Page 70 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

There, at the bottom, like he promised, is an oddly shaped bit of metal. I hold it in my hand, marveling at the coolness. Soon, however, it heats up to match my temperature.

Turning it over, I note Charles’s personal crest on the base. If I wear this, I’m wearing his personal stamp of ownership. I grab the vial and turn it about, watching the oil swirl in the sunlight. And, of course, as with everything else, there is a note at the bottom.

My addiction,

This dilator has been commissioned by the best silversmith in all of England. My crest is affixed at the base so you will know exactly who you belong to. As you come down that aisle to me, your bottom will burn as it stretches you out, preparing you for my cock again.

This time, it will be far more enjoyable. Consider it a physical apology from my body to yours. Simply apply the oil to your bottom hole, teasing it as you insert a finger or two in order to get the oil inside. Then, drizzle some on the dilator itself to lubricate it as you insert it into your backside. The part with my crest is the base. It will sit nicely nestled between your buttocks until I remove it after our vows.

Now then, my obsession. I cannot wait to strip you down inch by inch, pulling off your bridal finery as I claim every inch of your body with my own.

One day is still far too long. I desire you. I ache for you. I burn for you. Allow me to make up for the time we’ve lost together. Allow me to bend your body to my will, to make you mine forever.

Your Master,

Charles

My insides cramp as I read and re-read the letter. Heat fans my face as I continue to fondle the metal, touching it, rolling it about in my hands. He wishes for me to insert this?

The metal is bulbous, with varying sizes going from rather small to obscenely large. Does he truly think I’ll manage to get it inside me?

Glancing back at the door to make sure it’s locked, I grab the vial of oil and hoist up my dress. Touching myself back there is quite shocking, but the arousal it brings is far more than I expected.

Perhaps it’s because I’m doing it to myself and can set the pace. For several breathless moments, I drag my oiled finger around the rim of my backside, softly moaning as I tease myself. I’m going to have to insert it sooner or later.

As my finger breaches the hole, everything tenses. Instead of pain, however, it’s the most wonderful pleasure. I slide in and out, just as the letter commands, spreading the oil deep inside.

Taking a breath, I notch the metal at my back entrance, jerking a touch from the sudden chill as it kisses my flesh. Soft whimpers claw at my throat as I push the object in. My breath comes in ragged pants as I strain in the silence, doing my best to take my time, yet also chasing the pleasure as it pours through me.

Charles was right. This is nothing like that night. There is no pain here, only a slight burn and erotic heaviness. It’s certainly not as big as he was. But then, I’m only past the first hump.

I bite down on my lower lip to keep from crying out as I push some more, forcing myself open on the second one. The burn is a bit more intense, but still something I can handle. I lie there on the bed for several moments, feet planted into the soft covers, knees splayed in such a scandalous manner.

One more to go. Can I do it? Can I take it?

Closing my eyes, I picture Charles there, coaxing me, guiding me as I push it in. I would certainly be his good girl as I impale myself on this rigid metal.

The last hump presses against my opening. Sweat beads at my forehead. I have to do this. I must do this. It’s his request for our wedding. He must believe I can obey.

Pulling part of the blankets over, I bite down on them, stifling the moans and whimpers as I push, bearing down, forcing the metal to open me up and slide inside. It’s a struggle. It’s as if my body fights it, not wanting to allow it to go in.

Suddenly, my body opens, relaxing just enough for it to push through and slide in. Everything tenses as the whisper of release flutters through me. It’s not enough to feel as if I’ve actually achieved it, but it’s close enough that it gives me hope for my wedding night.

Lying there, I nearly sob as my bottom ring snaps shut over the smaller bit of metal in the base, leaving a strip outside that runs along the crack. My chest heaves as I draw in oxygen, desperate to breathe as the metal lies heavy within me.

Pleasure sparks through my nerves as I roll over, shifting so I can stand and see what walking toward Charles would look like. With every step, arousal floods my system until I’m thoroughly distracted.

I go to raise my skirts again, desperate to touch myself, when a soft knock at the door has me throwing them down once more.

“Forgive me, Miss Campbell, but your father and mother are here to see you.”

Bollocks.

Chapter 36

Cynthia

With the maid standing right there, I cannot ask her to leave so that I can extricate the bit of metal firmly lodged in my backside. Desperation claws at my insides as every shift reminds me of the weight and girth I’m forced to carry. How am I to face my parents like this?