Devil in Duke's Clothing (Royal Pains Book 1) (5 page)

“I wish you had not seen us, despite the attending educational value.”

“Why?”

“Because I should not have done it.” His tone carried all the earmarks of genuine contrition. “Mistress Honeywell was in my employ. I should not have taken advantage of the unequal power relationship.”

She closed her hand around his shaft and squeezed, testing its hardness. “Are not all relationships betwixt a man and a woman unequal in power?”

“Aye, well.” He sounded breathless, which pleased her. “You make a good point, but it still does not excuse what I did.”

“Why did you do what you knew to be wrong?”

“Because, like most men, I reason too often with the wrong head.”

“You mean this one?” She pinched the knobbed tip of his phallus.

“Aye, Rosebud. Believe naught a man says when his prick is hard.”

“I’ll remember that,” she said, letting his go.

When she returned to her full height, he reached into her stays with both hands, pulled out her breasts, and circled both nipples with his thumbs.

They grew hard and tingly in an instant.

He bent to one of them, took the crown betwixt his lips, and flicked his tongue against the protruding pink button at the center.

She gasped as pleasure pierced her cunny.

Pulling his shirt loose at the waist, she ran her hands up over his chest, thumbing his nipples the way he’d done hers whilst he attended her other breast. “The nuns claimed ‘tis a sin to take pleasure from coupling. Even married couples should abstain unless they are trying to make a bairn.”

Rising to his full height, he looked into her eyes. “Maggie, my darling, what would you think of a father who gave his children irresistible toys and then punished them for playing with them?”

She looked at the floor. “I would think him cruel beyond belief.”

“As any sane person would.” He brushed her cheek, raising her eyes to his with a spark that sizzled all the way to her toes. “So why would God give us parts capable of giving such pleasure if he did not mean for us to enjoy ourselves?”

He had a point. A very good one. God could be a stern father at times, but his retributions stemmed from love, not meanness.

As he unlaced her stays, she fumbled with the buckle on his belt, remembering how he’d used it to raise welts on Mistress Honeywell’s bottom. Maggie still wondered how the maid could enjoy such abuse. “I do not believe I would enjoy being struck by your belt.”

A bone-melting smile bowed his lips. “Then I suggest you behave yourself. You might be a duchess, but you are still my wife to reprimand as I see fit.”

She grimaced. ‘Twas too true—and too cruel. He could beat her to death and no one would lift a finger. Not that she believed there existed any real danger he’d do something so dreadful, but it still seemed wrong and unfair. Why should women be less valued than men? She just prayed her new husband would prove to be more enlightened than most of his ilk. Yes, he had aberrant tastes in the erotic sector, but that made him a sinner, not a monster. Tonight, he seemed quite civilized. Genteel, even. And perfectly reasonable. Tonight, he seemed like the gallant young man who’d come to her rescue in the woods.

“Promise me you’ll never raise a hand to me in anger.”

He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed the tip of each one in turn. “Forgive me, Maggie, but I can make no such pledge.” Mischief twinkled in his gray-green eyes. “So I suggest you do all within your power as my wife to facilitate my felicity.”

Maggie flinched inside and bit her lower lip, considering what he’d said. “Punishment was not your aim when you struck Mistress Honeywell?”

He released her hand and licked his lips. “Hardly.”

“Then, pray, what
was
your purpose?”

“Pleasure.”

“I see,” she said tartly. “Hers or yours?”

“Both.”

However he might argue his case, she would never agree deriving pleasure from causing pain to be aught but perverse.

“Tonight, ‘tis my sincerest desire to consummate our marriage in the
normal
way.” She touched his linen-encased upper arm, feeling muscle, power, and solidity. “You left the choice to me, and that is what I choose.”

He lifted one dark eyebrow in a fashion befitting his rakish reputation. “And after tonight?”

She took a deep breath as she considered his enquiry. She’d indulge his erotic eccentricities to a point. Because she wanted him, wanted to give in to temptation, wanted at some deep-down, unexplored level to be converted to his liberal views on the pleasures of the flesh.

“I will make you a deal.” She boldly met his gaze. “If you will help me further my education, teach me the things only men are permitted to learn, I will submit to
some
of your less-reprehensible demands.”

Satisfaction warmed his features. “It has long been my belief ignorance, not inferior intelligence, is to blame for the inequality betwixt the sexes. So, I will agree to your proposal in hopes of proving my hypothesis.”

A wick of hope lit in Maggie’s heart, reigniting her hope of a husband who would help her spread her wings rather than locking her in a cage. “Shall we strike hands upon the bargain?”

Seizing her offered hand, he pulled her against his solid chest. “Oh, aye, Rosebud.” His mouth hovered temptingly above hers. “And seal the contract with a kiss.”

Chapter Two

Satisfaction chimed through Robert as he captured his bride’s mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. He could not be more pleased with the bargain struck. Pictures of how he might further her sexual schooling already swam through his mind. In one, she stood over him with a whip in her hand.

Oh, aye.
 

‘Twas an image he relished. As much as he adored her innocence, it did not serve his purposes. He’d much rather divest her of it—as tenderly as possible, of course, so she’d not retreat from future advances—then set about training her up to be a more equal bedmate.

For now, however, he would honor her choice and claim her hymen by conventional means. First, though, he needed to ascertain her precise definition of “normal sex.”

“Rosebud,” he said, breaking out of the kiss, “pray enlighten me. What liberties might I be permitted this evening?”

She blushed scarlet, delighting him no end. “You speak of our consummation, I presume.”

He battled a smile. “I do indeed.”

“I’m at a loss as to how to answer you.”

“What if I were to describe the amatory acts I believe fall within the range of
conventional
and you will tell me if we are in accord? You need not even speak, if it offends your modesty to do so. Simply nod if I may do the thing described this evening and shake your head in negation if I may not. How does that sound to you?”

“Remarkably helpful, actually.”

“Good. Then ‘tis settled.”
 

He drew back the covers to expose the sheets and perched on the edge of the bed. “First, we should probably establish a common set of terms for the body parts involved—to aid communication and avoid ambiguity.” He smiled up at her, noting her discomfort with amusement. “As you probably know, there are many names for the reproductive organs of both male and female. I shall not waste time by reciting a litany of examples. Let us begin with yours. What do you call the part of your anatomy designed for coition?”

She looked confounded. “I have no name for it.”

“If that is so, then simply tell me how you think of it.”

“I only think of that area as ‘the loins’ or ‘the reins,’ I’m afraid.”

The Biblical names for the region. These were not the terms he had in mind. “I see. And what about that part of
my
anatomy?”

Her cheeks went scarlet, delighting him. “Well, if I must…the sisters at the convent sometimes used the word
phallus
when they felt the need to be explicit.”

“Phallus. I see.” The word tasted bland upon his tongue. “Well, as euphemisms for the penis go, I’ve heard much worse.” He met her gaze. “I’ve also heard better. There are any number of names for a man’s amatory appendage. Prick, todger, Roger, loom, arbor vitae, and verge are but a few that come immediately to mind. For our purposes, I should prefer
cock
.”

“As in a crowing pillicock?”

“Aye,” he said, content with the comparison. “The strutting master of the henhouse, I suppose.”

“Or a cockscomb that stands up when its owner is provoked?”

Hmmm. Now that she brought it to his attention, cockscomb could very well be the genesis of the slang term for the male organ.

“Clever girl, but do let us get back to the exercise. I would like to hear you say the word aloud.”

“Cock?”

“Aye.”

“Cock,” she repeated with more gusto.

“Well done.” He let her see his delight in the form of a broad smile. “Now, come a wee bit closer if you would.” When she did as he bade, he slipped his hand betwixt her legs. She stiffened and blushed, but allowed the intimacy. “Do you know the proper names for each of the parts?”

“No, Your Grace.”

He hissed a frustrated breath. “Maggie, my darling. I am your bridegroom and my hand is on your vulva. Please address me by my Christian name when we are thusly intimate—unless I should instruct you otherwise.”

“Yes,
Robert
. I mean, no, Robert.” Her brow furrowed in frustration. “That is to say, I do not know the names.”

He brushed his fingertips across her curl-dusted outer lips—the
labia majora
. “The proper term for what you think of as ‘the loins’ is the vulva or pudendum.” He slipped a finger into her crevice and stroked the fleshy ruffles within. “These are the
labia minora
.” He slid his finger to her vaginal opening. “This is called the
introitus
, which is part of the vulva, although, interestingly, the vagina itself is classified as a separate organ.”

“Is it?” The words sounded strained and breathless. “That is most interesting.”

She did seem genuinely engrossed and not at all embarrassed by the exercise, surprising as well as pleasing him. “And this”—he circled the spot—“is called the
clitoris
.”

He lingered, circling and flicking the hub of her pleasure until it stood up. “‘Tis the female equivalent of the head of the penis and becomes erect when the owner becomes sexually aroused. Are you sexually aroused, Rosebud?”

“You’re the expert. You tell me.”

He laughed and wiggled his finger against her clit, making her gasp and squirm. “You are, but could be more so. Now, let us choose more poetic names for your parts, shall we. What if we call the part my finger now touches your bud, the folds of your inner labia, your petals, and the vagina, your stamen.”

She shrugged one alabaster shoulder. “Whatever you like, Your Grace.”

He pinched her clit, making her jump. “Call me Robert.”

“Yes, Robert.”

“Good lass. Now, to assure myself we are on the same page, pray repeat the agreed-upon names as I touch each part or your anatomy.”

He rubbed her clitoris.

“‘Tis my bud,” she said.

“Well done.”

Her inner folds grew thicker and moister under his stroking.

“Those are my petals.”

“Indeed.” She flinched as he pushed a finger a small ways into her. “And this?”

“That is the stamen where you will put your cock.”

A thrill tingled in his groin as she said the word
cock
. “Well done, my petal. Now, where else may I put my cock this evening?”

Her brow creased in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“May I put my cock in your mouth?”

She balked and her eyes widened. “My mouth?”

“Aye. ‘Tis called
fellatio
when a woman pleasures a man with her mouth. And when a man reciprocates, ‘tis called
cunnilingus
. In my books, both are part of conventional sexual congress, but I should like to know if you are open to oral stimulation of the genitals, either as giver or receiver.”

“I am not wholly averse.”

“Good. Now, what about your anus?”

Her eyebrows drew together, forming an indentation above her delicate nose. “What about it?”

“May I put my cock in your anus?”

“I’d much rather you did not, Your Grace.”
 

He let the infraction slide, given the delicate nature of the question on the table. He enjoyed anal sex and wanted her to be open to it. “Some women enjoy buggery.”

“I find that difficult to comprehend.”

“All the same, we are making progress.” He withdrew his hand from her vulva and stroked her arm whilst offering a placating smile. “We have established names for our parts and what you will and will not let me do to you on our wedding night. Now, all that remains is to get to it.”

“Not quite all, Your Grace—I mean, Robert. You have yet to disclose the Latin names for the sundry parts of your anatomy.”

“Indeed,” he conceded. “An unforgiveable oversight I am obliged to remedy at once.” He lay back on the bed and drew the front of his shirt up to his navel, exposing his genitals to her view. “Come, study, explore, and worship at the altar of my cock.”