He lifted her to her feet. “One moment, sweet lady,” he said as he walked to the door and opened it.
Penrod slept in the antechamber, ready to serve at the first bark of his voice. He scrambled up from his bed. “Do you need another log on the fire, sir?”
“No, Penrod. Please go to the kitchen and fetch me a dish of butterfat.”
Penrod gave him a strange look, but knew better than to question the order. “Of course, sir.”
He shut the door and turned to his bride, advancing slowly. She did not look nearly so afraid now, which pleased him. He didn’t want her unwilling. He wanted her writhing with passion under his hands, begging him to take her. It would take some coaxing, but he didn’t mind. Teaching Daisy the pleasures of love would be a privilege. And while he intended to push her boundaries, he would never violate her trust. In fact, the entire seduction must be deeply rooted in her faith in his word, or else he’d never get anywhere with her, as scarred as she was.
He plucked the thread tying her braid and broke it, unraveling her thick flaxen hair until it fell in waves across her shoulders. Her breastbone rose and fell rapidly but she stood docilely allowing his touch. He reached for her loosened bodice. “I like you in green,” he purred, slipping his thumbs under the edge of the neckline and pulling it open.
She held her forearms across her breasts, holding up the gown, but her eyes conveyed only curiosity. He tugged the fabric out of her hold and slid it down her body, over the curve of her hips until it fell in a pool at her feet.
Her fingers twisted in her chemise, as if she would hang on to it for dear life if he tried to remove it.
“Take off your boots,” he instructed her, moving away to give her space. Winning Lady Daisy’s submission required a combination of taking away her autonomy and demanding her compliance.
A light tap on the door signaled Penrod’s return. Daisy shrank back, out of the view of the door. He opened it just a crack to receive the butterfat and thanked Penrod. Sitting back down in the chair, he beckoned to Daisy. “Come here, my lady. It is time for that spanking.”
She froze. “You are—are you…?” She stopped and shook her head as if to produce the proper words. “Must you?”
“I’m afraid so, love. Marriage is based on trust. You must know I will honor my word to you and I must believe the same of you. When you lie, you erode that trust.”
She flushed, looking genuinely chastened. “I shall not do it again.”
“Daisy,” he said, lowering his voice rather than raising it. “When I bid you come to me for a spanking, you would be wise not to stall or drag your heels. Else it will go far worse for you.”
She moved immediately, lurching forward, then slowing her steps as she arrived before him.
“Thank you,” he said, reaching for her waist to guide her over his knees. His pulse quickened at the feel of her soft form on his legs, her hip pressing against his thickened cock, the sight of her skin through the sheer chemise. He took his time sliding the hem of the shift up to her waist. The sound of her breath came like tiny gasps. He brought his hand down on one of her cheeks with power.
She yelped, her body jerking.
He rubbed away the sting, losing himself in the delicious sensation of her well-toned arse under his hand. He slapped the other side with equal force, then rubbed. Continuing with the slow pace of slapping and rubbing, he warmed her skin. He had no interest in doling out real punishment—his intention lay in seduction. But he also couldn’t allow their marriage to get off on the wrong foot by letting a lie go unpunished. He picked up the pace, omitting the rubbing between spanks.
Daisy began to wriggle and writhe over his thighs, her feet kicking up.
He continued only until the color on her bottom began to hold, then he stopped and stroked her tantalizing cheeks. He took a bit of butterfat on one finger and slid it between her legs.
She jumped, her legs and torso stiffening, her thighs clamping together.
“Easy, girl. This quim is mine now. I will keep my word, you must keepyours.” He wriggled his finger between her tightened legs. He had asked for lubricant because he feared it may take him some time to coax out a response, but he found her folds slick and plump. He nearly groaned at the sweetness of it. “There,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s not so bad, is it?”
She whimpered.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded.
She did not move.
He delivered four more slaps to her quivering bottom. “I said, open your legs for me, Daisy.” He waited.
After a moment, her thighs parted, but only by a finger width.
“More. Spread them.”
“Sir Barrett…” Her voice sounded plaintive.
“Yes?”
