“Oh!” she gasped.
He slowly stroked her womanhood, and Bridget’s hips bucked again. Soon, a dampness spread between her thighs. The ache, which had been a tolerable throb, grew tighter and hotter. She writhed against the wall, desperate to?—
To achieve some end, to soothe the ache, to findsomethingthat her body desperately wanted.
“You are a very naïve, young miss. I do not imagine you know how your own body works,” His Grace said, lowering his head to plant a hot kiss on the side of her neck. “But I do. Shall I tell you what is happening?”
Bridget grasped his shoulders, her nails digging into his fine jacket. “Y—yes!” she gasped.
“When a woman is pleasured thusly, her body begins to yearn,” the Duke answered. “She longs for a pleasure that we callle petit mort. It is an intense experience.”
Bridget’s thighs quivered, and a little needy sound erupted from her throat. Her body seemed to move without conscious thought, as she drove herself against him. Bridget forced her core against his hand, trying to force him to move more quickly.
He chuckled and rubbed a spot on her sex, and Bridget gasped. A wave of sensation crashed over her. His Grace continued stroking that spot, his thumb making quick circles over her.
“Oh!” Bridget exclaimed.
She bucked against him like a wild thing, all thoughts of how much she disliked this man and their marriage gone in a hazy cloud of desire. The ache between her thighs grew hotter and hotter, and her body trembled. Bridget moaned shamelessly with no other thoughts than to achieve that wave of pleasure that her husband had promised her.
He withdrew his hand. Bridget’s racing thoughts seemed to halt in an instant. “Do not stop!” she cried.
Her poor sex pulsed with need, and she moved her hips to no avail. When she tried to touch herself, her husband seized her wrists and held her fast.
“I give you nothing, remember?” he asked.
“That was—you are unkind!”
“Youare unkind. I am only letting you have a small taste of your own behavior.”
Bridget whined and shifted, trying to numb that ache by rubbing herself against his thighs, but nothing happened.
The Duke clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and gathered her wrists easily in one hand. He held them over her head, while his free hand caressed her breasts until she moaned. His Grace trailed his hand lower, his fingers skimming over her stomach and hips. Bridget scarcely dared to breathe, as he reached her sex once more.
He slowly caressed her core. Bridget’s body responded at once. She quivered against him and arched her back away from the wall, as best as she could with his holding her wrists. The ache returned and grew deeper with every stroke of his fingers. A whine tore itself from Bridget’s throat. She was nearly?—
He halted his movements once again, his hand merely cupping her overly stimulated sex.
“No!” Bridget exclaimed, tossing her head back.
Her husband’s eyes gleamed with victory. “If you want to have any pleasure tonight, you must persuade me.”
She groaned. “What do you want? I will take back what I said earlier. You do give me something.”
He hummed and moved his fingers once more, tracing her softness. Bridget quivered. There was something hot and wet between her thighs, evidence of how little she could control her own body. Sweat gathered behind her knees and at the small of her back, and heat rushed to her face as the result of her labors.
Her husband’s fingers were merciless, bringing her quickly to that same edge. Bridget shook. Her knees trembled, and her hips jerked forward. She strained in his grasp, and?—
She cried out, as he stopped his movements a third time. “But I thought…” Bridget trailed off. “I thought you would…”
He shook his head. “Oh no. I do not think you deserve pleasure after that scene today. Did you really believe that a little, quick apology would mend everything?”
It was too much to endure. Tears sprang to Bridget’s eyes, and her lips trembled. “Your Grace?—”
“Lewiswill be fine.”
“Lewis.”
He smirked. “Now, I told you to persuade me. What will you try next?”
