Chapter 23
Cynthia
My stomach clenches in knots as I pace my room. Only a few more days until the last banns are read. After that, I’ll be the Viscountess of Henhaven, forced to reside with a man who values rocks and stones over whips and chains.
As the door opens, I race toward it and throw my arms around Charles, drinking in his alluring scent. How can I go with a man who smells like salt and brine when I can have a man who smells like deviant desires done in the dead of night?
He holds me close, his fingers wrapping tightly around my body. The way he clutches me makes my heart pound in my chest and tears gather in my eyes. He must feel it too. He must suffer the same unease as I do.
Unlike most nights, he refuses to say a word. He simply grabs my wrist and leads me to the chair. As he sits down, arousal sizzles through my veins. He is to spank me then, driving away all the cares and worries before he does something else, something nefarious.
“I will not gag you. Tonight, you must be my good girl and remain quiet. I need you to obey. I need to see that sweet submission as you give yourself to me. Can you do that for me? Can you be my good girl?”
His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks to me, cracking as if doing his best to hold back his emotions. Something is wrong. I can feel it. Never before has there been even a hint of desperation about him. Now, I can feel it pour off of him as surely as claret being poured into a glass.
Though it’s distressing, I do as he commands. I drape myself over his strong, muscly thighs without even a hint of protest. His arm wraps around my waist as he clutches me to him, and I sigh, relaxing into his strength.
He’s not gentle. Every touch is rough, possessive as he yanks my shift up, exposing my buttocks and thighs. His fingers dig into my skin, grabbing, pinching, massaging into me until I can’t help but groan at his mistreatment.
“Tell me you want this,” he growls. “Tell me you want me, ferocity and all. Tell me, Cynthia. I must hear you say it.”
“P- please, Charles,” I whimper. “I need this. All of this. I need you. Heavens above, I need you as badly as I need air. Hurt me, my master of torment. Make me yours.”
His movements are hard and sure, smacking my backside with enough force to move me forward, nearly tipping me off his lap. I suck in a huge gasp and quell my cries, doing my best to be his obedient omega.
Tears sting my eyes as the pain blossoms with each stroke. With this, a burning pleasure curls through me, making me pant and throb as I bite down on my knuckle to keep quiet. I have no way of knowing how long he strikes me. I only know that it no longer has any meaning.
There are no counts, nothing to inform my brain of how many times his hand has smacked my flesh. I can’t think. I can barely breathe. With each crash of his palm against my skin, I find myself slipping away, fading into a serene nothingness where I am safe, warm, and with the duke I love most.
His fingers slide over me, soothing the hurts before he strikes me again, making it flare once more. Soft whimpers wheeze from my throat as I nearly cry out his name. I so long to shout to the heavens, letting everyone hear what this man does to me.
I bite down on my lower lip as I rock my hips back and forth over his thighs, moaning under my breath as I seek my pleasure. As usual, he wraps his thick fingers around my waist and holds me still, halting my pleasure.
“Minx,” he snarls. “You think to find your release when I have not yet given you permission to seek it?”
“Please,” I whisper, keeping my voice soft and low. “I need-”
“Tell me what you need.”
“I want-”
“Yes, vexation. Tell me what you want.”
“Your hands on me, Charles. I so desperately need you to touch me, to take this ache from me.”
“Since you asked so very nicely,” he purrs as he lifts his hand from me. “Go to the bed and lie down. Spread your thighs wide. I wish to gaze upon your pussy. Is it wet for me? Are you soaking for your master?”
“Yes. You know I am.”
“Then show me.”
I scramble off his lap and race to the bed. My heart pounds in my ears as I lift my shift and lie on top of the covers. Will he insert himself in me again? Will he fill me with his seed?
“Touch yourself, Cynthia. I will watch you bring yourself pleasure.”
My fingers tremble as I reach down between my thighs. As I stroke my clit, he undoes his cravat. Slowly, he strips for me, revealing one bit of muscled flesh at a time.
Arousal pours through my veins as my mouth waters at the sight of him. I want to bite him, to mark him, to make him forever mine. Pained, desperate mewls scratch at my throat as I arch in the bed, reveling in my touch.
He watches me, his eyes darkening by the second. His chest heaves with each breath. It’s like looking at a dark and terrible god as he stares down at me.
Once his breeches peel down off his thighs, his erection springs out, thick, hard, with precum pearling at the tip. His scent surrounds me, seeping into my very pores as I breathe him in. My fingers graze against the hardened flesh of my clit as everything coils tightly within me.
“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps. “Always such a good girl.”
He climbs onto the bed with me, making it dip under his weight. When he wedges his knees between my thighs, my insides flip with delight. He’s going to spill his seed inside me once more.
His fingers graze mine as he trails them down my pussy. At my entrance, he stops, pausing, hovering there. It’s torture feeling him so close but knowing he won’t fill me up the way I need him to.
Arousal drips from my body, and he scoops it up and licks it off his fingers. My inner walls clench on air, and I whimper at the erotic sight. When he goes down again, I close my eyes as my release flutters at my frayed edges. So close. So very close.
Once more, he eases a finger inside, keeping his touch light and shallow. As he drags it out, he grips my hips with his hot palms.
“Turn over for me.”
I do as he says, desperate for the release I know is imminent. His hands move me, guiding me until my breasts press against the sheets and my bottom is high in the air.
“Keep touching yourself,” he rasps out. “This is going to hurt. But you’re going to be my good little omega and take it. Right?”
I grunt against my pillow as I wedge my hand underneath so I can keep stroking my slick flesh. To have him spank me in such a position makes the butterflies in my stomach flap their wings at an alarming rate.
Only, his hand doesn’t come down upon my upturned backside.
He goes back to my entrance to gather some more arousal.
Based on the shifting I feel behind me, Charles must be using my slick to lubricate his movements.
Heat fills my face as I picture him gripping his massive cock as it drips with my essence.
His fingers are back, this time, blocking my hand and knocking it out of the way. He groans behind me as he touches me, pinches me, coaxing me into a thunderous release. I bury my face in the pillow to muffle my cries of pleasure as they roll through me.
Charles, however, is nowhere close to done. He keeps touching me, drawing out the agony of my release until I’m nearly sobbing, begging him to stop. Then, and only then, do I feel an odd pressure at my bottom hole.
I jerk forward, desperate to get away, but he grabs my hips, holding me firmly in place. “Don’t move, Cynthia. I do not wish to harm you. Do this for me. Take my cock in your arse. Let me fuck you as a husband would a wife.”
Tears blur my vision as I crane my neck around to look at him. “But won’t they know? Won’t Henhaven… that is… if I am to marry him? I will be ruined.”
“Shhh, my sweet,” he murmurs. “No one will know. This is the one way I can have you as my wife with no one being the wiser. Now relax and breathe.”
Charles goes silent behind me as that pressure nudges against my forbidden hole. Taking me like a husband. Will I truly feel what it’s like to be his in every way?
I bring my hands up near the pillow and grip the sheets. It’s intense, a pain unlike any I’ve felt before. Behind me, Charles presses forward. He pushes into me, stretching my bottom hole out with his massive cock. To his credit, he goes slowly, taking his time, but it’s no use.
Burying my face back in the pillow, I bite down on the fabric to keep my screams from waking up the household. It’s a burning, searing sensation as he invades me, forcing me open, breaking me one push at a time.
My mind threatens to fracture as the burning morphs, turning into arousal. I do my best to grab hold of it, to ride out this agony with the pleasure that comes with it. But I can’t seem to do it. Tears wet my cheeks as I sob into the pillow, clenching it as tightly as I dare.
“That’s my good girl,” he groans, opening me up even more. “You’re taking me so fucking well. Keep breathing for me, sweet thing. Keep your body still and relaxed as I take this hole. As I make you mine.”
I do as he bids, unable to disobey. I want so desperately to feel him inside me, to be owned by him inside and out. Keening wails pour into the pillow as the burn and stretch become overwhelming. I can’t. I just can’t.
His growls wash over me, leaving me limp, boneless, helpless as he drives forward. He commands my body, forcing it to his will with just a deep vibration from his chest. I should hate him for this. I should despise him. But I can’t.
I want this. I want him. If this is the only way to have him, I’ll take it.
He presses deeper into me, each push opening me even more. Will he split me in two? Can my small, fragile body take him?
Even now, he looms over me, his massive body covering mine with his. He wraps himself around me, holding me close as he continues to torment me. Even if he wasn’t growling and forcing me into submission, I wouldn’t be able to fight. He’s far too large.
“Zounds, you’re so fucking tight,” he rasps through gritted teeth.
“I’m almost in. Don’t worry, sweet girl.
I won’t knot you. Not yet. Not back here.
Not until you beg me to. For now, just feel me slide deep inside you, filling you.
Can you feel me, Cynthia? Can you feel my cock stretching you open? ”
“Y- yes, Charles,” I whimper against the pillow.
He stays there for what feels like an eternity. Deep inside, I feel his cock pulsing, jerking against my frayed nerves. Then he moves. Dear God, he moves.
As he pulls out, my eyes threaten to cross. It’s an odd, unholy amalgamation between pleasure and pain. I’ve never felt anything like it before.
This time, when he pushes in, the pain is less. It’s still there burning in the background, but it doesn’t make me want to scream at him to stop. The burn warms me from the inside out, morphing the pain into a spark of pleasure.
And that’s when he purrs.
The growls stop. The dark, deep, decadent sound that held me captive ceases. Now, I have the pleasure of his purr to comfort me as he continues to destroy me, body and soul.