Page 19 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

Her slim, delicate fingers take my place as she plays with herself, toying with her clit as I stroke my cock. I can already tell I’m not going to last long. It’s as hard as tempered steel, and already precum drips from my tip.

I swipe my finger along my thick head, grabbing a drop and forcing my finger between her lips. Her eyes roll back into her skull as she tastes me, sucking on my fingers with a fervor and intensity that bring a rumbled growl from my chest.

If I close my eyes, I can imagine it’s my cock her lips are wrapped so tightly around. Groaning again, I slide my finger in and out, invading her mouth, smearing my essence over her tongue. My fingers fly over my cock, working at it relentlessly as I reach my own release.

As I reach nearer to that peak, I pull my fingers away and bring my tip down to her entrance. My head doesn’t even fit inside. Only the very tip breaches the opening. God, but she’s so fucking tight.

“That’s my good girl,” I moan as her fingers fly over her clit. “I want to feel you come for me. Find your release. Be a good girl and come for me.”

At my words, she rams her fist against her lips, stifling that cry of release I barely hear vibrating in her throat. I can’t stand it any longer. I can’t hold out while her arousal drips around my tip.

I gather some in my hand and use it as lubricant as I continue to stroke myself. It doesn’t take long before my knot swells at my base. Holding it in a tight grip, I bite down on my lower lip to keep my own roar of release at bay as cum pours out of me and into her delicate pussy.

It fills her up until it escapes around the edges of my tip, dripping down onto the bed. We’ll have to figure out a way to clean it up later, but for now, all I know is the clenching of her delicate muscles as she comes again while I empty myself into her.

Fuck.

So close, yet so far.

Grabbing the soiled bit of blanket, I hold it beneath her as I pull out, catching my fluids. It will be easier for me to dispose of it than her. Cynthia lies there on the bed, her chest heaving as she breathes.

With near silent steps, I walk over to the basin and wet a rag before cleaning my cock, then taking a fresh one over to clean her up. I don’t have all the answers, and I refuse to pretend to. Though we may have these stolen moments, it won’t mean anything if we can’t somehow make it work.

Crawling next to her in bed, I hold her in my arms as she sobs against my chest. My heart threatens to break as I hold my treasure as close as I dare. There has to be an answer out there somewhere. I just have to find it. For both of us.

Chapter 9

Cynthia

Monday

Sunlight burns my eyes as I blink over at the window. Though the beams are just soft, pale strands, they sear me until I clench my eyes shut and roll to the side. Cold sheets meet my fingertips. Not one hint of a trace that Charles was here with me.

My heart mourns the loss of him as I force myself up and rub at my eyes. Then again, it is to be expected. It’s not as if I can have him here when the servants awaken.

Stifling a groan, I stretch, my body twinging ever so slightly from our activities the night before. He inserted himself, but not fully. Not enough to make me devoid of my virginity. Yet, I can’t help the heat that fans my cheeks as I slide my fingers between my thighs and graze my flesh.

Nothing feels different. It should. Such a profound shift between us should leave me with some sort of mark. Something. Shaking my head, I pull my hand back and smooth the sheets, schooling my face to something more neutral when the maid comes in.

As I lie there, I cannot help my thoughts from darting to and fro. They pound in my skull, questions without answers. I do trust Charles, but my heart fears hoping too much.

Blast. Far too early for breakfast, but far too late to go back to sleep. Slipping out of bed, I pace the floor, using the light of the dying fire to search for any evidence Charles was there. Barely even a whiff of his scent swirls through the air, and what little is there, I’m sure I can excuse from the fireplace.

The more I pace, however, the more I notice something rather odd. Something thick drips down my inner thigh, almost like arousal, but a touch more viscous. Squatting down near the bed, I wrench up my shift, terrified of what I might find.

Did he tear through my maidenhead after all? I don’t recall any sensation other than a slight stretching and pure, unadulterated pleasure. That doesn’t mean my virginity wasn’t stolen from me.

As I bring my fingers up to look at them, it’s not blood at all, but a pearly white, nearly translucent fluid. It must be his essence. My pulse flutters as I lean against the bed, nearly heaving as panic slips from me to be replaced with an almost relentless nausea.

Such a dangerous game we’re playing. I can only hope neither of us gets burnt. Pulling out the chamber pot from under the bed, I dab a rag in the basin of cool water and wipe at myself, cleaning off as much as I can. Hopefully, it won’t be noticeable when I get dressed.

Just as I finish up, the door opens and one of the Barrington maids glides in, her face all smiles as she puts down a cup of warmed chocolate.

“I shall be back to help you prepare for your day, Miss,” she says as she bobs down into a curtsy.

My stomach growls as I walk over to the table. Somehow, the chocolate always tastes so much better when staying with the Barringtons as opposed to at home. But that could be as simple as their being able to procure a better quality of chocolate.

As usual, it slides down my throat and warms my belly. There’s no odd aftertaste. Just the addictive taste of chocolate. The maid comes back in with two others in tow as I nurse my drink.