At Least Once More (10 page)

Did he desire her? Biting the question back, she said, “We are not yet married, Your Grace.” She’d much rather he show her than tell her. She’d much rather they cease talking all together and he claim her. How much further did she have to goad him before he would take action?

“Whether or not we are married, Belle, you will not ever again meet with Markham, or any man, alone.” His nostrils flared and he narrowed his eyes. “Is that understood?”

The command in his voice sparked a fire in her core. Moisture wept from her woman’s mound to dampen her thighs. Was it normal for a woman to respond so to a man’s control?

And why did she even care what might or might not be normal? Since others dictated her actions, her life would never be her own, but she could claim ownership of her needs. And she needed Gareth. If the only way to have him was to make him angry, so be it.

With a toss of her head, she snorted. “Why do you care, Your Grace? You have what you wanted.”

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and leaned in closer. “I care because you’re mine, Belle. Perhaps you need a reminder of that fact.” He plopped down on the nearby settee, dragging her face down across his lap so her back was to the ceiling. Before she could react, he’d pinned her to his lap with an arm across her back while his free hand smacked her bottom.

Though her skirts and petticoats softened the blow, she squealed. “What are you doing?” She kicked her legs and flailed her arms, but his strength was far superior to hers. Her thighs grew even damper. “Let me up this instant!” The promise of something dark and titillating fueled her struggles.

“I don’t think so. It’s past time someone gave your pretty derriere the spanking it deserves.”

A thrill pulsed through her and she was glad for her prone position. Asking her legs to support her body would have been demanding the impossible. “Don’t you dare. No one has ever laid a hand on me.”

When he threw her skirts up, air that did nothing to cool the heat licking through her veins caressed the back of her legs. “My point exactly.” He smacked her bottom again, but the full effect was still dulled by her skirts caught between their bodies.

What would his hand feel like striking her bare skin? She squirmed, trying to slide her skirts out of the way.

“Cease your struggles or I’ll rip your no doubt expensive dress.”

How dare he mention money! She kicked out, anger mixing with desire, swelling her nether lips. “You wouldn’t dare—”

With a growl, Gareth grabbed the skirts and shoved them aside until the weight of them lay against her upper back. Fabric rent and the tattered edges of her petticoats drifted to the floor. Air cooled the perspiration at the small of her now bared back.

She bit her lip to stifle a whimper not of fear, but of desire. She didn’t want him to misinterpret the sound and stop. The need to have him chastise her pounded in her blood at a full gallop. In her soul, she knew indescribable satisfaction awaited. Trembles shook her legs.

“Don’t move.”

She gasped, then squeaked when his heavy hand landed on her bare bottom. “Gareth—”

“I gave you fair warning, Belle.” His hand descended again, harder. Cool air kissed the burning flesh, contrasting with the stinging slap delivered to her other cheek.

She balled her hands until she was sure her nails would dig through the fabric of her gloves to leave crescents in her palms. Her breath came in pants while desire shot through her limbs with each smack and her woman’s mound wept a steady stream. Small tremors built and grew. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on the overwhelming sensations. Surely she’d soon expire from pleasure.

****

Markham had been right. All Annabelle needed was a firm hand.

The man’s whispered message, “actions speaks louder than words,” had goaded Gareth into trying something, anything, to keep Belle from slipping further away from him. Over the past few weeks, she’d grown distant and cold, treating him just as his mother had treated his father. He didn’t want his own marriage to be one of long silences followed by angry, hateful words.

Gareth had never ripped a woman’s dress, much less struck a woman. He hadn’t meant to paddle Belle until every inch of her bottom glowed a rosy pink, but after the first strikes, after each stroke, she’d chased his hand with her hips, shimmying against his thighs until his cock had hardened. It now pulsed against the confines of his trousers.

He traced the pinked skin with a fingertip and smoothed his hand over the perfect globe until the curve rested in his palm. The heat from her cunny warmed the heel of his hand. He teased a finger along the crease where her ass met thigh, slid between to caress her folds, and found them silky with her juices.

It hadn’t been an act. She really had enjoyed the spanking. His cock throbbed harder.

She shifted, parting her legs, inviting his finger to explore farther. He spread the folds shielding her pussy and found her clitoris.

She sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed his thigh. “Gareth, please.”

He dipped a finger inside her. Her juices coated his finger and heat bathed his hand. Three weeks had been too long for both of them, it seemed. He stroked deep. She gasped and thrust onto his hand when his finger hit the spot inside that seemed to be as sensitive as a woman’s clitoris. She was more than ready.

He withdrew his finger, grasped her hips, and urged her upward until her hands curled over the edge of the settee. “On your knees.”

She canted her hips, affording him a clear view of the dewy hair and swollen lips of her cunny. He fumbled with the buttons of his trousers and released a sigh when his cock fell free of the confines.

With one hand, he grabbed his throbbing cock and stroked it. With the other hand, he spread Belle’s nether lips wide and used his middle finger to tease the opening. There were so many things he’d heard about and never tried, had never thought he’d be interested in trying, but his future wife was open and responsive, something he’d never dreamed possible.

He dipped his head and joined his tongue with his fingers. A rich, slightly tangy flavor burst in his mouth. He licked each fold, the tip of his tongue grazing that sensitive bundle of nerves at each down stroke.

She gasped, tilting her hips further. He flattened his tongue and concentrated on her clitoris.

“Gareth, please.”

With one last lick of her pussy and stroke of his cock, he twisted and mounted the settee behind Annabelle.

Except it wasn’t wide enough for his broad form.

Grunting, he shifted her hips until they were between his right knee on the narrow furniture piece and his left foot still on the floor.

He spread the still rosy cheeks of her bottom with one hand and used the other hand to guide the tip of his cock to her heat. On a groan, he slipped along the wet seam of her pussy. He continued to tease them both until she thrust her hips back on one of his forward slides and the head popped past the tight ring of muscles shielding her channel.

“Yes,” she hissed even as he stilled his hips.

Regardless of her eagerness, this was still only the second time she’d been with a man. Regardless of the irrational thoughts jealousy placed in his mind, whatever flirtation she might share with Markham, Gareth knew the man would never cross the boundary. Markham had seen what Gareth’s mother’s infidelity had done to the boy Gareth had been, and his friend wouldn’t subject him to the same hell as a man.

Belle’s hips shifted back, and he slid deeper. He’d let her set the pace, for now.

Over and over, she rocked her hips, each time taking a little bit more of him inside. He gritted his teeth at the torture. On her next backward slide, he thrust and slid balls deep.

She groaned and froze.

He fought the need to slam into her tightness until he exploded. “Are you all right?”

“More,” she gasped, dropping her torso forward while raising her hips higher.

Blood roared in his ears when he sank even farther inside. Her pussy clung to him, fighting his withdrawal. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose. Already his seed boiled in his balls.

He leaned forward until he could reach a hand around her hips. He combed his fingers through the fine hair of her mound until he found and settled on her clitoris. He plucked the engorged nub, then rubbed it, repeating the motions until her hips shifted with each movement.

With slow, shallow thrusts he countered each action. He pushed forward when his fingers plucked and her hips chased his withdrawal. He rotated his hips in the opposite direction of hers while rubbing with his fingers. When her movements grew erratic and small, and her pleasurable gasps filled the room, he withdrew almost his full length, then buried himself to the hilt.

“Yes,” she wailed.

He levered his hips back and forth with long, hard strokes. The muscles of her cunny sucked greedily at his cock and he thrust harder. She met each stroke with a small moan. His balls tightened and he rubbed her clitoris faster. He grabbed the back of the settee with the fingers of his other hand and prayed this one proved sturdier than Markham’s had.

Belle screamed when he slammed deep and emptied his seed inside her. The spasms rippling her pussy milked his cock until, with one last shudder, he sat back onto his haunches.

Chest heaving, he stroked Belle’s bottom as her body trembled. When his gaze fastened on the swollen, juice-slicked lips of her cunny, primal satisfaction ripped through him. Life with Belle was definitely going to be an enjoyable ride.

She collapsed to her side with a gasp. Her heavy-lidded gaze focused on him. Her lips were swollen. She must have been biting them. He smiled. Not that she’d been able to hold back that last scream of pleasure. His cock twitched. “Have you learned your lesson about improper behavior?”

She laughed and his heart skipped a beat. “If that’s what you consider punishment, then I might have to misbehave more often.”

He growled, “Only if it’s with me.”

She smiled. “Yes, Your Grace.” With a sigh, she closed her eyes.

He smacked her thigh. “You have to right yourself. We need to return to the ballroom before our absence is remarked upon.”

The smile fell from her lips and she opened her eyes and stared at him for a long moment.

“Your brother and I have gone through a lot of effort to ensure this marriage won’t appear overly hasty.”

She snorted and sat up before scrambling to her feet. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” She shook out her skirts and snatched up the remnants of her petticoat.

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She balled up the material. “Nothing, Your Grace. Nothing at all. What woman wouldn’t be overjoyed to be marrying a man who cares only for money and appearances?” She spun on her heel and with long strides headed to the door.

He stood. “Where are you going?” With a curse, he fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. As the lock clicked free, he secured the placket.

She faced him and waved a hand over her rumpled attire. “Thank you very much for the attention, Your Grace. But I can’t possibly return to the ball without petticoats. I’m going to my room to right my appearance, as you suggested.” With a huff, she yanked open the door and gasped. “William.”

Her brother stood with his hand poised where the knob had been only seconds before. Behind him, Markham shot Gareth a shrug.

“Belle, what’s wrong?” William reached for his sister’s shoulder, but she stepped away.

“Nothing. I’ve just ripped my hem.” Her voice caught, and Gareth clenched his fists.

William frowned. “Nothing to cry over, my dear. I’m sure it can be fixed.”

“No, it can’t,” she wailed. “It’s ruined, just like me.” She shoved past her brother and Markham. The sound of her slippers racing down the hall reached Gareth’s ears.

William and Markham stepped into the room. William crossed to his desk. “Care to tell me what that was all about, Grey?”

Gareth ran a hand through his hair. “Hell if I know. One minute—” He cleared his throat. William probably could do without the details. “—she was fine and then the next she wasn’t.”

“Well, what did you say to her, old man? I’ve found women rarely get upset without some imagined provocation.” Markham reclined against the wall beside the door.

“I didn’t say anything.” He shook his head. “Everything was fine. More than fine. And then she was accusing me of only caring about money and appearances.”

Markham straightened. “Then I think you have Digby and Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe to thank. Annabelle had the misfortune to overhear them saying you’d compromised her so you could get your hands on her money.” He opened the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I have a dance coming up with Miss Fitzwilliam-Smythe. I wonder if she enjoys morning rides in the park as much as her fiancé and Lady Evans seem to.”

Gareth looked at William. “Well, it seems as if all our efforts to protect her were for naught.”

William sat in his chair and steepled his hands. “Annabelle doesn’t give a farthing about what others think of her, Grey. I fought for the extra month to make sure she wanted to marry you.”

Gareth frowned. “What are you saying?”

William dropped his hands to the desk, which he then drummed the tips of his fingers against. “If you can’t convince her you want to marry her for herself, then I’ll call off the wedding.”

Gareth’s heart dropped to his stomach. “But that would completely ruin her.”

William sighed. “Do you think I’d rather her be married and miserable?”

Anger tightened Gareth’s shoulders. “Her life with me won’t be miserable.”

The corner of William’s mouth tilted upward. “Glad to hear it, but I’m not the one who needs convincing. Shut the door on the way out, won’t you. I need a few minutes before I return to the ball. Oh, and don’t forget your gloves.”

Good God, was that what this was all about? Gareth retrieved his gloves from where he’d dropped them earlier, but made no move to put them on or leave the room. It made sense…but how was he supposed to convince Belle he’d make her happy and that he didn’t want her money?

William sighed. “You do remember the way to her room, don’t you?”