Page 22 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

It appeared the duke was enjoying the show if his rising cock was a gauge.

“What’s it like, Nev?” asked Edmund unexpectedly. “Is it very painful?”

“No,” said Neville dreamily. “Madam is just preparing me. It stings and my arse is warm but not painful as such. My cock is so hard, though. Are you hard?”

“Yes, he is,” said Arabella, amused, as she picked up her riding crop. “Now, Nev, you’ll receive ten to start. Edmund, see how my bare feet are planted firmly on the floor, no carpets or mats to slide on? Also watch how my arm stays low rather than performing an arc movement. This ensures I continue hitting his arse and don’t stray into forbidden areas like his sides or lower back. They are far too delicate to be cropped.”

Edmund nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Only pugilists want to rattle the innards and ribs. Go on.”

She stilled. “Excuse me?”

The duke blinked, his brow furrowing. “Er…”

Turning her wrist in crisp, elegant movements, Arabella ran the leather end of the riding crop along the duke’s inner thighs, before placing it under his cock and lifting the thick shaft. “You dare to give me an instruction?”

Edmund gasped. “N-no, ma’am. Please forgive the misstep.”

Oh, the man was in purgatory. His stoic iciness had abandoned him entirely and he was leaning into danger rather than shying away. Right now he was flushed and trembling, his huge cock bobbing merrily between black leather and hard belly, trickling seed. This duke truly did want to be owned. He craved it like a starving man craved a banquet.

“Perhaps,” said Arabella coolly. “That will depend entirely on whether you please me later with your tongue. Are you ready to be crushed by my thighs?”

Edmund made a guttural sound. “Yes, ma’am,” he choked out.

She nodded, then turned back to an unusually patient Neville. Her husband thoroughly deserved an explosive orgasm. “Right, my darling. Ten for you. Actually, I think twenty.”

Swish. Crack. Swish. Crack.

With measured ferocity, Arabella administered the riding crop blows, mostly to Nev’s backside but gifting him several to his upper thighs as well. He writhed against the bench, his flesh decorated in shades of pink and red, his gasps and cries of ecstasy spurring her on to greater strength. Once he’d received his twenty strokes, Arabella set down the crop then picked up a bottle of oil. After lubricating her fingers, she teased Nev’s anus, her other hand reaching around to grip his engorged cock.

“Please,” he begged shamelessly. “Please, ma’am. Fuck me.”

“Yes,” she replied, kissing his shoulder. “You’ve earned your reward.”

When she knit two fingers together and slowly penetrated his back entrance, Nev’s head thrashed, his whole body arching to encourage a deeper, faster conquering.

Arabella’s pussy throbbed, her nipples jutting against her satin robe. Never would she tire of this heady feeling of absolute sexual power. She had brought her husband to the edge of orgasm—only she would decide when he tumbled into ecstasy. But tonight Nev had pleased her, so she roughly handled his cock while finger-fucking his backside, and in seconds his low roar thundered to the heavens, his seed spurting and spurting over her hand as he came.

“I love you,” gasped Neville as he sagged against the bench. “I love you so much.”

“Beautifully done, my darling,” said Arabella, carefully removing her fingers, then unfastening his wrist bindings before kissing his forehead. “I am exceedingly pleased.”

Neville had found heaven. But one glance at Edmund told a very different tale.

The duke was trapped in the hell of agonized yearning…and only she could free him.

He’d never witnessed anything so erotic in his life.

Edmund rolled his shoulders and rocked on his heels in a futile attempt to regather his composure. He’d achieved two small victories this evening: not coming when Madam Arabella had caressed his inner thighs, then lifted his cock and balls with the riding crop. And not coming when she had disciplined Nev, then fucked the baron with her fingers.

Another damned thing he now wanted to know. What did it feel like to be spanked?

To be penetrated?

Nev made it look like he’d seen angels. Maybe he had. But even more enviable than the orgasm; the way Madam Arabella was cuddling and kissing her husband. Praising him.

What Edmund had witnessed previously in this room wasn’t pretense or just a show. These two truly loved each other. They loved pleasure. There was no duty, no chore, no willing one’s mind away from the event to endure. Just two people who not only understood but reveled in their spouse’s sexual needs.

He wanted that kind of love for himself. No, it was far more than a want now. It was a critical, essential need.