Perilous Risk (47 page)

She attempted to control her rising anticipation, her rising apprehension. But the warring emotions added fuel to her arousal all the same. She was so light-headed with excitement that she felt her body might float on the air if only she gave up her will to remain seated. A moan of impatience rose in her throat. She swallowed it down and pressed her mouth to his bare shoulder.

“I wouldn’t want to do that all of the time, only sometimes,” he said at length.

An increased sense of light-headedness swept over her. Oh, he was actually considering it. She clutched his body and lifted her mouth. “Yes, I agree. Only sometimes.”

“I like to make love to you. I like to master you through pleasure.”

“Pleasure and pain, they make an interesting dance, do they not?” she said breathily.

“I don’t know.”

“It lies within your grasp to find out. You have a willing…” That sense of giddy excitement increased, making her weak, making her need to cling to him tighter. She took a deep breath then continued, “A very willing partner.”

“I want this greatly. I don’t know how—I mean to say I could lose control over myself, my desires, afterwards… I might fuck the breath out of you.”

“Goodness, Stephen, I should certainly hope so.”

There was another long pause. She waited, all tingling pins and needles in her hands and feet.
Oh, please, please, please…
She inhaled deeply and tightened her grip on him, then became aware that she was digging her nails into his flesh. With a soft gasp, she released her hands.

He chuckled, hoarsely. “I don’t have any canes, Rebecca.”

She went completely weak, for she knew from the richness of his tone, that he had been won over to the idea. “But your experience... That is, as an expert,” she said, a thousand tiny butterflies seemed to flutter to life in her belly, even whilst tingling fear electrified the skin of her scalp and nape, “you must have—”

“I don’t carry implements of torture around with me all the time.”

“My uncle uses this cottage for his leisure time. Since he is unwed, I suspect he brings lovers here.”

“Doubtless he does, though I imagine he is careful. Discreet.”

“Yes, discreet, Uncle Frederick is the soul of discretion. Except that he left something in the chest in the cellar that was most indiscreet.”

“You’ve been prying around in his personal effects?”

“I was looking for extra quilts, the nights are getting colder.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes, they are. But I didn’t find any quilts.”

“What did you find?”

A giggle escaped her.

He caressed her breasts. “What did you find?”

“Oh my…” She tried to control the urge to giggle again. “I found a very curious collection of canes and a crop and well, oh my…”

“And you think your uncle—”

“Goodness, Stephen, do not say it aloud.”

“You want that we should go and raid his private cache of toys?”

“We could simply borrow one of them and then replace it, with no harm done.”

“All right, Rebecca.” The humour had left his voice. “But I am uncomfortable embarking on such a experience between us whilst I am so overly aroused. I should start something like that with a clearer head.”

Elation effervesced in her lower stomach like champagne bubbles. She couldn’t help wiggling against the hard, throbbing evidence of his desire. “I am yours to use as you will.”

The energy between them changed, so suddenly that she caught her breath. Excitement washed over her, making her so weak in the knees, so woozy that she could only cling to him.

He gave her a push out of his lap.

She slipped to the floor and watched him wrench the fastenings on his trousers loose.

He spread his legs apart and motioned for her to come to him.

She crawled to him on her knees.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

She complied.

He caressed her breasts, roughly this time. “Keep them there.”

With eyes lowered, she nodded, clasping her hands more tightly.

He continued fondling her, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples and driving her mad with sensation. “I love your breasts. I don’t think I shall ever get enough of them.”

She arched into his touch.

He cupped her jaw. “Open your mouth.”

She obeyed and he placed his erection in her mouth. He used her. Hungrily, utterly selfish, thrusting. Forcing her to swallow him. Her blood thrummed and she became giddy again with the excitement.

His cock shook with the force of his seed as it came roiling up the shaft, his hands gripped her head and he thrust his hips forward, as deep in her throat as she could bear. She rushed to swallow and swallow as gushes of come rushed out of him.

Excitement made her feel she would faint. She wished she could touch herself. She would have come immediately from a single brush of her fingers. She rested her cheek against his thigh and listened to his harsh, panting breaths.

“Come now, up off your knees,” he said, touching her shoulders.

She made to stand and found herself dragged across his lap. He stroked her buttocks. “You have a lovely arse, my dear.”

He lifted his hand then struck her, lightly, sending prickles of fire straight to her sex. He set up a steady, ever increasing slaps to her buttocks.

Relief flooded her. He might not be entirely comfortable with his emerging carnal tastes. But he
did
know exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t going to just launch into caning her arse and satisfying his needs.

Maybe next time she would pretend to be less willing and would let herself feel more afraid. Maybe sometime soon, they would play-act these parts, she would be a naughty schoolroom miss and he would be her strict guardian or some other such nonsense.

This time, however, she let herself go completely limp. She submitted herself wholly to whatever he would do. Gradually the slight sting became a burning sensation.

He stopped and lifted her into his arms and began walking to the bedchamber.

“No.”

He tensed. “No? You’ve changed your mind?”

“I didn’t say halt.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.”

A quiver of fear pinged in her heart and sent waves into her belly. But she drew a deep breath, gathering her bravery to ask for what she needed. “Take me to the cellar.”

“No, you can’t mean that—”

“I want to do it there. I want you to tie me with coarse ropes and cane me into submission. I want to replace those memories of being under Barnet’s control with new ones of being under yours. At your mercy.”

He froze, holding her closer. She couldn’t feel him breathing. He must be holding it in. As he’d held everything in for so long.

“Please, Stephen, understand this. Give me this.”

He let go of his breath. “All right. But you must tell me the moment you wish to stop. I will, you know that, correct?”

“Yes, I trust you completely.”

He turned and carried her towards the cellar.

Stephen lowered Rebecca from his arms until her bare feet touched the cold wooden cellar floor. At the dimly lit space and the faint scent of damp, panic lurched through her. She took a deep breath and steadied her rising emotions, then she pointed to a chest that was against the fall wall. “There,” she said.

Stephen went to the chest and opened it then he brought a coil of coarse rope and a rattan cane back with him.

She let the rush of fear and excitement wash over her. Her heart’s beat ran away and her mouth became dry. Flutters erupted deep in her belly, wild, frantic, beating.

As Stephen leant over her, his face was all in shadow, as it had been that day in the carriage after he’d had his men abduct her. His breath blew against her neck, hot and heavy, as he pulled her arms in front of her. She felt the coarseness of the rope against her flesh as he bound her.

She stared down at her hands and tugged against the bindings and let herself feel her powerlessness. Then she swallowed against an increasingly dry throat, against the lump there that was growing ever more larger. She glanced at his face but it was still cast in shadow and he was focused on the lower half of her body now.

He grasped the back of her underskirt and gave it a good tug. The delicate muslin tore down the centre. He gave another, firmer tug and tore the garment from her. Leaving her stripped bare. Vulnerable. Completely without defences to his gaze. His desires. His will.

He took her by the shoulders and spun her so that she faced a large and ancient dresser. It was made of heavy, dark walnut but coated in a thick layer of dust. A cracked mirror with an ornate walnut frame was attached to it.

“Wait here,” he ordered.

She watched in dismay as he walked away, his boot falls echoing as he searched the cellar. She knew he’d be right back but still it was hard not to let fear rush away with her. There in the dark, bound and naked, she couldn’t help listening for rats…

No, this was not some abandoned cellar. Uncle Frederick kept cats.

Stephen returned quickly. She could see him in the cracked mirror. He held a heavy quilt and spread it over the dresser. He bent her down until her arms were resting on the quilt. She glanced at the rose and blue patchwork pieces, at the worn spots here and there where the stuffing exploded from the cloth. Her feet were cold, so cold now on the packed earthen floor. It added a measure of realism to the moment. Made it easy for her to slip back into her role of frightened prisoner.

The dry-mouthed, heart-lodged-in-her-throat sense of apprehension returned. She looked at him in the cracked mirror. The haze of dust gave his image a feeling of being part of a dream or of gazing at him through a mist.

“Lower your eyes.”

She lowered her eyes but still peeked at his reflection though her lashes. Still admired his whipcord lean, muscular body. Watched his large, long-fingered hands as he picked up the cane and examined it.

He came to her and placed his hand on her neck and pressed her down a little further. She could no longer sneak a look at him in the cracked mirror. He stroked his hand over her buttocks then he laid his palm down. He struck her many times, bringing new heat to her already humming flesh.

He stopped.

She caught her breath. Oh, very soon now. She began to wonder if she ought to call this game off, growing fretful as she always did in these last moments. Oh, it was going to hurt. Hurt terribly bad! Why had she asked for the cane? She’d been caned only a handful of times and each time, the pain had been— Why had she asked for this? Well, she hadn’t been sure a sound cropping would have made her cry. He wanted her tears and she would give them to him.

Oh, but she was so helpless now. So deliciously helpless. Wetness flowed in an unstoppable gush between her legs. Her cunny clenched, hard, over and over. The waiting always did that to her. Made her mouth dry and her sex wetter than ever. Quivers of fear kept pulsing in her belly. She took quick, shallow breaths, her hands and feet tingled mightily.

The rush of emotions made her giddier than ever. She was a mass of feeling. A mass of conflicting drives. God, she loved that rush. Loved it enough to bear—

The cane made a rushing sound. She caught her breath and bit her lip and clenched her buttocks. The cane made contact with her flesh, creating an instant sting. She cried out and then remembered to relax herself before the next stroke. She wasn’t some green girl, after all.

“Count for me,” he said.

Despite her current emotional state, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Earlier, when she had whispered her desires into his ear, she had asked him to make her count. He had maybe almost forgotten?

“One,” she said.

“I can’t quite hear you, love.”

“One!” she said louder.

He struck her again.

“Two!”

Again and again he struck her, until she’d counted off six more strokes and her bottom stung as though someone had poured whisky on it and lit it afire.

She wanted to cry and plead for him to stop but didn’t, for she feared that this first time he really would stop even though she hadn’t said halt. So, she bit her lip and bent closer into the dresser, seeking the softness of the quilt as though that could provide some comfort.

Two more strokes. She could handle two more, surely—

The next stroke came, and it burned with unbearable pain. She couldn’t help crying out. Her eyes welled with tears, hot and in a gushing torrent she couldn’t hold back.

“I didn’t hear that last count,” he said. “Shall I repeat the stroke?”

Oh, goodness, no!

“N-nine!” she called out, hearing the breathless huskiness in her voice.

He struck her again.

“Ten.” She forced the word out before sobbing overtook her and her body collapsed against the dresser. Damn. It had been a long time since she’d received a thorough caning. She’d forgotten the intensity.