LORD DECADENT'S OBSESSION (7 page)

those who needed to give themselves over only to discover how truly strong they were.

Serenity Damrill had been in the latter category, and he had come to admire her. He

feared Desiree was in both but saw great potential in her strength, once she learned to

use that strength to her advantage. Being as headstrong as she was, he would have to

break her of her impulsiveness and show her of what she was truly capable.

* * * * *

Desiree sniffled, using her gloved hand to wipe an errant tear. "I am sorry, sir."

She tried to sound as sincere as she felt. He had shamed her, and the remorse she felt

was profound. He had to be convinced of her sincerity, her willingness, or all would be

for naught.

"We will start over, Mrs. Huntington, but only with the understanding that I am

in charge."

"Yes, I would like that," she said, and meant every word. In the darkest hours

since their last meeting, she'd realized she wished to be spanked by Prentice Hyde more

than she wanted anything, including the revenge she was so desperate to exact. Oh, she

would have that too. Inasmuch as he thought he was in control, she knew it was she

who held the winning cards. He'd give her nothing she didn't want, and she would take

all he gave, including his heart. In the end, she'd destroy him, and he would be more

than willing to help her do it.

Prentice began to dislodge the tiny buttons at the back of Desiree's dress. She

stood still, but her stomach tensed and her heart began beating a rapid tattoo. He

brushed over the skin he'd bared, sending sparks down her spine. She closed her eyes.

She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, ragged and warm. He seemed as

affected by the moment as she was.

Neither spoke a word until her dress fell from her shoulders. With a low rumble,

he began to tell her what he expected to do to her.

"I will punish you for your impertinence, leaving you with a reminder of who is

your
master
."

She shivered at his words, her quim pulsing, her arse anxious for the first lash.

He unlaced and removed her stays, then he cupped her bottom through the gossamerthin white chemise. Soon it, too, was gone, baring her but for her stockings and shoes.

"Bend over the high arm of the chaise. I want that ass high." Though masterful,

his voice still held a note of kindness.

She found herself walking on legs of jelly. She reached the red velvet chaise and

admired the beauty of it. She draped herself over the padded arm while Prentice chose

two implements with which to administer her spanking. He showed her the paddle she

had liked so well, and then the leather strap.

"Have you ever been spanked with a strap before, Mrs. Huntington?"

"When I was a child."

"Fine, I will warm your bottom with my hand, then use the strap, and finish with

the paddle. Does that meet with your approval?"

"Oh, yes, sir. Please."

"Very well, spread your legs wide for me."

Desiree did as he instructed. He stepped to her side, securing one arm over her

waist. He rubbed her bare bottom with the other hand before he spanked one cheek

with a flick of his wrist. She lost her footing.

"Stay on your feet." His voice was stern.

Ten swats with his hand, five administered to each cheek, gave her bottom a rosy

glow. She'd come to love the sound of his hand slapping her bare bottom, and he was

making sure this spanking really stung. It'd burn later and be difficult to sit.

He retrieved the strap, slapping it against his leg. Desiree quivered with

anticipation.

Prentice's fingers dipped into her folds. "You are wet, Mrs. Huntington."

Of course she was wet. She wanted this as much as she wanted his sexual

attention.

The strap struck.
Oh, God . . . that's going to leave a mark
. She expelled a breath she

hadn't realized she'd held. She absorbed the sting and anticipated the next strike. When

it didn't come soon enough, she said, "More."

She knew to expect her five swats with the strap and five with the paddle. The

paddle hurt, especially on top of what she'd already taken, but she loved every

sensation. Each hit made her eyes water, her throat dry from sucking in gulps of air.

There was a point where her body switched from feeling the pain to anticipating the

pleasure. Her mind drifted to thoughts of storing this experience for safekeeping. She'd

lock it away in that blissful place, deep within, because one day, the memory of this

would be all she'd have.

She was jarred back to the present, when he stopped. It had ended all too soon.

When he finished, he again dipped into her folds. She thrust back against his

touch. "Please, sir."

"What do you want, Mrs. Huntington?"

"I want you."

"You want me to do what."

"I want you inside me."

Chapter Seven

The woman bent over before him was attractive, and she could take a spanking,

though he'd held back during this session. She was willing, as well, a decided plus in

her favor. Fucking her wasn't a chore, though it held no particular fascination for him

either. A quim was a quim, eager or not.

As he began to undulate within her, his mind drifted to another woman, as it so

often did. Desiree's soft, responsive moans began to sound like Abigail's. She'd love it

when he took her like this. His admitted ass-obsession had fueled her wantonness,

making their lovemaking wild and more satisfying than any in his vast experience.

Abigail had loved being spanked and taken anally. She'd encouraged his obsession,

reveled in it. Prentice closed his eyes and allowed his mind to take him to another time,

inside another woman. He forgot himself. He grabbed Desiree's reddened cheeks,

squeezing hard as this thrusts became stronger. As a low rumble at first, her name rose

in his throat. "Abby." He said the word over and over again, until, without thought as to

the sensibilities of the woman he was fucking, he pumped his body against hers,

shouting, "Abby! Abby!"

He finished with a crescendo, his dead wife's name echoing in the room.

Breathless and spent, Prentice remained still, with his eyes closed. He knew. Yes, he

knew where he was, but he wanted the pretense to remain a moment longer, before

reality once again crushed the world he had inhabited for those few moments.

Desiree stirred beneath him. He opened his eyes and sadness enveloped him as

he saw the blond hair of his current partner. Abigail's hair had been brown, kept

shining with his nightly brushings.

He pulled away from Desiree and began buttoning the fall of his trousers.

"What's wrong?"

Prentice knew he was acting like an ass, and chose not to correct his behavior. He

turned his back, separating himself from her.

"Leave."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Get out!"

Desiree retrieved her clothing, dressed hastily and left the room. Prentice secured

the lock, then stood with his back to the door for long minutes, tears streaking his face.

After Abigail's death, he'd barely allowed a heartbeat between mourning and

fucking someone new. He was a carnal person. Abstinence was simply not an option.

Tonight had been different. Desiree was different and that difference frightened him.

But sexual games, and mutual satiation was the extent to which he was willing to go,

and she gave no indication that she felt any differently about their arrangement than he

did.

He'd rarely been overcome with emotion while with a woman, but tonight had

unmanned him. In that moment, he made his decision. He would end his arrangement

with Mrs. Huntington.

* * * * *

Desiree's thoughts raced as she made her way to the carriage. As the sound of

horse's hooves rhythmically hit the packed dirt road, she ruminated about what had

just happened. Prentice Hyde was an enigma. He'd insisted she leave, which she'd done

without discussion. Now, she wished she had spoken to him because there was

something quite wrong. Who was Abby?

He'd not acted as she remembered—carefree and careless. He'd had such appeal

with his quick smile, and his sparkling topaz eyes always twinkled with some mischief

or other. Now, those eyes were almost dead but for the infrequent moment when she

could tell he was enjoying himself.

She suddenly had a sense of foreboding wash over her. A stab of conscience—

something she didn't want to feel—warning of the devastation that could become her

own
life if she pursued the course she was on. She wanted to take from him, not give;

yet, she felt badly for the pain he was so obviously feeling.

Her bottom smarted as the carriage hit a hole in the road, reminding her of the

time she had just spent with the handsome marquess. Women all over London

clamored to garner his attention, but she had simply walked in and offered her buttocks

up to his paddle. She chuckled as she envisioned a conversation that might occur

between Prentice and one of the simpering lovelies who'd set her sights on the
Marquess

of Wycroft
.

"It is very nice to meet you, Miss Vapid. I understand this is your first season."

"Oh, yes, Lord Wycroft, it certainly is, and I intend to snare you in the parson's noose

before the last ball."

"Do you now? Well, my dear, there are certain criteria by which I will choose a wife."

"Well, I am sure I could fill all your needs, my lord."

"Let me see if that is so, fair lady."

"I've no fear, sir. I have been raised to expect and appreciate a man's needs."

"Come with me, then, so we might continue this conversation with a degree of privacy."

He would lead her to an unused room in the ball-giver's home, one no doubt

supplied with a sofa. They would settle comfortably, and only then would Prentice

Hyde become the real man, and drop the façade the world usually saw.

"I want you to lie across my lap, my dear, with your skirts raised, please."

"Oh, sir, I am afraid I cannot do that. I am a proper young lady."

"I realize that, darling, but if we are to be married, I must know, in advance, if you can

fulfill the requirements I have in a wife."

"What could they be that I must lie across you lap with my skirts raised?"

"Why, I am going to give your ass a spanking, dear, and will do so often throughout our

marriage. Then, I will fuck you insensible, in any fashion I wish. Your compliance is required,

not merely suggested. Now, lie down, dear, and let me see how deeply you wish to pursue this

relationship."

Desiree laughed nervously, imagining the young woman running screaming

from the room, from the madman who wished to possess not only her body but her

will. If only he'd shown his true self all those years ago. If only she'd run away from

him. If only . . . .

Lord Wycroft was jaded in his tastes and would settle for nothing less than what

Desiree herself had already given him. She would give him more, should he ask, but

she questioned now whether she would ever hear from him again. Something had

upset him. Had she inadvertently done something wrong? If that were the case, she felt

confident she would never hear from him again, as he'd already given her a second

chance.

The carriage slowed in front of her Doughty Street home. When the bewigged,

liveried driver opened the door, she felt a sense of loss. Almost certainly, her plans for

revenge had been thwarted, but for this moment, something else held more importance.

Lord Wycroft was in pain, and there was no one who understood that better than

Desiree herself.

* * * * *

Prentice awoke in a frightful disposition. He needed to grasp the reality of his life

and not continue to mourn for a woman whom he had loved and lost. Therein lies the

rub, he thought as he tried to accept the painful truth. He'd never allowed himself to

love before Abigail. When he finally did, he'd left himself vulnerable to the pain that all

too often accompanies the glory of finding the person one is sure was made just for

them. Such was the case with Abigail.

He'd thought himself the luckiest of men when he'd plied his suit and she'd

accepted him. Abigail had begged him to spank her on their wedding night, though he

had thought to delay in favor of a softer, more romantic initiation into the marriage bed.

Taking her maidenhead, he had thought, was enough pain for one night, but Abigail

wouldn't hear of anything else. After that, she pled with him almost nightly to paddle

or strap her, followed by a mating that nearly tore the house down.

It had not surprised him when she got with child within two months of their

wedding. He had wanted to cease the spankings when they became sure, but she'd

insisted. He'd always been careful, and never forceful, and she had inevitably rewarded

him with sex that he was sometimes sure he could still feel upon his skin.

Prentice shook his head, hoping to release the cobwebs and the ghosts. Lucien

had told him any number of times to let Abigail rest in peace.
"Tormenting yourself will

only serve to destroy you, old boy. Remember her with fondness, and move on."
Prentice had