LORD DECADENT'S OBSESSION (14 page)

anything else we do. Do you promise me you will if you feel the need?"

"Yes, I promise."Desiree's body thrummed. She suspected what he had in mind

and prayed she was correct.

Prentice knelt between her spread legs and applied oil to her anus with a cold

finger. She thought it odd that the sensation should be so pleasurable.

"Try to relax."

She nearly came apart with anticipation. Heretofore, she'd only had her French

phallus with which to experiment, and she had done so as often as possible.

Prentice slipped a finger into her, and though it was delicious, the feeling was

nowhere near what she wanted.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, but I want more."

"More it is." He removed his finger and replaced it with two.

The feeling was so vastly different, stretching, resistance. She felt full, but still

wanted more. She willed herself to relax into the burn. Prentice moved his fingers

inside her, stretching the tight muscles, creating a slow arousal. She was afraid the

ecstasy of it would send her into an orgasm. She didn't want this heavenly experience to

end.

"Do you like this?"

"Oh, yes." She pushed back against his hand. "I want more."

"Are you sure, sweeting?"

"More, please." She focused on the burn and the ultimate pleasure. "I want you."

She felt the bed move and heard the rustle of fabric, making her think he was

removing his clothes. She didn't move a muscle, fearful he would interpret any

movement as discomfort on her part. For years, she had dreamed of being taken this

way, but never had the courage to seek it out. Now, it was being given as a gift. She was

in rapture.

The bed dipped under his weight. Again, she felt his cool hands as he applied oil

to her anus and his cock. He knelt behind her, spreading her legs wide with his own.

With as mellow a voice as she had ever heard him use, he said, "Relax now. I will

try not to hurt you."

"I want you." The tears of a realized desire flowed freely, streaking her cheeks

and seeping into the counterpane.

She could feel him at her entrance, teasing the tight opening. Her heart pounded,

her breath self-restricted. Her fingers, once splayed, now were fisted, the bed linens

bunched in her palms. The anticipation of what was to come had a powerful command

over her.

When he slipped the head of his cock just inside, it burned like fire, stretching

her beyond her perceived capacity, but soon, as her muscles relaxed, it began to feel

better than anything she'd ever experienced. More intense, all consuming.

He stopped his progression, which allowed her to absorb the pain.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Desiree nodded, afraid to speak lest he sense her tears. She sucked deep breaths

in, then blew them out completely.

Deeming him too careful, she began to push back, gently at first, then with more

zeal as her muscles relaxed, accepting the substantial invasion. She rocked on her knees,

taking him in, inch by precious inch, until she felt wiry hair abrading her tortured

bottom. She'd taken him in fully. She was in the boughs.

Chapter Fourteen

"Are you all right?" he asked again, once he was fully surrounded by her.

"I have never been more so."

Her voice was sweetness itself. Her anal muscles were pulsing, kneading his

cock, causing him to exert more control than he thought he possessed. He concentrated

on the constricting warmth as he waited for her muscles to relax. It was a sweet agony,

and he wanted desperately to move, but would only do so by her leave. Then he felt a

slight rocking, accompanied by sensual moans, punctuated with several phrases that all

seemed to end in, "Fuck me."

His own little naughty minx. "You like this." A statement, not a question.

"I love this, more please. Harder. Make me feel you inside me."

He leaned forward and kissed her back. He placed his elbows on the pillows, and

enveloped her in his embrace as he began a gentle glide out then in again, his schooled

hips establishing a rhythm as old as time.

"More, Prentice. I need more."

With a force he hadn't wanted to employ, he gave a sharp jerk of his hips and

hilted himself. He stilled to listen for her reaction.

She grunted. She moaned. And then gasped out, "Let me feel more."

He did, his thrusts accompanied by grunts of his own. Sweat streamed down his

face, on his chest and back, the exertion heating his body as much as his lust.

Her back glistened with her own efforts; her moans became mewling, then

keening. He thrust his hips as though it were her quim he was fucking. God, she felt so

good. The velvety softness of this forbidden place was so tight, yet seemed made for his

cock. Her heat seared him as she accepted his rhythm, working with him to bring them

both to the place they so desperately wished to be. She whispered his name, over and

over again, spurring him on.

He dropped a hand to her clitoris, taking it between two fingers and rubbing

until he felt her body tighten, his cock the beneficiary of the climax she was

experiencing. Her legs scissored, only kept open by his own; her back arched, and he

had to shift his position to stay with her.

He wanted her to feel him fucking her as she exploded in her release. He

slammed into her, pulled almost free and thrust hard again.

"Prentice, oh, my God!"

He had no idea if he'd hurt her and couldn't stop to find out. He exploded, his

seed pouring into her as his body demanded surcease. He strained, feeling the blood

throbbing against his forehead. He hammered against her ass, seeking more, deeper,

tighter. As the last pulses left him, he expelled a resonating groan. It had been a climax

he'd remember.

Shaken, exhausted and sated, he dragged her off the pillows and rolled with her

so they lay on their sides. He was still embedded deeply within her, his cock still

partially hard. He didn't want to separate from her, somehow believing this would be

proven a dream. In a sense, it was a dream, but so much more. She'd accepted, as well

as encouraged the act, reveling in it and in him.

When sanity and breath returned, he asked, "Are you well, sweetheart?"

"Quite." Her voice was shaky, her eyes closed.

"Look at me." He demanded her attention.

When she didn't obey at once, he uncoupled and turned her over to face him. She

was in tears, and from the wet mark on the counterpane, he surmised she'd been crying

for some time.

"What is it? Have I injured you?"

A sob tore from her throat. "I am not hurt. It is just that you have fulfilled a

dream for me, one I never foresaw coming true."

"What dream?" His mind searched through all they had done. Incredulity

forbade him presuming she meant what he had just so powerfully experienced.

"There are things you don't know about me, Prentice, that I've never told

anyone."

"What things? You must tell me. Trust me."

She sniffled, hiccupped a bit, the tears flowing abated. "I do trust you, else I

would have never come here with you."

He waited and allowed her to catch her breath.

"I came to you because I wanted to be spanked. Now you have given me

something I had never dared imagine."

Prentice managed to hold himself together, when all he wanted to do was assure

her that it was she who had given him the greater gift. "You've thought about . . . ?"

She nodded and raised her hand to touch his face. "For some time now, but as for

spanking, well, I've wanted to be spanked since I was a girl, I looked forward to it,

sometimes provoking my father's temper. I received some fairly satisfying thrashings,

without anyone ever realizing I was enjoying them. It's been far more difficult since I've

been grown. How does one tell their old, staid husband, 'Darling, won't you take your

riding crop and whip me with it, please'?" She affected a voice that made him laugh

uncontrollably. She then became caught up in the humor, and together, they rolled

about the bed until they were exhausted.

"That is priceless, my dear. I must say, I always wondered what motivates

someone to come to the club and seek out the things they do. Serenity and I have

spoken several times about her motivations, which always seemed rather straight

forward. She'd had a lover who'd introduced her to the pleasures and pain of spanking.

She found she not only enjoyed it but needed it."

"I understand that. I have come to need it as well."

"But the sex, Desiree, how could you know about such things?"

"Remember my father's drawings?"

"Ah, yes. Quite an education for a young girl, eh?"

"I suppose, but until now, I had no way to imagine how wonderfully satisfying

such an act could be." Her sweet smile, flushed face and watery eyes melted the rough

edges he so proudly displayed.

Though reluctant to leave her, even to walk to the washstand, he did just that,

cleaning himself then obtaining a clean cloth, wetting it and bringing it back to her. He

gently washed her bottom, careful not to touch her inflamed anus. With a careless

gesture, he tossed the wet cloth in the direction of the washstand and climbed back onto

the bed.

He hugged her, trying not to squeeze her too tightly. Before he knew it, he was

hard as stone and at her entrance, pushing himself into her. She brought her legs about

his waist. As they looked into each other's eyes, he made love to her, deeply,

deliberately, sensuously. There was no frenzied movements, no desperate need to reach

the pinnacle, just slow, punctuated thrusts, driving home the importance of this single

act. For him, it was a declaration, a confession. In a short time, after he worked out the

details, he was intent on making Desiree Huntington his own. For him, she was

becoming his home.

* * * * *

Despite Desiree's pleas, Prentice needed to return to London with alacrity. By

this time, his mother would be frantic, if not ready to call out the Runners. He knew

Byrd would sooner be castrated than divulge his whereabouts, but it was time to let the

man off the proverbial hook.

They reluctantly left the folly, returned to the manor house, from where they

would depart by early afternoon.

Desiree moped, even pouted, but to no avail. Prentice remained resolute, and she

could do naught but comply with his wishes.

* * * * *

It was in the wee hours of the morning when the carriage pulled onto Doughty

Street. For Desiree, too much of the real world came crashing back at once. Gripped by

despair and dread, she foresaw her life changing yet again, plunging her into the abyss

that was her future. She hated to leave Prentice but knew that if she didn't do it now,

she never would.

She had many wonderful memories to comfort her on those nights when she had

only her phallus for company. She would always picture his face and imagine the next

decadent thing he had planned for her. However, she had every indication that his

feelings for her were engaged and now was the time to strike. He mustn't ever have the

opportunity to hurt her so profoundly again. It was time to forge ahead with her plan,

and if she suffered a momentary loss, so be it.

Just before they'd left the manor house, she'd asked him to spank her. He, of

course, had no idea it was for the last time, but had complied when she'd asked him to

make it memorable. He'd not employed the strap but instead used his hand, which he

said was appropriately intimate. She'd silently cried for hours as she thought the same

thing.

When the carriage stopped in front of her house, Prentice jumped out and lifted

her down. He walked her to the door as the coachman brought her bags, turning them

over to Ferguson, her sleepy butler.

They stood outside, as she was reluctant to invite him into her home, lest she beg

him to stay. He kissed her hand, asked her to come to the club on the morrow, then left.

They had made love several times in the carriage during the long journey from

Cambridge and kissed until her lips were raw. Those memories would be enough to

hold her through the long years ahead. They would have to be.

She stood outside until his carriage turned onto Oxford Street, and drove out of

sight. She whipped through the front door and made a mad dash up the stairs, directly

to her bedchamber. The room was cold and dark, which suited her abysmal disposition.

She wanted nothing more than to lie across her bed, where she could alternately cry

and ruminate on the idyll she'd spent with the Marquess of Wycroft. He was in love

with her, something she knew as surely as she knew her own name. Now, it was time to

break his heart, as hers had been broken so many years before, and if she was honest,

was breaking now.

* * * * *

Lucien and Prentice were enjoying a late breakfast when Hampton scratched at

the door and entered. "A missive for Lord Wycroft," he announced, as he presented the

silver salver. Prentice took the ivory foolscap, nodded to Hampton, and cracked the

wax seal. He drew his eyes to the signature and saw it was signed by Desiree. His

heartbeat increased significantly.

Dear Lord Wycroft,

I wish to thank you for the wonderful days we spent together and all you have taught me.