Epilogue
Four months later
“Now, play just as I taught you,” said Marianne, giving her husband a pinch on the thigh.
“But I can’t, my love,” he whined, “not when I’m in such a state.”
That night after dinner, the duchess had locked the doors to the drawing room and resolved to teach the duke how to play the harp he admired so much. Sadly, the lesson was quickly going sideways as Frederick grew hard and horny from playing the instrument he associated with his delectable wife.
From her spot on the floor next to where he was sitting, Marianne allowed her regal brows to raise inquisitively.
“I’m so hard for you,” he groaned, rubbing over the place his shaft was hot and ready in his trousers.
Marianne leaned over and plucked some notes to toy with him. “Take it out,” she said softly.
Frederick froze, as if trying to understand if she was saying what he hoped she was saying. Then he rose from the seat without delay and opened his placket.
“That’s it,” she said, licking her lips. “Take it out for me.”
When he got himself free of his smalls, Frederick watched as his rock-hard cock came into view — with a line of drool emanating from the tip.
Marianne put her hand to the string and followed it up to the slit currently pumping out liquid in anticipation of pouring his sack into his wife. She let her fingertip rest against the small hole, playing with the opening and all that slick fluid.
“Put your hand…your hand around it,” said Frederick, desperate to feel her jerk his cock.
“Maybe you could practice those notes I taught you,” she said, flashing him a daring gaze.
“Blast the musical lesson,” he whined, still standing before his wife with his cock out. “I want you.”
“And I want you…to practice your lesson,” she said. “I promise it will be most enjoyable. Take a seat and show me what you’ve learned.”
Frederick shuffled to the seat and sank onto it, his thighs spread wide so as not to upset his aching piece. He’d be sure to get his wife back for this torture; perhaps the next time she begged to be ridden hard, he’d treat her to the softest, most respectful of thrusts.
“Now play a glissando,” she said, her manner that of a governess. Thinking about his wife as a governess only made him randier, and Frederick had to rack his brain to recall the notes he’d learned.
He plucked, and the sound wasn’t unpleasant.
“Oh, that’s good, husband,” she said, her eyes warm.
And then Marianne shuffled close and licked the head of his cock.
“Darling!” he exclaimed, his fingers grabbing at the harp strings to steady himself. It made a discordant sound, and she drew back from where she’d been so pleasurably only moments before.
“Again,” he rasped. “Please.”
“Again,” she replied, inclining her head to the harp. “Please.”
Frederick had not a whiff of musical inclination, but he plucked and played frantically as his wife anointed his cock with her mouth.
Did it sound correct? Was this even music?
Would his inexperienced fingers bleed? None of it mattered, not a single concern, as his ladylike wife — his duchess — teased his cockhead with her mouth.
“I think I love you, Marianne,” he said, repeating what he said often with wonder, as if it had only just occurred to him.
“Is that so?” she asked, pulling off his cock, to his great consternation.
He nodded frantically.
“Do you know what I like?”
“Me playing the harp?” he asked.
“What else?”
Frederick paused. He needed to get this right. “Chocolate in bed upon waking?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I do enjoy that. What else?”
Frederick thought to that chase through the woods, when he’d worn a mask and taken her most brutally.
Did she want that? While wearing their dinner clothes and ensconced in the drawing room?
If she wanted that, he would need to prepare a funeral for his cock because it would never soften again until he was laid out to join the ancestors in the family crypt.
“Do you enjoy…being taken?” he asked. “Used roughly?”
Marianne’s breathing slowed. She licked her lips, where she no doubt tasted his cock, and crawled towards the center of the room.
On her hands and knees, she struggled with her dress to bring it up, fighting the weight of her bustle.
“What’s this?” asked Frederick, rising from his seat with authority, cock in hand. “Is a little fox trying to get fucked?”
Marianne whimpered, knowing what was coming and expecting the pleasure of a rough fuck.
“Open those thighs for me,” said Frederick, slapping his cock against his wife’s arse as he joined her on the floor. “Wider.”
He took in her wet slit, just as ready as he was, and thanked the wind in the trees, the maker of harps, his wife’s ancestors, and all the Grand Bucks before him for bringing them together.
“I heard you like it soft like a springtime drizzle, little vixen,” he said.
“No,” she cried, her fingers digging into the fine carpet to maintain some traction when her husband finally relented and gave in to her wish to be taken hard. “I want it like animals do in the forest. I want to be mounted.”
Frederick dragged his cockhead through her sopping slit and let it slide over her straining little nub. Nevertheless, he didn’t push into that tight hole, didn’t test his wife’s limits as she wished he would.
“But animals do so for a reason,” he said, flexing his hips to tease the entrance of her clasp while never sinking inside.
“A reason?”
“They do so to breed. To make new life. Do you think you can take this seed and give me a litter?”
“Put it in and find out,” she huffed.
He laughed and grasped her shoulder, bringing her down hard on his cock. He’d impaled her to the root, then he paused for a moment to let her feel it.
“If I came right now, I’d paint your womb. Good chances of a litter.”
“If you think you can get away with one stroke before seeding me, you have another think coming, Frederick. This isn’t our wedding night!”
The duke howled, loving that his wife begged for nothing more than being dominated in bed — or on the forest floor, when they could get away — while also growing into her role as duchess in every way. Including telling her aristocratic husband exactly what he needed to do to make her happy.
He teased the rim where he stretched her cunny and touched her puffy lips, so welcoming around his cock. Then he let his fingers glance over that swollen nub that never failed to get his wife shaking with pleasure.
“That’s a good girl, a fine little duchess, swallowing up my cock. Take it,” he said, thrusting hard and letting her determine how to stay upright.
“I’m trying!” she cried out.
“Now, don’t you have something to tell me?” he asked, fondling her clitoris with feathery touches.
“Tell you?” she asked, her voice going higher.
Frederick grasped her hips and drove himself home hard, earning him wails of pleasure. My, she was a game girl, the only desire of his heart.
“I happened to see the doctor on the way out of the house.”
“Did you?” she asked faintly.
“Dr. Riddle. I think he specializes in something.”
“Does he?”
In a moment, Frederick had them turned around, and he covered her on the floor while facing her so they could have a conversation. Cradled between her thighs, he rocked deep and studied her reaction.
“Might you have something to tell me?” he asked, trying to keep his hopes in check in the event the news wasn’t what he wished.
“Well,” she said, licking her lips, “when a very virile stag chases down a hind on his estate, sometimes there’s a result.”
His heart felt like it was going to leap out of his body. He needed to maintain his masculine control. But!
“Are we certain there’s a result?” he asked softly.
“Quite certain,” she said, trying to hide a smile. “I wasn’t sure until, well—”
Marianne seized his hand and brought it beneath the hem of her dress, sliding it up to her belly.
“Stay there a moment. I’ve experienced the quickening.”
Frederick was all amazement. Quickening already would mean that they may have made their baby, why, that first disastrous night when he’d tried so hard not to scare his bride. Or the night he’d fucked her repeatedly on the forest floor.
“But you’re still so trim,” he said, terrified of how happy he was at the news. A child! Already!
“I’ll grow round yet, just you wait,” she said wryly.
“I’ll give you every nut in my possession,” he growled, nipping at his wife’s lips.
Marianne laughed, the sound now as beautiful to him as those notes of the harp. What a miracle she was, his duchess, and she was all his.
Well, perhaps not all his, not now.
“Here!” she cried, grabbing his hand and moving it to where the babe fluttered in her belly. “You made me laugh, and the baby awakened.”
“It sleeps?” asked Frederick in wonder as he stroked the taut skin of her abdomen.
“I think so,” she said. “Sleeps, rolls, kicks. It’s faint right now because she’s small yet.”
“It’s a girl?” asked Frederick, his heart lifting.
“Oh, I just call her that. Trying not to get my hopes up for an heir,” she said shyly.
Frederick temporarily could not speak. He wanted to reassure his wife that any child born to them would be a perfect miracle and exactly what he’d wanted.
“Baby,” he said.
“Yes, a baby,” replied his wife, cradling his face in a way that made him feel as though his bones could melt with pleasure at the love radiating from her touch.
“I’ll love them,” he said. “I’ll love any child born to us. Not just my heir. A daughter who plays the harp as beautifully as her mother…”
He paused, overcome by the vision. Yet through the emotions, he never faltered in his thrusts.
“What you make pleases me beyond measure, my duchess.”
“What we make,” she gasped as he slid over a spot that never failed to make her clench reflexively.
At that, he couldn’t find words, simply dropped his hand to the places he knew to play the notes that set his bride crying in pleasure.
It had become his favorite tune, even more than the one that had drawn him to her. The music that had captured his heart.