3. St. Erth
The day after I first danced with my wife, I walked up the steps of the London home the Wendovers had hired for the season. I curled my lip to see Catherine’s brother Millward stumble up the steps with a drunken grin.
Millward was a drunken, sloppy fool.
With one twist of my wrist, I grabbed him by the collar.
“Unhand me, you ruffian,” he slurred drunkenly.
But there was no escape for any member of the Wendover family.
I brought my knee across his forehead and pitched him off the side of the stairs where he landed with a crunch on the hard sidewalk and rolled into the gutter below. It would only break his bones painfully, not kill him, and provide a distraction from the Wendovers’ insipid conversation later.
I knocked on the door as Millward moaned in the gutter, remembering with pleasure that I had just visited the august Earl who rented out this home for the Season. After a smooth and easy transfer of funds, he had agreed to start to harass the Wendovers for money starting today. I had made other calls to various tradespeople, and they would soon be coming to repossess everything from Lady Julia’s gowns to Millward’s cravats.
They’d soon have no choice but to accept my offer for their daughter’s hand in marriage. The naked thirst and need in their eyes when I danced with Catherine was obvious, their eyes greedily devouring my body to calculate how much my coat was worth.
My coats and pantaloons, made by the most exclusive tailors in London, only emphasized my status as a prospective suitor. Well-cut, fitted, every row of my lace ruffles showing my wealth and power.
But I’m not a suitor.
I’m going to use their daughter, not court her.
My marriage and heir will complete my revenge, but most likely it will be a tedious, dull thing to be married. I would invite my friends Lord Sheringham and Mr. Westruther to come shooting for ptarmigan season to liven up the unutterable dullness of life in the country.
Inside, Lady Julia was practically salivating as she looked at me, angling her body toward me and talking with flirtatious animation. Maybe she thought her beauty would be an extra inducement for me to marry into the family.
She was a fool.
I remembered what she said about my mother.
Strumpet
Baggage
Whore
Sir Philip entered the room and immediately engaged me in conversation, wanting to know about my horses and what kinds of hunting I enjoyed in the country.
I didn’t give a shit about the country, but I responded curtly, feeling my body tense. I wanted nothing more than to kill Sir Phillip right here, tear his tongue out and garrote him. Although he was a big man, he looked lazy and soft.
But it was going to be better to take everything slowly away from him instead.
Everyone in the family was anxious to please me.
ExceptMiss Wendover herself.
She sat on the couch in a simple gray gown with a high neckline, her eyes on her needlework, a little pink flush spreading across her pale skin.
There was something very amusing to me in her soft little defiance of refusing to look at me. I could tell she was frightened of me, and I couldn’t deny that that made my cock twitch in my pants.
There was a knock at the door, and I hid a smile. It was someone passing by who had seen Millward in the gutter. Looking flustered and upset, both Sir Philip and Lady Julia Wendover left the room.
Leaving Catherine alone in the room and at my mercy.
And the sooner she realized it the more entertainment it would be for me.
I moved to sit next to her, feeling a sudden flash of excitement that surprised me. Even before I had made my money in the Navy, stealing cargo from French ships, I had never had trouble bedding women. Lowborn, highborn, they came when I wanted. But this little shy dab of a woman was not just an opera singer to bed, but my wife to be bred with a baby that would make my triumph over the Wendovers complete.
Although Catherine didn’t look up, I sat down next to her, stretching my long legs out, getting closer than was proper, our thighs almost touching. She pretended like she didn’t notice, but I could hear the hitch of her breath.
Up close, I saw a few things I hadn’t noticed before. Her skin was pale and delicate, making it easy to see every flush of embarrassment or change in emotion, her breasts full in her demure gray gown.
I looked over her shoulder to see what needlework she was working on. It was an elaborately rendered portrait of the Garden of Eden, the jewel tones of the green serpent bright as it wound around the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.
“And are you a good girl who does what’s in the Holy Book?” I asked, not because I gave a shit about religion, but to see her squirm.
“I-I hope I do what is right, sir,” Catherine replied, darting her eyes around, barely looking at me.
I scooted closer, forcing my thigh against hers.
“My wife needs to be a good girl.”
That did make her look at me, her brown eyes wide and astonished.
“And who is your wife?” she gasped.
I could feel a slow smile spread across my face.
“You,” I said. “You are going to be my wife.”
“W-why should you want to marry me?” she asked, trying to scoot away from me on the couch.
I moved closer again, my hip hitting hers, the feeling of the soft cloth of her skirts raising an unexpected heat in my body. They rustled as she tried to draw them away from me.
As if anything she could do would prevent me from doing exactly whatever the fuck I wanted to her.
“All you need to know is that you’re going to be my wife,” I said harshly.
Catherine shook her head slightly, bending down to her needlework again and refusing to acknowledge what I said. This little defiance caused a surprising white-hot spark of anger, and I drove it down, my cock twitching as I moved one arm to the back of the sofa.
“Didn’t the Lord say to go forth and multiply,” I asked, my voice silky and smooth. I moved my thigh again, pressing it tightly against hers. She was trapped against the side of the couch, with nowhere else to go. I could tell she wanted to jump up and run away from me, but she was too bound by proper social decorum to do so.
Unluckily for her, I wasn’t bound by anything at all.
Except my thirst for revenge.
“He did,” she replied in a low voice, and then, almost inaudibly. “With a godly man.”
Irritation sizzled across my skin.
When she was my wife, prudish little Catherine Wendover wouldn’t find it so amusing to talk back to her husband.
“Where’s Adam and Eve?” I said, indicating her needlework. “Didn’t they glory in their nakedness?”
Her face flushed even more, an interesting rose-pink that brightened her cheeks. “I beg of you to not speak vulgarly to me,” she said in a stilted voice.
“I’ll speak how I want to my future wife,” I said sharply, grabbing her hand and yanking her body toward mine, so tight that her full breasts were smashed against my arm. “This is what the serpent was telling Eve about.”
Catherine gave a little squeak and tried to pull away from me, but it was easy to overpower her, my cock hardening as the motion shook her thick head of red hair in my face. With my other hand I pulled my cock out of my pants. It was thick and hard. Apparently I would have no trouble wanting to breed my wife. She turned to me with big, frightened eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and I saw her little heartbeat pounding in her creamy throat. I jerked her closer and placed her resisting hand on my cock.
“This is a cock,” I said. “Your job is to pleasure it.”
I forced Catherine’s hand to surround my shaft as she tried to pull away. I wasn’t expecting my cock to be so painfully hard or what hearing her little distressed noises would do to me. I pried each finger apart and then wrapped my much bigger hand around her small one, forcing her fingers to go around my cock.
She squeaked in distress, shooting little alarmed glances at me, trying to use her other hand to pry herself out of my grip.
“Stop!” she hissed at me. “Let me go!”
But I had her tight, my big hand over hers, forcing her to pump up and down on my shaft.
“Like this,” I growled. “This is what you’re to do as my wife. This is your duty, Catherine.”
Her breathing was coming in quick little pants, and I could see the outline of her creamy chest through her simple dress, even the swell of each breast. My fingers itched to rip into her gown and rub my harsh fingers over her nipples, feel each perfectly-shaped breast in my hand.
Catherine’s attempts to pull away made her small hand close almost convulsively on my cock and I had to suppress a groan.
Fuck.
I hadn’t been planning on actually coming in the middle of her parents’ drawing room. But I didn’t think I could stop myself.
Her breasts were pressed against me, and she began kicking my shins, trying to get me to release her. I could feel the taut tip of her nipple against my forearm, my release coiling at the base of my spine.
Just a few more seconds. Then I’d pull away, let her go. The Wendovers were desperate, but seeing their daughter’s suitor forcing her to stroke his cock might be the one thing that could prevent the marriage and my revenge.
But I couldn’t make myself stop. I couldn’t make myself pull away from her.
Suddenly Catherine’s hand darted toward to her embroidery, her clever fingers closing over the sharp needle.
She turned with it clutched in her fingers to stab me. But I was faster, and with my other hand I reached over and grabbed the needle from her fingers, twisting her hand and throwing the needle in the corner.
“Foolish girl,” I snarled, tightening my grip and making her yelp. “Don’t make me angry.”
She glared resentfully at me, biting her bottom lip. Her lips were full and pink, and the little bite marks on her full lip made me clench my other hand into a fist to keep myself from ripping up her skirt and taking her right here on the couch in the middle of London visiting hours.
My released pressed urgently at me, precum beading the tip of my cock, and I grabbed her skirts with my free hand, cupping my cock, and then I released into the silky-soft fabric. My release was hot and hard, and I had to grip the side of the chair with my fist as hard as I could to suppress my deep groan. My cum filled her dress, spurting in ropes all down the front, soaking through so I could feel the skin of her thigh underneath.
She looked frozen in shock, both pink lips open.
When I let out a low shuddering breath, she finally was jolted into speech.
“How dare you!” she cried, her face almost white with rage.
“Your moral guidance for the day,” I bit out.
Then I made sure to drag her fingers through the cum on her skirts, rub that wetness all over her fingers.
Fuck that looked good.
For a moment I couldn’t control how my chest heaved with desire and I felt a spike of anger.
“Suck it off your fingers,” I ordered her sharply.
“No! Never!” she squeaked, and I yanked on the bodice of her dress, twisting the delicate fabric in my fist.
My hand skimmed her breasts as I tightened my hold.
“You’re going to rip it!” she breathed.
“Then suck it off your fingers,” I snarled back at her.
Finally, she obeyed, popping two fingers at a time in her mouth, sucking at them quickly, the motion hollowing her cheeks.
My future wife’s nose wrinkled at me.
“Get used to the taste,” I said. “You’ll suck my cum when I tell you to or you won’t get anything to eat.”
She stopped, her mouth dropping open, one perfect drop of cum hanging from her fingers, and as I watched it fell onto her tongue.
The wave of desire I felt irritated the fuck out of me, and without another word I got up from the couch and strode out of the room, giving cursory nods to the Wendovers taking anxious care of the son whose bones I had just broken.
Fuck them.
I just wasn’t used to dealing with virgins. That was all.
Catherine was nothing special. Just a means to an end.