Chapter 14 #2
“There is a reason why you’ve no need for drawers, Lizzie, and that is because I shall have you—and reprimand you—whenever and wherever I wish.
If it should take longer than a month for you to become pregnant then of course you’ll don rags, but otherwise you will remain naked at all times beneath your dress, whether at home or away, available to me. Do I make myself clear?”
“Bastard,” she muttered, mortified by the position he kept her in.
“What was that, wife?”
“Of course, sir.” She seethed.
He slipped his hand there to find her, damnation, wet. She did not like how her body betrayed her rational mind one bit.
Milton gripped the nape of her neck, while his other hand began a wicked dance between her thighs. “I think we have just enough time for that great favor, wife. Shall I fuck you now to improve your mood?”
Elizabeth’s loins ached with greed, but she would not answer yes.
Would. Not.
“Come now, Lizzie, I can hold you here in agony or give you what you want. You need only say it, darling. Say you want a fast fuck, sweetheart. Say it and my prick will grant your wish.”
Inside Elizabeth, two minds warred for control—sane, rational Lizzie and wanton, insensate Lizzie. The two shouted at her, equally insistent.
Milton slid a finger into her throbbing flesh. “Say it, luv. I know y’ want me.” He dared her to defy what her person desperately craved.
“Y-yes!” she stuttered in anger, legs shaking under his touch. “Yes, blast you, Milton. Fuck me.”
***
Oh, it was delicious to fuck one’s own wife in one’s own parlor: a sinful, sumptuous delight. Milton thrust with abandon into her molten cunny—a cunny he owned, and a cunny that craved cock as much as that cock craved her.
She was perfection, his Elizabeth, a precious lady wholly his to plunder, obedient to his every beck and call. Last night she’d exceeded his expectations. He’d wanted to stay in bed with her all day.
Alas, the world would not wait.
He fucked his lovely new wife good and long there in his parlor, and once he’d shot his seed—taking root, he prayed—Milton buttoned his fall and smacked her arse before he lowered her skirts.
He turned Elizabeth around to adjust her crooked eyepiece and noted the tiny beads of sweat covering her forehead.
The scent of her arousal lingered in his nostrils as he leaned in to lick her cheekbone.
“You are a delight, wife, better than a plate of hot, puffed pastry. I hope Mrs. Ogilvy is impressed by you. I daresay she’ll admire your glow.” He kissed her slowly, deeply, pulling her lips with his teeth.
He liked how he made her breaths increase.
“And Elizabeth, I should mention Mrs. Ogilvy is a former patron of mine who knows my penchant for flesh. You needn’t be embarrassed by anything she shares or asks.”
His wife blushed a shade maroon.
“I believe we are equal again, tit for tat, Lizzie, or favor for fuck, yes? That is how we determined this marriage would work, is it not?” He flashed her a grin as he quit the room to leave her with her next caller.
He’d leave her alone with the next three callers too, having handpicked today’s guests to report back on whether his wife was loyal.
Because he trusted Elizabeth only as far as he could fuck her, though she was getting good at that—fucking.
No, she was a delight. The purpose of intercourse was to secure an heir, but he was eager to screw his gorgeous wife for entirely different reasons.
Fucking was a bonus to being married, and fucking without a French letter was divine. Too long he’d denied himself that joy. He could not wait to bury his cock in his wife again.
He did not trust Elizabeth, however, because she still did not trust him. She was a slippery eel with a mind of her own and far too much pluck—pluck which consistently overruled her more rational self.
Maybe he should invite her to join his discussions with Kilpert.
No, Milton thought, he’d keep his tutor for himself, nor did he want his lack of education made even more apparent.
He’d find someone else to handle her all-too-curious mind.
Not handle—subdue. For now, he’d let her stew.
She’d sip tea with Mrs. Ogilvy while his seed trickled warm down her thigh, her cunny pulsing from his pounding, leaking wet spots into her skirts as a reminder she was his.
“So you are the new Lady Milton.” Mrs. Ogilvy’s elegant cane scraped the floor as she eased herself into a chair.
Elizabeth stared blankly at the lady, who patiently waited for Elizabeth’s brain to regain sense. She did not know whether to laugh or cry at the position her husband had just put her in. He was Lucifer himself: a wanton, fallen archangel so smug, so wicked, she wished to slap his handsome face.
He’d also made her shatter so exquisitely her body still thrummed with pleasure.
Elizabeth thought she recognized her guest. She’d seen this woman before. Only where?
“Lady Milton, is it necessary for you to wear those spectacles? I took Jasper for the type who’d—”
“Wed a more attractive woman?” Elizabeth finished Mrs. Ogilvy’s sentence without batting an eye. “You are not the first, madam, to find my appearance lacking.”
The lady broke into a smile. “But as for spirit, well, it’s clear what Jasper sees in you.” Her eyes twinkled. “Tell me, is he still devilishly good in bed?”
Elizabeth nearly choked but got hold of herself fast. “Mrs. Ogilvy, in what capacity, may I ask, were you in past ‘patron’ to my husband?”
The lady barely suppressed her grin. “Why, as a lover, Lady Milton. What other manner of patronage should a woman my age offer a young stud like Jasper?” Her laughter tinkled like tiny bells Elizabeth wished to rip from the air and shove down the lady’s throat.
She quashed the urge, surprised by her reaction. “Then I must thank you, madam. No doubt your patronage helped facilitate his purchase of me.”
“Purchase?” The lady’s brow arched. “How quaint, to think Jasper—”
“Yes, madam, it appears that while you needed to pay the Baron for his skills as a lover, he paid for the privilege of becoming mine.”
“Oh ho!” Mrs. Ogilvy burst again into laughter. “Bravo, Lady Milton, bravo!”
Elizabeth was so stunned she simply leaned back in her seat and stared daggers at the woman.
“My dear.” The lady patted Elizabeth’s lap in a friendly gesture. “Of course he paid handsomely for you. Why, just look at you! Utterly unafraid to put an old bird like me in her place. Well done, Baroness, well done.”
Elizabeth was still stymied, but after suffering similar encounters with her next three callers, she had an inkling why Mrs. Ogilvy had congratulated her. Her husband continued to test her, only this time, she might just have passed muster.
She’d also gleaned how Milton had lost his Cockney accent: He’d traded Mrs. Ogilvy hours in bed for hours of lessons in diction. No coin exchanged.