Page 35 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

“He touched you,” I growl.

“Only to help me out of the curricle. Did you think him unseemly?”

A smirk tilts my lips as I undo my cravat. “A little late to be playing coy, now isn’t it?”

She turns her face toward me, and already her eyes shine with tears. I will not be moved. I cannot. Hunching down, I run my finger under her chin, keeping her head in place.

“You understand it is my need to hurt you that drives this. Not your actions or his?”

“And you understand it is my need to hurt that keeps me kneeling here at your feet?”

“I hear you, my obsession. Now hear me. Even though he may parade you around by day, you are still mine by night. You will always be mine.”

The rope is soft and supple in my hands as I run it through my fingers before wrapping it around her wrists. Still, she kneels there, not crying, not begging, and not screaming.

With each bit that tugs at her skin, her pupils widen as the scent of her desire floods the room. It’s nearly enough to make me forget myself and rut her right there on the floor. How could fate be so cruel as to give me a taste of Heaven then rip it from my hands?

Once she’s securely bound, I finish pulling my cravat from my throat. “Open. I cannot have the house hearing your screams.”

My cock pulses as her lips part wide enough for me to stuff the fabric deep inside. Arousal slides up my spine and takes hold of my limbs as I grab the rope and drag her behind me. She traverses the floor on her knees, happy, willing even, to be so debased.

I slide into the chair and pat my thighs. She needs no further coaxing, no verbal instruction. She knows what comes next.

A soft grunt vibrates through the cravat as she positions herself over my lap and drapes over until her knuckles brush against the floor. My fingers skim her backside, painting designs on her through the fabric until she shudders under my touch.

With a gentle yank, I pull the shift back, exposing her arse and thighs to my hungry view. Unwilling to be satisfied with such paltry offerings, I ease my hand between her legs and shift them so I can see far more.

Her pussy is puffy and swollen, dripping with arousal that coats my breeches. She’s so desperate to be filled, so hungry to be defiled. Unable to help myself, I slide my fingers over the slick flesh, earning a muffled groan from her lips.

I feel the sound vibrate through her. It shudders into me as she bucks her hips, seeking the release I will deny her until we’re both satisfied.

“Hear me now, obsession. I will not stop until you’re soaking wet and unable to take any more.”

Chapter 16

Charles

Every touch, every move is laced with desperation. I reach down further to brush against her clit, earning another buck from her hips. Each twitch of her body rubs against my shaft until precum smears across my tip.

As much as I want to play with her, there are demons to exorcise. Drawing up my hand, I smack the swell of her arse, groaning as it ripples under the force of my strike. Now the other one. Back and forth I spank her, pouring out the anger and resentment, the fear and longing, the need and yearning.

She takes it, all of it, offering her body to me as a sacrifice to the pain we both endure. Like a man possessed, I continue to strike her, watching, mesmerized as slick continues to drip from her hungry pussy. To find such a gem as this. To have such a woman who can take my violence and transform it into such an erotic dance.

Again, I smack her flesh until it becomes red, mottled, and angry. Each time she sits tomorrow, she’ll feel me. Every bouncing jaunt she takes with Henhaven, she’ll know I was here. I mark her with my fury, brand her with my ire.

Still, it is not enough.

As I drag her off of my lap, I turn her over, studying her gaze. Her eyes are completely black, as her head lolls on her shoulders. It’s as if she’s in a daze, a waking dream that she wants no freedom from. But it’s that smile, that soft twitch of her lips as she lies in my arms that makes me want to hurt her all the more.

Not out of hatred. Not out of wrath for her interactions. Not because I cannot have the one thing from her that I desire most. It’s because these wounds heal a part of us. Each strike on her body is a burden lifted from our souls.

It’s part penance and part redemption. What we do is wrong, so we shall burn in it together while confessing our sins with each lusty jut, each breathless sigh, and each arch of her back as I deliver pain as skillfully as leading an army to victory.

Her legs refuse to work, and so I drag her to the edge of the bed where the post lifts high into the air. I take the remainder of the rope and tie her there, giving her an anchor as I dig into my coat pocket and pull out my tawse.

She greets it as an old friend. Normally, this is the tool of her punishment, but today, it will be the tool of her undoing. Bending low, I pull the cravat from her lips. “Kiss it, Cynthia. Kiss the leather that will soon embrace your flesh.”

Her lips quiver as she leans forward, gliding over it in a soft, almost reverent kiss. My good girl. My perfect omega. My Cynthia.