Chapter 3 #3
The remaining strokes fell in measured succession, each landing precisely where the last had not, until her entire bottom burned with a uniform heat. When the final stroke landed, harder than the rest, Olivia gasped the final count.
“And what do you say?” Victor prompted, his hand now resting gently on her heated skin.
Olivia swallowed her pride. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“For what?” he pressed.
“Thank you for my correction,” she elaborated, the words tasting strange on her tongue.
Victor helped her to her feet, carefully rearranging her clothing as she stood shakily before him. From his greater height, he reached out and gently wiped tears from her cheeks with his handkerchief, his touch unexpectedly tender.
“You did well,” he said softly. “Very well.”
The unexpected gentleness after such firm discipline left Olivia reeling. She had expected coldness, perhaps even disdain, but Victor’s eyes held only approval.
“Next time,” he continued, rising to his full height, “consider how to maintain your dignity regardless of provocation. A cutting remark delivered with a smile often serves better than obvious contempt.”
He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the last of her tears. “Are you ready for bed, Duchess?”
“Yes,” Olivia replied, her voice steadier than she felt. Being at his mercy in his chamber was all she had longed for all day. And now she desperately needed him to touch her.
Victor offered his arm, and together they climbed the stairs toward her bedchamber. With each step, Olivia felt the lingering burn of her punishment.
As he opened her bedroom door, Olivia realized with startling clarity that she wanted what came next. Not merely as part of their arrangement, but with genuine desire.
Victor closed the door behind them, his eyes darkening as he took in her flushed face and bright eyes.
When they reached their suite of rooms, Victor released both of their personal servants for the evening.
Victor approached her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Turn around,” he commanded softly.
She obeyed, presenting her back to him. His fingers found the long row of tiny buttons that ran from her nape to the small of her back.
One by one, he unfastened them, his touch unhurried and deliberate.
With each button released, Olivia felt her breath grow shallower, anticipation building in her core.
“I will dress you and undress you, whenever I wish,” Victor murmured, his breath warm against her neck. “Your body is mine to reveal, mine to cover, mine to pleasure.”
The possessive declaration sent a shiver through her.
No man had ever undressed her before. She had always been attended by her maid, and she undressed herself on the nights she had spent with her artist lover.
There was something profoundly intimate about Victor’s methodical unveiling of her body, even if he’d already seen her naked.
Victor slowly peeled the silk gown from her shoulders, letting it fall around her feet. She stood before him in only her thin chemise and silk stockings.
“Still,” he ordered when she moved to step out of the pooled fabric.
Victor knelt before her, a duke on his knees, yet somehow maintaining every ounce of his authority. He lifted first one foot, then the other, freeing her from the circle of silk. Rising again to his full height, he reached for the ribbon that secured her chemise.
The chemise opened, and he pushed it from her shoulders, letting it join her gown on the floor. Olivia stood before him entirely naked save for her silk stockings and garters, her skin flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.
“Beautiful,” Victor breathed, circling her slowly, taking in every curve and hollow. “I am going to teach you how to properly use this pretty mouth of yours,” he said, his voice even. “You will learn to take my cock between those clever lips and put that sharp tongue of yours to better use.”
The stark language from his aristocratic mouth shocked and thrilled her in equal measure. Olivia watched, transfixed, as he began to undress. He removed his coat and waistcoat, followed by his cravat and shirt. As the linen fell away, Olivia caught her breath at the sight of his torso.
Scars marked his body. She had wanted to touch them last night, but knew she wouldn’t be allowed to do so without permission.
There was a long, jagged line from shoulder to collarbone, puckered circles, and countless smaller marks that spoke of battle and survival. His chest and arms were powerfully muscled, not like a man who had only indulged in aristocratic comforts.
Olivia’s hand reached out before she could stop herself, and touched the largest scar, the one that cut across his chest like a pale lightning bolt.
“The French cavalry at Salamanca,” Victor explained, his voice unusually soft. “I was fortunate. The man beside me was not.”
The vulnerability in his admission was surprising—and it stirred a depth of feeling she hadn’t expected.
This stern, commanding man had faced death and carried its marks upon his skin.
Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the scar, a gesture of acceptance more intimate than any words.
Victor’s breath caught, his hand coming up to cradle her head against his chest for a moment. Then he tipped her face up to his and claimed her mouth in a kiss that stole her breath. It was fierce and possessive yet achingly tender. And he had regained complete control.
She realized then that the difference in their ages was not merely physical.
Victor had lived through horrors she could scarcely imagine, had seen death and suffering on a scale that had shaped him into the man who now held her.
His control, his need for order, his protective instincts were all forged in the crucible of war.
And somehow, that knowledge made her feel safe in his hands, sheltered by his strength and experience.
When he finally pulled away, his eyes had darkened with need. “On your knees, little one.”
As she sank to her knees on the plush carpet, Olivia felt a strange sense of rightness in the position. Victor stood before her, towering above her kneeling form.
His eyes darkened as he gazed down at her.
He continued undressing, removing his breeches and stockings until he stood fully naked before her. His manhood sprang forth, hard and thick, intimidating in its size.
“Have you done this before?” Victor asked, one hand coming to rest on her head.
Olivia hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
A flicker of what looked like jealousy crossed his face before his expression smoothed once more. “Show me.”
Her first awkward attempts earned his patient guidance, his hands directing her movements with the same calm authority he brought to all their interactions.
“Relax your throat,” Victor instructed. “Breathe deeply through your nose. When I press against the back of your throat, swallow. It will help ease the way.”
Olivia followed his directions, taking him deeper as his fingers tangled in her hair.
“That’s it,” Victor encouraged, his voice strained with pleasure. “Take more. Good girl.”
There it was again—that praise that seemed to light up some long-dormant part of her soul. Good girl. Two simple words that somehow made her feel cherished and valued, protected and desired all at once.
“You are going to learn to take all of me. Even down your throat. I’ll fuck your mouth every day if that is what it takes, little one.”
He thrust into her mouth, rocking his hips into her while he held her head in place. “Fuck, you’re going to be a fast study.”
She felt how her body heated from pleasing him, and moaned around his cock.
Victor withdrew and looked down at her. “You are enjoying sucking my cock, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” her voice came out breathy.
He pushed his cock back into her mouth and began thrusting against her face. She sucked as hard as she could, using her tongue to tease the underside of his shaft.
“I shouldn’t allow you to come after your behavior at dinner. It will only spoil you. But if you can keep from gagging while I fuck your gorgeous mouth, I’ll allow you to come.”
She wanted to come more than anything. She didn’t care how it happened . . . only that it did. If he made her wait, she would go mad.
He didn’t relent, thrusting his hips hard, groaning under his breath while she fought to breathe through her nose and not allow herself even the smallest of gags.
Suddenly, he quickly withdrew himself from her mouth and lifted her from the floor. Spinning her around, he forced her torso down on the bed and she released a loud moan as his cock filled her slick entrance.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she moaned.
“Such a good, grateful girl,” he ground out as he thrust against her so hard that his thighs slapping the back of hers made a loud sound. “As much as I wanted to watch you swallow my seed, there will be plenty of time for that once you carry my child.”
She was already close. He was hitting just the right spot in that position, and it would quickly send her over the edge. “May I come, Your Grace?”
“Does my little one like being taken by her husband?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Very much so.”
He groaned, but slowed his pace. He was teasing her.
“Why should I allow you to come?”
“I’m being good, Your Grace.” And she would do anything he wanted if she could just have the release she desperately needed.
“Beg me, little one.”
“Please, Your Grace,” she whimpered.
“Daddy,” he corrected. “From now on, you shall refer to me as ‘Daddy’ if you wish to come.”
She thought she had heard the term before, as a name for one’s father. But she really didn’t care to overthink it. If it made him feel even half as good as she felt being his “little one” then he was definitely her “Daddy.”
“Please, Daddy,” she pleaded, finding that using the nickname turned her on even more. “I need to come, Daddy. I’ll be good.”
“Fuck. That’s it,” Victor encouraged, one hand sliding to her front to stroke her most sensitive spot as he plunged all the way inside of her. “Come for Daddy. Scream for me when you do so.”
Olivia gasped as he shifted his angle, striking a spot deep within that sent sparks of pleasure through her entire body. She came completely undone, pushing back against him as much as she could when her release took over.
“Daddy,” she screamed out. “Daddy, that’s so good.”
He released a low growl as one hand gripped her hip and the other pushed against her back, holding her into the mattress as he thrust hard into her one more time, filling her with his warm seed.
“Fuck, little one,” he groaned, while his cock twitched inside of her.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she sighed with her cheek remaining pressed against the coverlet from how he had her pinned.
Victor leaned over her back. “You pleased Daddy, my good girl,” he murmured against her hair. “Perhaps I should spank you more often.”
She would be too embarrassed to admit to anyone that the notion excited her far more than it should.