, she sucked with vigor.

As his pelvis ground against hers, thrills shot through her reins like flaming arrows. She wrapped her legs around his hips, hooking her heels in the small of his back. With incredible languor, he sank into her until his full length was enshrined in her body.

The feeling of fullness, of completion, was utterly sublime.

He drew back and plunged in again, then rotated deep inside her, causing her to writhe and moan with pleasure.

He moved with more purpose, sinking in all the way and circling before drawing back to a point just shy of disengaging. The sensation was glorious. He kept this up for some time, gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts until he pounded her fast and hard. Breaking free of her mouth, he pushed up on his arms and looked at her, his hair a dark cloak around his handsome features.
 

“Did you like whipping me?” His voice was hoarsened by passion.

“Yes.”

“Would you do it again?”

“Now?”

“No, another time.”

“If you truly desire me to.”

He got quiet for several moments before he asked, “How do you like being fucked by your husband in the middle of the day on the floor of the library?”

“I like it very well indeed.”

“A perfect blend of conventional and unconventional, is it not?”

She laughed. “To be sure.”
 

“I can take you places beyond your wildest dreams, Rosebud.” He eased into her whilst keeping his gaze locked with hers. The tenderness in his eyes warmed her to her soul. “You only have to set aside your fears and your judgments.”

He drove into her with reckless abandon. She whimpered softly under the bombardment, even as pleasure expanded inside her like a bottle under pressure. After several more thrusts, her cork burst, spraying orgasmic effervescence through her body.