Page 50 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

As the anger drains out of me, I sink into a chair next to the fireplace and hang my head in my hands. Unfortunately, they’re right. Whoever they are, the clock is ticking, and my time is nearly run out.

Chapter 23

Cynthia

My stomach clenches in knots as I pace my room. Only a few more days until the last banns are read. After that, I’ll be the Viscountess of Henhaven, forced to reside with a man who values rocks and stones over whips and chains.

As the door opens, I race toward it and throw my arms around Charles, drinking in his alluring scent. How can I go with a man who smells like salt and brine when I can have a man who smells like deviant desires done in the dead of night?

He holds me close, his fingers wrapping tightly around my body. The way he clutches me makes my heart pound in my chest and tears gather in my eyes. He must feel it too. He must suffer the same unease as I do.

Unlike most nights, he refuses to say a word. He simply grabs my wrist and leads me to the chair. As he sits down, arousal sizzles through my veins. He is to spank me then, driving away all the cares and worries before he does something else, something nefarious.

“I will not gag you. Tonight, you must be my good girl and remain quiet. I need you to obey. I need to see that sweet submission as you give yourself to me. Can you do that for me? Can you be my good girl?”

His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks to me, cracking as if doing his best to hold back his emotions. Something is wrong. I can feel it. Never before has there been even a hint of desperation about him. Now, I can feel it pour off of him as surely as claret being poured into a glass.

Though it’s distressing, I do as he commands. I drape myself over his strong, muscly thighs without even a hint of protest. His arm wraps around my waist as he clutches me to him, and I sigh, relaxing into his strength.

He’s not gentle. Every touch is rough, possessive as he yanks my shift up, exposing my buttocks and thighs. His fingers dig into my skin, grabbing, pinching, massaging into me until I can’t help but groan at his mistreatment.

“Tell me you want this,” he growls. “Tell me you want me, ferocity and all. Tell me, Cynthia. I must hear you say it.”

“P- please, Charles,” I whimper. “I need this. All of this. I need you. Heavens above, I need you as badly as I need air. Hurt me, my master of torment. Make me yours.”

His movements are hard and sure, smacking my backside with enough force to move me forward, nearly tipping me off his lap. I suck in a huge gasp and quell my cries, doing my best to be his obedient omega.

Tears sting my eyes as the pain blossoms with each stroke. With this, a burning pleasure curls through me, making me pant and throb as I bite down on my knuckle to keep quiet. I have no way of knowing how long he strikes me. I only know that it no longer has any meaning.

There are no counts, nothing to inform my brain of how many times his hand has smacked my flesh. I can’t think. I can barely breathe. With each crash of his palm against my skin, I find myself slipping away, fading into a serene nothingness where I am safe, warm, and with the duke I love most.

His fingers slide over me, soothing the hurts before he strikes me again, making it flare once more. Soft whimpers wheeze from my throat as I nearly cry out his name. I so long to shout to the heavens, letting everyone hear what this man does to me.

I bite down on my lower lip as I rock my hips back and forth over his thighs, moaning under my breath as I seek my pleasure. As usual, he wraps his thick fingers around my waist and holds me still, halting my pleasure.

“Minx,” he snarls. “You think to find your release when I have not yet given you permission to seek it?”

“Please,” I whisper, keeping my voice soft and low. “I need-”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I want-”

“Yes, vexation. Tell me what you want.”

“Your hands on me, Charles. I so desperately need you to touch me, to take this ache from me.”

“Since you asked so very nicely,” he purrs as he lifts his hand from me. “Go to the bed and lie down. Spread your thighs wide. I wish to gaze upon your pussy. Is it wet for me? Are you soaking for your master?”

“Yes. You know I am.”

“Then show me.”

I scramble off his lap and race to the bed. My heart pounds in my ears as I lift my shift and lie on top of the covers. Will he insert himself in me again? Will he fill me with his seed?

“Touch yourself, Cynthia. I will watch you bring yourself pleasure.”

My fingers tremble as I reach down between my thighs. As I stroke my clit, he undoes his cravat. Slowly, he strips for me, revealing one bit of muscled flesh at a time.