THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE (5 page)

As he reached his cabin, his mind still swirling, he paused, looking down the corridor towards her door, and unexpectedly imagined her sitting on her bed reading his wicked words.

I would love to take you to my club. You’d charm everyone, I’d be so proud to have you on my arm, and what am I saying? Why am I thinking such things? We just met.

Shaking his head he entered his cabin, and settling on his couch he opened his computer to read the last paragraph of the chapter he’d left unfinished.

His fingers tickled her inner thigh, then slapped down…hard. She winced, uttering an exclamation of pain, and the shackles holding her wrists to the wrought iron headboard clinked as her arms jerked. He cupped her cunt in a tender gesture, holding his palm against her as he repeated the exercise on her opposite thigh; a tickle then a slap.

“Sir,” she gasped, “please, Sir.”

“Please, what?” he frowned.

“It stings,” she bleated.

Ignoring her complaint he slid a finger into her depths, finding her lustily wet.

“It may sting, but if it didn’t you’d be disappointed. A hard slap is far more satisfying than one that is too soft. Tell me that isn’t true,” he demanded.

“It’s true,” she whispered, “but it’s a love-hate thing.”

“If you’re a good girl the reward will be worth the hate part,” he reminded her, “and it’s not really a hate thing, is it?”

“No, not really hate,” she sighed.

He began to pump with his finger, then tickled and slapped again; she wriggled in response, her inner thighs tightening.

Duncan sat back and read what he’d just written, and the image of Brittany spread on his bed, her wrists and ankles firmly secured leaving her completely vulnerable to him, danced in his mind’s eye.

I wonder if you’ve ever been in such a position. I wonder if you’ve ever had your thighs slapped and tickled.

Standing up he thrust his hands in his pockets and moved to the deck to stare out at the infinite ocean.

I wonder if you’d be open to a some no-strings fun. Have you ever been subject to the desires of a true disciplinarian? A man who is as strict as he is passionate?

On her bed, Brittany’s fingers were lingering between her legs. She was mesmerized by Educating Emily, finding Duncan’s prose completely engrossing. Emily had the facade of a very proper young woman, though she secretly harbored dark thoughts of sexual slavery.

She’s like me. I have all these crazy fantasies, and everyone thinks I’m this really nice, normal girl.

Brittany continued to read, her fingers hurrying across her clit, her orgasm building.

Emily’s eyes grew large at the sight of the riding crop. It looked fearsome and she knew it would carry a frightful sting. Her Master had warned her, he had been very clear, but she had willfully disobeyed him.

“If you don’t do exactly, and I mean exactly, as I instruct, I will mark your bottom with my crop.”

His words rang in her ear as he approached. She had wanted to test him, to see if his resolve was as strong as he claimed, and much to her chagrin, she was finding out it was.

“Turn around and place your elbows on my desk,” he growled.

A shiver danced down her spine as she turned and bent forward. Her hands touched the cool wood, and as she lowered her forearms she frowned in regret.

Foolish, you were foolish to have been so blatantly disobedient.

Dressed in a corset and stockings her bottom was already bare, and it was just seconds later that she felt the riding crop slide menacingly across her cheeks.

Brittany rubbed furiously, the image of the pretty girl in such a perilous situation sending her orgasmic bubble into overdrive. Her moment was upon her, but with a great effort she pulled her fingers away, eager to read more.

Emily knew the crop would bite, but when the first stroke landed she wasn’t prepared for the fiery kiss it carried.

“OOOWWW, SIR,” she wailed.

“I warned you,” the Master barked, “perhaps next time you will listen.”

“I WILL,” she howled as the next strike landed.

The few graphic sentences were all Brittany needed, and throwing the book aside she dropped her hand against her hungry sex and rubbed herself to the glorious finish. The climax rattled down her spine and sent sparks though her limbs, and as she breathlessly sank into the tingling afterglow she saw Duncan’s handsome face.

I want this so bad…dammit, Duncan, I want you to do those things to me.

Drifting into the after-nap, she let herself pretend he was next to her, his warm body curled next to hers. It was comforting, and when she finally lifted her eyes she decided to read to the finish of the chapter then head out for a drink, but at the end of the chapter she started the next, and she found herself unable to tear herself away, turning page after page, following the salacious story of Emily, and the man who had brought her into his dark, sensuous world, Master Jonas.

She had ready many spanking romance novels, but none had enveloped her as Duncan’s account of the good girl finding the courage to give in to her licentious self. Surrendering to her Master, Emily willingly subjected herself to his discipline, finding it brought her both serenity and a newfound confidence.

Several hours later, bleary eyed and yawning, Brittany finally turned the last page, and dropped the book on the nightstand. Switching out the light she closed her eyes, picturing the closing paragraphs.

Master Jonas had started with Emily over his knee, spanking her with a slipper, then tied her over an ottoman in front of him, idly playing with every part of her while he watched his favorite television show.

Emily’s soft moans had guided him, and he had led her to the brink of her climax countless times. When his show finally ended he dropped on his knees and rode her to her release.

Brittany had been captivated as she had read the entire scenario, but there had been many tantalizing scenes, and they began to echo through the chambers of her mind.

I want to be over Jonas’s knee. I want to be tied over a chair, I want to walk through a room of people wearing no bra, my nipples pushing against my T-shirt. Duncan, have you made women do all those things? Are you like Master Jonas, are you strict, do you discipline immediately? Do you carry a small paddle in your pocket?

Sighing heavily, she busied her fingers against herself, spurring a quick, sparkling orgasm before falling into a deep sleep, dreams of Duncan, spreader bars and handcuffs, swirling around her head.

T
he following morning Duncan opened his door to the gentle knock of his steward arriving with breakfast. The chance meeting with Brittany had inspired him to finish writing the last chapters of his new book, and he’d worked into the early hours of the morning, completing the novel with a flourish. Waking with the familiar sense of satisfaction and relief had brought a smile to his face, and rather than his usual granola and tea, he’d ordered a celebratory breakfast of eggs, bacon, roasted potatoes, toast and a carafe of coffee.

“That’s enough food for a breakfast party,” Duncan grinned as Joe rolled in the cart and began to lay the dining table.

“Yes, you must be hungry,” the steward smiled, “or expecting company. I’ve included an extra place setting just in case.”

It was an innocent remark, but one that immediately gave birth to an idea.

Huh, why not? Since I have Brittany to thank for inspiring my burst of writing last night, I should invite her.

“Will that be all? Do you have any laundry you’d like me to take, or is there anything else I can do for you this morning?” Joe asked, removing the lid from the glass jar of fresh squeezed orange juice.

“Nope, thanks Joe, I think this is just perfect.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Joe said, with a slight nod of his head. “I wish you a wonderful day.”

Duncan watched the steward leave, then walked purposely to the phone and dialed Brittany’s cabin number, suddenly feeling an unexpected flutter of happy anticipation.

Strange. I haven’t felt that for years, not since Natalie.

A slight crease crossed his brow as the memory touched him, but the cheery voice on the other end of the phone brought a smile back to his face.

“Hello?”

Brittany sounded surprised, and Duncan briefly wondered if it was rare for her phone to ring. Had she not caught the eye of the single men on board the ship? The notion surprised him.

“Brittany, it’s Duncan Rhys-Davies,” he announced, immediately thinking his voice sounded too formal.

“Duncan?” Brittany repeated, then hastily added, “good morning.”

“If you haven’t already eaten breakfast, I have quite a feast here,” Duncan declared. “I completed my latest book last night, several days ahead of schedule, had a kind of writing binge. Only the first draft of course but I’m celebrating. Would you care to join me?”

“I, uh, yes, that would be great, I’d love it, thank you,” she replied.

“Stop by whenever you’re ready, though it would be best to eat while the food is still hot.”

“I’m on my way,” she said.

“Excellent, I’ll see you shortly.”

Hanging up the receiver he pondered the sound of Brittany’s voice, thinking he’d detected a slight quiver.

Hmmm, do I intimidate her, or is she excited about coming here? Perhaps it’s both.

Grinning happily, he wandered into his bathroom to wash his hands, splash on some cologne, and check his appearance.

In her cabin Brittany was racing to dress and throw on some makeup. After her marathon reading session she’d slept late, and the phone had rung just as she’d been wondering what to do for breakfast. The sound of Duncan’s voice had sent her butterflies to life and her pulse to race, and when he invited her join him for the his morning meal, a shiver of delight had made her break into a broad smile.

Staring at her closet of clothes, she decided on the sun dress she’d been wearing when she’d first laid eyes on him, thinking it was just right to impress the debonaire British writer. Running a brush through her hair, and adding some pink lip gloss, she took a deep breath and headed out the door.

I can’t believe he called me. Should I flirt with him? Should I hold back? Good grief, I don’t know how to act.

Be natural, be who you are. He obviously likes you.

Standing outside his door she suddenly wished she’d chosen a different outfit, then didn’t, then shaking off her insecurity she knocked.

“It’s unlocked, come on in,” he called.

Pushing down the handle she walked in to find him standing at the cabin’s compact bar, pouring some champagne into a tall flute that was already half-filled with orange juice.

“Would you care for a Mimosa?” he smiled. “I thought it would be the perfect drink to celebrate with our breakfast.”

“Yes, I would, definitely,” she replied,
that will be just the thing to calm me down.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, pointing to the dining table by the window. “I was going to have the table placed on the deck, but I thought it might be a bit windy. Seems the weather is kicking up a bit today.”

“Thank you,” she replied, walking across to sit down. “I noticed that too. I poked my head out a few minutes ago and it was blustery.”

“I do hope we’re not in for a storm,” he frowned. “It’s most unlikely this time of year, but a squall can whip up at unexpected times.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been on a cruise, never been anywhere much,” she admitted, then wished she hadn’t.
Shoot, I’ll bet you like worldly women, women who have traveled.

“I was on a cruise last year and it was clear skies and smooth waters for the entire trip,” he said, walking to the table carrying their drinks, “but from what I understand, the year before they did meet with some rough seas at one point. Of course it wasn’t here, not this route, but my point is that squalls can happen any time.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” she frowned. “I’m not sure how I’d cope with big waves and the ship lurching.”

“The ship’s doctor can give you something if you get a bit queasy, but enough of that,” he declared, placing the champagne drink in front of her and sitting down opposite her. “You’re here to help me celebrate.”

“How exciting it must to write a book. Congratulations,” she beamed, lifting her glass.

“Thank you,” he smiled, clinking it with his.

Sipping the fizzy drink she felt the bubbles settle on her tongue, and quietly, but happily sighed. He was so handsome and charming, and the drink was delicious.

“Champagne and fresh squeezed orange juice, it doesn’t get much better than that,” she declared. “I’m so honored that you want to share this with me.”

“Please, eat before it gets cold,” he insisted, “and I’m honored that you accepted. I am curious though, did you have an opportunity to read any of Educating Emily?”

Brittany hadn’t expected the question so soon, and feeling a hot blush move across her face she kept her eyes on the table, spooning some scrambled eggs and roasted potatoes on to her plate.

“Uh, yes, quite a few chapters,” she said softly, wishing she could tell him the truth; that she had made it to the last page, and that it was the most tantalizing and sexiest thing she’d ever read in her life. “You’re such a good writer,” she added, “the way you, uh, describe things.”
Heavens, did I just say that?

“That’s very kind of you, I’m glad you think so. I wonder what the chef put in these eggs to make them so delicious.”

“Yes, they’re excellent,” she replied.
Eggs? How can you talk about eggs when I’m dying over here?
“What’s your new book about? Is it the same, uh, subject matter?”
Oh, my gosh, what’s wrong with me? Why do I keep saying these things? Are you like Jonas? That’s what I really want to know, that’s what I have to know.

“Yes, I don’t write about anything else,” he replied, interrupting her thoughts.