Submitting to His Lordship (25 page)

“Well?” he prompted.

She said nothing, her mind searching for how she was to extract herself from the situation.

He was standing behind her, cupping her neck, tilting her chin up, his mouth beside her ear.

“Do not keep me waiting much longer, Miss Herwood.”

Chapter Nineteen

HER LEGS THREATENED to liquefy. She had always found his voice sensual, the sound of her name upon his lips wickedly enticing.

“Rati,” she whispered.

How was it she could not refrain from submitting to Lord Rockwell?

He turned her head so that he could access her lips. His mouth was more controlled this time, probing and commanding. With his lips and tongue, he enticed hers into a sensual dance. Desire pooled low and hot in her abdomen. He released her head. His mouth trailed across her jaw, down her neck, and to the edge of her décolletage. His hands grasped the spencer and pulled it down past her shoulders, pinioning her arms. As his mouth continued to caress her about the neck, he pulled down the bodice her frock. She gasped as the fabric tore a little to accommodate. He went for her stays next.

“They lace in front,” he noted with approval.

With her back still pinned to his chest, he reached around her bosom and unlaced the ribbons with ease despite his hindered view. He pulled the stays down her arms as well. She now had three layers of garments—her spencer, frock, and stays—locking her arms uncomfortably to her body. He palmed both breasts through her shift and rubbed her nipples through the cotton fabric. They pressed against his hand. He rolled and tugged at the points of flesh between his thumbs and forefingers. She writhed against him. As she became more and more aroused, his touch became harder. The attention was devastating. She did not know whether to bend away or arch her back further into him. The ache in her cunnie throbbed angrily.

Taking her by a nipple, he pulled her over to a chair—the very chair he had bent her over the last time she was here. This time he sat in it, pulled her skirts to her thighs, and positioned her over his lap. He parted his legs, forcing hers open. With her arms pinioned, she felt unbalanced and had to concentrate to stay atop him. Reaching under her skirts, he found the moisture between her thighs.

“This pleases me, Miss Herwood,” he said, swirling his fingers in her wetness.

She groaned. Her body began perspiring. An agonizing tension had built within her, and only he could release it.

“In due time,” he murmured as if reading her mind. He began to rub and torment that rosy nodule of flesh between her legs, his gaze intent upon her reactions.

He pulled down her shift to bare a breast, then took it in his mouth. She nearly toppled from his lap as he sucked her tit while toying with her other highly sensitive nub. He put a hand to her hip to hold her steady. Moaning, she writhed at the pleasurable assault. She had been right to submit to him, her body signaled. She had already done so in the past. One more night was of little consequence and could only bring such delights as she was unlikely to ever experience again.

His mouth sucked, his hand fondled with increasing vigor. The pressure within her was just about to reach the boiling point when he released her. As if she had been hit with a wall of fresh air, she inhaled at the sudden deprivation. He put her back on her feet.

“Shed your clothes,” he instructed as began to unloosen his cravat.

Eager to return to her earlier progress, she struggled to pull her arms free. It was no easy deed for the garments on top had secured the ones beneath. Lord Rockwell, also disrobing, had a much easier time as he cast his cravat onto the back of the chair and began to unbutton his silk brocade waistcoat. As she struggled with her attire, she found herself mesmerized by the calm with which he undressed, revealing a broad and chiseled chest, arms and torso. She drank in his splendor.

“Let us not tarry, Miss Herwood,” he said as he retrieved a crop.

Doubling her efforts, she wiggled and jumped, her unrestrained breasts bouncing with the exertion, but the tight sleeves of the spencer were caught. The crop fell against her backside, its sting blunted by her clothing. Nonetheless she yelped. Straining one hand, she reached for the cuff of her spencer. The crop fell against the side of a breast. With a hasty yank, she pulled the sleeve and the spencer slipped from under the sleeve of the frock and the strap of the stays. He struck her thigh. Quickly she shimmied her arms out of the garments and pushed them to the floor. Her petticoat and chemise quickly followed.

“Give me your stockings.”

She kicked off her slippers and untied the garters. The stockings slid down her legs and she handed the pair to him. He pulled her arms together behind her back until her elbows touched and tied her arms in place with her stockings. The position forced her breasts forward. He ran a finger along the tops and bottoms of her breasts. He tapped the crop against one orb.

“I think I shall leave these free for tonight.”

She barely heard his words, though it almost sounded as if this was not to be their only night together. She would have to make clear later that she had no wish to see him ever again, but for now, she only wanted him to continue his sublime agony.

The crop bit at a nipple. She cried out. He massaged the affected breast and kissed the smarting nipple. He flicked at it repeatedly with his tongue, and she groaned as the fire in her belly stirred. She watched him walk over to a chest of drawers. After opening and shutting a drawer, he returned to her holding a pair of small clamps joined together by a thin chain.

“Devon should have started with these,” he said.

She gritted her teeth at the sharp pinching pain upon her nipples. The clamps were not nearly as bad as what had been used at Chateau Follet. But the relativity mattered not. The hellish things upon her now hurt plenty well. Her toes curled.

“Breathe.”

She focused on her breath and found her tolerance for the pain.

“Well done.”

He tugged at the chain. The clamps pulled at her nipples. Tears pressed the backs of her eyes. He brushed his lips against her temple.

“You are a sight to behold, Miss Herwood.”

His words encouraged and enflamed her. She wanted to withstand everything he would do to show him how capable and strong she was. She wanted him to reward her.

He led her back to the chair and sat down. He had her stand astride him. To her delight, he undid his front fall and pulled out his very solid cock. She hoped he would let her take possession of the erection soon. He rubbed himself slowly so that his cock lengthened to its limits. He pointed it between her thighs.

“Bend your legs.”

Yes!

She lowered herself.

“Stop,” he commanded just as the tip grazed her cunnie.

She looked at him curiously.

“Fall and pay the price,” he said.

No.

He rubbed the bulbous head along her slit. It felt wonderful, but she wanted his cock to touch the deepest part of her. He pressed his cock at her clitoris and she closed her eyes to further relish the pleasure. Back and forth he worked his cock. Coated in her wetness, it slid easily along her. Beautiful, delicious sensations fanned from her cunnie. But squatting over his cock was an awkward exertion, and her legs soon began to tremble. Surely he would let her take him at any moment?

She grunted as beads of sweat formed along her brow. “My lord—”

The labor required to stay in position distracted from her ascent toward
orgasmos
.

He increased the rubbing, pushing it at her perineum. She quivered in delight. But her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. If only she could spend before...

Her legs gave way. She sank onto his lap, sheathing his cock in her cunnie. The feel of him inside of her was nothing short of wonderful. For a second she didn’t care that she had not succeeded in keeping the position he wanted. She looked at him through lowered lashes, but instead of a frown, she saw his eyes gleaming.

“Suit yourself, Miss Herwood.”

It was hardly a choice!
she wanted to say. Her muscles simply could not persevere. They had no practice in crouching in such a fashion for lengths of time.

He twisted a finger in the chain between her nipple clamps. They pulled at her, renewing the pain there. At least he had allowed his cock to remain in place.

“Make yourself spend.”

She blinked. Well, she was not about to remind him that he had mentioned a ‘price to pay’ earlier. Taking his offer, she worked her hips, trying to push his cock as deep inside her as she could. He continued to twist the chain. His other hand found her clitoris, slick and engorged. The triple stimulation, his cock inside her, his thumb at her clitoris, the clamps pulling at her, combined to send her over the edge. He snapped the clamps off her nipples just as she imploded with a bloodcurdling scream. She would have convulsed right off his lap if he had not caught her hip. Shuddering violently, she fell against him, her hot and sweaty body against his.

She murmured an oath, then realized she had spoken it aloud. Recovering from her raptures, she found him stroking her back tenderly. She stirred slightly and felt he was still hard inside of her. Oh dear, that meant she was not finished.

“Pleased?”

The strange inquiry made her look at him. He was gazing at her as if searching her face for something.

“A little,” she teased.

“Good. On your knees.”

She stood up, glad to stretch her legs, then knelt on the cold, hard ground. He stood, his cock at her face. She opened her mouth willingly, wanting to give him the same pleasure he had provided her. He slid his cock inside of her. She tasted her own wetness upon him, unsure of how she regarded her own flavor. With her arms still bound behind her, she could not exert herself as well upon his shaft, so he fisted a hand in her hair and guided her mouth. She tried to take him down her throat as much as possible and managed to suppress most of her gagging reflexes.

His lordship’s eyes closed, and he grunted his enjoyment.

“Suck. Harder.”

She obliged until her cheeks hurt. He tensed further, and she sensed his end was near. He bucked his hips at her, and with a roar, he shoved himself deep into her. Warm, tangy liquid filled her mouth. She swallowed to prevent from choking as he pumped his seed into her. His legs shook, and his fingers curled in her hair. Pleased that she could cause his surrender, she licked her lips after he had pulled himself from her. He knelt down before her and kissed her. Reaching around her, he untied her stockings. Relief rushed through her sore arms.

“And now, the price, Miss Herwood.”

She cursed herself. The man had not forgotten. The hour was late, and she was tired. But her pride would not allow her to ask for leniency.

After buttoning the fall of his trousers, he lifted her and placed her among the numerous plush pillows underneath a blood red canopy with golden tassels and orange curtains. He lay beside her and fitted his hand between her thighs. His languid strokes felt pleasant, but she wondered that she had the wherewithal to go another round.

“Have you thought of Chateau Follet since your departure?” he asked.

Many, many times
.

“Often enough,” she replied.

“And what in particular does your memory fancy?”

She thought of all the times she had been with him. How could she pick a favorite among them? For days afterward, she had relived each one twice over.

“They were all of them an experience, to be sure,” she said. “Certainly the night with Lady Isabella and Lord Devon was beyond the pale.”

“In what manner?”

His fingers had an intoxicating effect, putting her at ease while strumming a luscious tension.

“It felt as if I were undergoing two simultaneous sources of titillations, mine own and theirs. I had never witnessed another pair before. It was most provocative. What Lord Devon did...”

She felt him stiffen. He rose. No doubt the mention of his rival did not sit well with him. She chastised her carelessness.

Rockwell returned with a small box and wide iron bar with two shackles on either end of it. She sat up at attention and watched as he locked her ankles into the outer shackles. The bar prevented her legs from closing. He pushed her onto her back and locked her wrists into the two inner shackles.

Oh my God
. Her cunnie was exposed in the most wanton fashion.

“Tell me more,” he said as he wound the strange little box.

Fixated on the strange instrument he held, her mind drew a blank.

“Does Lord Devon compel your ardor?”

“Hm?”

“Does he excite you?”

“What is that you hold?”

“A
Tremoussoir
.”

“A what?”

He sat down beside her and placed it at her cunnie. She squealed as the box vibrated against her. He allowed her a breath before replacing it upon her. She wanted to snap her legs shut but couldn’t. The sensation was jarring, and yet...