Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

H umming tunelessly to himself, Neville neatened the rows of dried herb jars and stepped down from his footstool.

This small, fragrant, ground-floor antechamber was where he prepared soothing post-discipline ointments to relax. He wasn't entirely sure why the methodical process of crushing chamomile or lavender with pestle and mortar then adding just the right amount of boiling water, almond oil, and white wax soothed his senses, but he'd first learned of such processes from his childhood nurse; apparently it was the only time he'd stopped talking.

Book learning had always been a chore and his tutors had despaired of him ever reading and counting as a gentleman should, but he'd scraped by in his studies. In truth, only debating ever held his interest. And asking questions. The fact that Arabella could solve mathematical equations like income and expenditure in mere moments, only added to her allure. He was more than happy for her to have command of his accounts.

Well, command of everything, really.

Few people would truly understand the sentiment, but in surrendering control, he had finally found freedom. From the day Arabella scooped him up, he'd discovered how it felt to be cared for without restraint or condition, to be the man he truly was and revel in that. She didn't require the most learned husband, the strongest or richest or most blue-blooded. Just her Nev. With Ara at his side he could be a reformer, a philanthropist, a doting uncle…and a gloriously content submissive husband who in a few short hours would be even more content as they played with Stanforth again.

Today had been an agony of anticipation, but at least puttering about with his herbs had helped move the clock forward a little.

"There you are, my darling!"

His head shot up at Arabella's slightly frazzled tone. "Is something amiss? Oh God…Stanforth hasn't canceled?"

She took a deep breath. "No, nothing like that. Your mother and sister-in-law are here. They await us in the parlor."

Neville's heart sank. He'd always been the black sheep of the family; that had merely intensified when his younger brother Harvey not only wed first but sired Toby prior to Neville meeting Arabella. It was seemingly irrelevant that Harvey had been a useless wastrel his entire life before his untimely demise in a drunken riding accident. That he'd attracted thieves and swindlers like sugar attracted ants. Or that he'd sunk the family into debt with a succession of increasingly outlandish investment schemes that always failed.

No, because Harvey had married Valerie and sired a son, he was the golden child, the revered saint simply led astray by wicked tricksters and villains. His mother forever belabored that point and refused to thank Arabella for paying the debt or funding everything, including Toby's pending Eton education. All because Ara wasn't proper .

"Damn it," Neville said irritably. "Why today? As usual, I offer my humblest, most heartfelt apologies for the nonsense about to ensue."

Arabella folded her arms. "The well of my patience has run dry with your mother. I have every sympathy for Valerie and Toby's circumstances; if not for them, I would wash my hands of her entirely."

As would he. In truth, it was clear that the lad's endearing, clever nature sprang entirely from Valerie. But his nephew would be a fine baron in due course; Neville had no reservations whatsoever in his heir, and he and Arabella enjoyed lavishing treats on Toby as only an aunt and uncle could. But that devotion didn't extend to wanting children of his own, no matter what society or the church decreed. It just wasn't his destiny.

"I know," he muttered. "Mother is terrible in all ways. But at least we've got an excuse for a short visit, an evening out."

Arabella nodded. "I shall hold tightly to that thought. Now, come along. The sooner we begin, the sooner we can march her out the door."

Arm in arm, they hurried to the front parlor. Fortunately, it had been cleaned yesterday by the maids and was fresh and sweet-smelling; the carpets and drapes dust-free, cushions plumped, and the fire burning cheerily in the hearth.

One less thing for the dowager to complain about.

"Mother," Neville said curtly, inclining his head. "Valerie. What an unexpected surprise."

As usual, the silver-haired dowager baroness disdainfully looked him up and down, then heaved a theatrical sigh before settling herself onto the overstuffed chaise next to her long-suffering daughter-in-law. "Carlisle. Arabella."

"I've ordered a tea tray," said Arabella as she perched on a high-backed chair, strategically close to the door.

"Thank you," said brown-haired Valerie as she nervously smoothed her lilac half-mourning gown. "Tea would be lovely."

"With cakes, one hopes," added the dowager. "Only commoners serve without."

"Of course," Arabella gritted out.

Neville pressed his lips together. Why did his mother always have to be so damned supercilious? Especially to the woman who funded their life? It wasn't like the Carlisles held high favor at court or possessed an ancient line or prized title—they weren't the Stanforths or Whitmores of the world. "How can we assist, Mother? Ara and I have evening plans, so this must be a short visit."

"Very well," said his mother. "You force me to be direct. Next month it shall be two full years since the passing of our beloved Harvey. Remembering such a profound loss has clarified my thinking. I did my duty and bore two sons, but alas, I have just one grandson. No burden could be greater."

Oh God .

Neville's fists clenched. This argument was so old and rancid it was liquified pulp, and he could practically feel the searing fury now radiating from Arabella. His mother would shortly end up in the Thames with anvils attached to her ankles. "Mother—"

"Do not interrupt, Carlisle. It is past time you two stopped this defiance. Ten years I have been lenient, but now I must insist. As well as a gross dereliction of duty, everyone knows it is immoral and ungodly to remain childless by choice."

"Excuse me?" said Arabella in the kind of soft, deadly tone that any sensible person would run from. His mother was not sensible.

"I have devised a plan. Tell them, Valerie."

His sister-in-law blinked, looking utterly miserable. "I'd rather not—"

The dowager scowled. "Woeful girl! I shall explain. Valerie's maid has black hair. For generous compensation, she would bed with you, Carlisle, and give you an heir. Arabella already has a rather rounded belly, but she could tuck cushions under her gown to make it bigger. And if the procedure fails and produces a daughter, you simply try again. This is the best and only way forward. And my plan can begin at once!"

For a long moment, Neville could only gape as his ears rang and his vision blurred. Had this lunatic really just said what his mind insisted she had? Bed a woman other than Ara, get that woman pregnant, then have Ara feign a pregnancy…all to satisfy his mother's desire for another grandchild?

For the first time in his life, he was speechless. Entirely unnerving for a man who could speak on any topic at any time to any crowd.

"I think it's best you leave," he ground out eventually. "At once."

"Yes," said Arabella coldly as she rose to her feet. "Mrs. Carlisle, it is regrettable that you were dragged into this."

Valerie nodded, but the dowager gasped. "I beg your pardon?"

"Let me rephrase, my lady," snapped Arabella. "If you do not remove your vile, poisonous self from this house in twenty seconds, I will cut off all funds forever. Oh, and believe me when I say there is a higher chance of ice skating in Hell than that horseshit you just spouted. You are nothing but a fool."

His mother pressed a hand to her chest. " Carlisle . Surely you're not going to permit this…this…dock whore to speak to me like that?"

"Why would I censor a truth teller?" said Neville, more outraged than he'd ever been in his life, and that was saying something. "And I say no to your plan. No to your remaining here. No to your insults. Do not make me toss you out a window, because I will do so. Arabella is the only woman I will ever bed. Arabella is my love, neither of us want children, and that is that. Forever. Now, either move or be catapulted from this townhouse."

For a long moment, his mother stared at him like she might have the audacity to argue. Then she sniffed, rose to her feet, and curtsied. "Harvey would never have spoken so—"

"OUT."

And with that, the pinch-lipped dowager and an apologetic-looking Valerie departed the room.

Neville exhaled slowly and turned to his wife, mortified beyond belief. "I do not know what the hell that was. A maid? Cushions ? She's demented. If I was charitable I might say enduring grief, but…all I can do is beg your forgiveness, Ara."

Arabella walked straight to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. "My darling, you're shaking."

"Shaking with rage," he burst out. "I refuse to have that conversation one more time."

Immediately, she began rubbing his back, and Neville leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Could a man legally disown his mother? He would do it tomorrow.

"No forgiveness required," Arabella said eventually. "Although I do like it when you beg. You're going to be doing a lot of that this evening. As is a certain duke."

Relieved beyond measure at her strength, Neville shivered. "I cannot wait."

In the small but well-appointed powder room of Sanctuary's diamond chamber, Arabella finished combing her hair and stared at the looking glass in front of her. Then glared.

Even now, anger and frustration clawed at her insides, emotions that were entirely unwanted and unhelpful before commencing play with a new submissive. She should be excited and in command, not imagining hurling an elderly woman into a pit of feral weasels.

And yet that was her current state of mind after the earlier confrontation with the bloody dowager.

Arabella concentrated on taking slow, even breaths. Anger and frustration were two emotions, but there were others equally troublesome: hurt and fear. Hurt that no matter what she did, no matter how many lives she improved or donations she paid or parish schools she supplied…she would always be judged on her choice not to have children. Why were people so ridiculously bothered by others following a different path? And they always demanded a reason. A defense of the choice lest she be branded unfeminine or selfish or a child-hater. Apparently the truth, ‘I simply do not wish to be a mother' wasn't acceptable. It was altogether bloody unfair, because Nev felt exactly the same about fatherhood, but didn't receive a tenth of the criticism she did.

Being a parent was simply a life choice, not an indicator of good character or morality; the number of downright awful aristocrats with children put paid to that. It wasn't like the barony was being left high and dry either. But perhaps that was her greatest fear: Toby hating her for it. And Nev changing his mind or insisting he didn't want children just to please her. What if he secretly did want a son to inherit rather than Toby? What if he did bed another woman for a child?

Every part of her violently recoiled at the thought.

A soft tap came at the door. "Ara? Are you ready?"

Arabella straightened her shoulders, then tightened the belt of the gold quilted dressing gown she wore. No. Tonight, there was no room for unhappy thoughts. Only pleasure.

She stepped out of the powder room, and in one swift movement had Neville pressed against the wall. Then she cupped his face and kissed him deeply, twining her tongue with his until he groaned.

Eventually Arabella moved back, allowing her hands to fall onto his robe-covered chest. "Mine."

Neville grinned smugly. "Yes, ma'am. Every inch."

Hmmm. Her husband clearly required discipline.

Sliding her hand under his robe, Arabella lightly scratched his hair-dusted chest with her fingernails and teased his flat nipples. As her husband began to pant, shamelessly thrusting his rapidly hardening cock against her belly, she grasped his length and squeezed hard, making him moan. Owning it. Owning him.

"Naughty," she murmured. "Are you trying to get sent to the bench?"

"Surely I deserve that for such provoking behavior," said Neville pleadingly.

Arabella snorted, but after removing his robe, led him over to the padded leather kneeling bench. It was a rather ingenious device that spread a submissive's legs while supporting their upper body so they could lean forward and offer their backside for discipline.

First she secured Nev's wrists, rendering him delightfully immobile, then Arabella nodded in satisfaction. "Now we wait. I want Stanforth to see this."

Her husband had the audacity to turn his head and pout. Immediately, she moved behind him and administered two sharp smacks to his perfect backside as a warning.

Neville bit his lip, a familiar and endearing expression of need flashing across his handsome face. So endearing she almost relented and gave him a proper spanking. But no. Tonight they would be showing Stanforth what sexual discipline involved.

Abruptly, a brisk knock came to the main chamber door. When Arabella called permission to enter, a Sanctuary maid poked her head into the room. "Beg pardon, ma'am, but your guest is here."

"Send him in," said Arabella. "Thank you."

Moments later, the masked and hair-covered duke walked into the room. Like her, he wore a knee-length satin robe; unlike her, he was entirely hesitant and unsure. The poor man had no sexual confidence whatsoever.

"Good evening," Stanforth said awkwardly, his gaze halting on Neville and lingering.

"Good evening!" said Neville cheerfully. "You're just in time to witness my punishment. Come on over."

Silently blessing her husband's easy charm, the way he could talk to anyone, anywhere, Arabella nodded. "Quickly, Your Grace, and discard that mask and hair cover. We are eager to begin."

Stanforth obeyed the instruction then hesitated. "Could we…would it be acceptable to address each other less formally?"

She blinked at the unexpected request. "I insist you refer to me as Madam Arabella, but I will call you whatever you wish."

"Edmund," he said quietly. "I should like to be just Edmund."

"Fine, strong name," said Neville. "Call me Nev. But meanwhile, my arse is not burning and how is that fair or just?"

Arabella almost laughed. Her pet was particularly rambunctious tonight. "As you can plainly tell, Edmund, my husband is rather desperate to be cropped. For the best view, and so you're not in my way, I need you to stand on my left side. I believe you might misbehave and touch your cock while I do this, so I would like to bind your wrists behind your back with your robe sash. As with everything tonight, you may accept or decline."

"I accept," whispered Edmund.

"Very well," she replied, swiftly stripping off his robe before he had time to worry, and winding the satin sash around his wrists so they were secured behind his back in a snug but not constricting knot. "Now, Edmund, look at this glorious creamy canvas. To begin, I warm up Nev's flesh by rubbing and spanking it, then I'll discipline him with my crop."

Neville moaned, attempting to arch his back. "Less talk. More slap."

Arabella curved her hands around his backside, deliberately teasing him with a longer than usual massage for the impudence. When his skin was light pink she began spanking him, lightly at first then with increasing firmness until the sharp slaps echoed in the room with Nev's pleas for more…and Edmund's uneven breathing.

It appeared the duke was enjoying the show if his rising cock was a gauge.

"What's it like, Nev?" asked Edmund unexpectedly. "Is it very painful?"

"No," said Neville dreamily. "Madam is just preparing me. It stings and my arse is warm but not painful as such. My cock is so hard, though. Are you hard?"

"Yes, he is," said Arabella, amused, as she picked up her riding crop. "Now, Nev, you'll receive ten to start. Edmund, see how my bare feet are planted firmly on the floor, no carpets or mats to slide on? Also watch how my arm stays low rather than performing an arc movement. This ensures I continue hitting his arse and don't stray into forbidden areas like his sides or lower back. They are far too delicate to be cropped."

Edmund nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Only pugilists want to rattle the innards and ribs. Go on."

She stilled. "Excuse me?"

The duke blinked, his brow furrowing. "Er…"

Turning her wrist in crisp, elegant movements, Arabella ran the leather end of the riding crop along the duke's inner thighs, before placing it under his cock and lifting the thick shaft. "You dare to give me an instruction?"

Edmund gasped. "N-no, ma'am. Please forgive the misstep."

Oh, the man was in purgatory. His stoic iciness had abandoned him entirely and he was leaning into danger rather than shying away. Right now he was flushed and trembling, his huge cock bobbing merrily between black leather and hard belly, trickling seed. This duke truly did want to be owned. He craved it like a starving man craved a banquet.

"Perhaps," said Arabella coolly. "That will depend entirely on whether you please me later with your tongue. Are you ready to be crushed by my thighs?"

Edmund made a guttural sound. "Yes, ma'am," he choked out.

She nodded, then turned back to an unusually patient Neville. Her husband thoroughly deserved an explosive orgasm. "Right, my darling. Ten for you. Actually, I think twenty."

Swish. Crack. Swish. Crack .

With measured ferocity, Arabella administered the riding crop blows, mostly to Nev's backside but gifting him several to his upper thighs as well. He writhed against the bench, his flesh decorated in shades of pink and red, his gasps and cries of ecstasy spurring her on to greater strength. Once he'd received his twenty strokes, Arabella set down the crop then picked up a bottle of oil. After lubricating her fingers, she teased Nev's anus, her other hand reaching around to grip his engorged cock.

"Please," he begged shamelessly. "Please, ma'am. Fuck me."

"Yes," she replied, kissing his shoulder. "You've earned your reward."

When she knit two fingers together and slowly penetrated his back entrance, Nev's head thrashed, his whole body arching to encourage a deeper, faster conquering.

Arabella's pussy throbbed, her nipples jutting against her satin robe. Never would she tire of this heady feeling of absolute sexual power. She had brought her husband to the edge of orgasm—only she would decide when he tumbled into ecstasy. But tonight Nev had pleased her, so she roughly handled his cock while finger-fucking his backside, and in seconds his low roar thundered to the heavens, his seed spurting and spurting over her hand as he came.

"I love you," gasped Neville as he sagged against the bench. "I love you so much."

"Beautifully done, my darling," said Arabella, carefully removing her fingers, then unfastening his wrist bindings before kissing his forehead. "I am exceedingly pleased."

Neville had found heaven. But one glance at Edmund told a very different tale.

The duke was trapped in the hell of agonized yearning…and only she could free him.

He'd never witnessed anything so erotic in his life.

Edmund rolled his shoulders and rocked on his heels in a futile attempt to regather his composure. He'd achieved two small victories this evening: not coming when Madam Arabella had caressed his inner thighs, then lifted his cock and balls with the riding crop. And not coming when she had disciplined Nev, then fucked the baron with her fingers.

Another damned thing he now wanted to know. What did it feel like to be spanked?

To be penetrated?

Nev made it look like he'd seen angels. Maybe he had. But even more enviable than the orgasm; the way Madam Arabella was cuddling and kissing her husband. Praising him.

What Edmund had witnessed previously in this room wasn't pretense or just a show. These two truly loved each other. They loved pleasure. There was no duty, no chore, no willing one's mind away from the event to endure. Just two people who not only understood but reveled in their spouse's sexual needs.

He wanted that kind of love for himself. No, it was far more than a want now. It was a critical, essential need.

"Now, Edmund," said Madam Arabella as she washed her hands in a bowl of heated herbed water. "What am I to do with you?"

Nev slowly stood up from the bench and flexed his legs and back, then examined his crop-patterned arse in one of the room's many mirrors. "He needs to learn how to properly attend to your pussy, madam. And be disciplined. I would be happy to assist."

"I like the sound of that," she replied, discarding her dressing gown into a puddle of satin on the floor, then sauntering over to the enormous and thankfully sturdy bed in the center of the chamber. After arranging herself in the middle, Madam Arabella beckoned them both. "Nev, untie Edmund's hands and bring him to me."

As soon as his wrists were free of the cord, Edmund flexed them. Strangely, he already missed the restraint, the helplessness of being unable to touch himself.

Madam Arabella patted the bed in front of her. "If you wish for discipline, here on your hands and knees, Edmund."

Trying to control his eagerness, he obeyed. Seconds later, Edmund groaned softly as a firm, masculine hand began caressing his back, arse, and upper thighs. How could such an innocuous touch feel so good?

Madam Arabella smiled indulgently as she cupped her right breast and tweaked the nipple. "Nev does indeed have magic hands and will warm up your skin before introducing you to spanking. He'll start lightly; you may request a firmer touch if you wish. After that, you are going to make me come with your mouth. Only then will I decide whether you are permitted an orgasm. I know you badly want one…but you must please me as Nev did."

Edmund nodded. His throbbing cock might be desperate for release, and there was still that element of confusion at enjoying another man's touch, but there was no way he would crumble this time. Not with a reward like Madam Arabella's pussy on offer. She was already glistening wet, and the musky scent made his mouth water. "Yes, ma'am. I'm ready."

The first few slaps to his arse were indeed light, almost affectionate. He nearly asked for harder, but bit his tongue, wanting to concede control to someone far more knowledgeable. Instead, Edmund went down onto his elbows, so his arse was higher. He was immediately rewarded as the blows became firmer, enough to make his skin tingle. But he wanted more. To be so aroused, so mindless with lust and need that he would writhe as Nev had done.

The other man paused to roughly massage Edmund's flesh. When Nev's fingers delved down to Edmund's inner thighs then up to lightly stroke the underside of his balls, Edmund moaned. Nev was so skilled. So sure! " Yes ."

Madam Arabella shifted restlessly on the bed in front of him, her hand trailing between her legs to part her bush, offering him a brief glimpse of the succulent pink petals beneath. "Tell me what you need next, Edmund," she said huskily.

"To taste you. To burn. To be taken," he blurted, not even sure if he was making sense. "I want to know."

But she nodded. "Nev, darling, would you fetch a small dildo for me? Two thumb width. You're going to introduce Edmund to being fucked."

Edmund shivered, pure excitement coursing through his veins at her words.

Being fucked .

Something done to him, where he didn't have to think or instruct. Just feel. In truth, alongside the excitement was pure relief. At each step, he'd been given choices. He'd had a voice in accepting or declining. And none of this was about conceiving a child. He was free to simply enjoy the journey.

Soon, Nev stood behind him once again, then came a splash of warm, slick liquid on Edmund's lower back. Oil!

"I'll start with a finger, then put the dildo in your arse," said Nev, as casually as he might talk about the weather. "Don't worry, Edmund, I'll use plenty of oil. This will feel exceedingly strange at first, pressure and burn, but you'll soon be thanking me, trust in that."

Edmund chuckled at the quip, but oddly enough, he did trust Nev. And Madam Arabella. Never in a thousand years had he imagined there might be a way to learn and discover that felt so damned safe. So damned friendly. Like he mattered, not because of his title or wealth, but because he wished to submit. "I'm ready."

Well, he'd thought he was ready. But as Nev's oil-slick finger rimmed his anus then shallowly penetrated the tight hole, Edmund gasped. Christ. How could something feel so wrong and yet so very right at the same time? Yet his body was awakening to sensation like a sleepy dragon, stretching and sparking and sending an urgent message to his engorged cock: are you ready to come ?

Edmund inhaled deeply as slowly, so slowly, Nev pushed his finger deeper. In. Out. In. Out. As the other man had warned, the penetration did burn, yet perversely he craved more of the fullness and pressure. This was so damned confusing his mind whirled and his hands clutched at the bedsheets for anchor.

Abruptly, Madam Arabella moved in front of him. Her fingers tangled in his hair and tugged his head up with just enough force that he groaned, shocked at the sexual jolt that arrowed through his body.

She smiled kindly. "You need a distraction, sweetheart, so you don't drown in your own thoughts. It's time to put your tongue to work. I'll guide you. Begin."

Soon Madam Arabella had shuffled down the bed and spread her thighs wide to reveal her gloriously slick labia. Reverently, Edmund bowed his head and inhaled, addicted to the fragrance of wild, hot pleasure. Then he extended his tongue, tentatively licking the petals, and delectable musky honey filled his mouth.

Edmund moaned, the sound catching as something larger than a finger pressed at his back entrance. Large and unyielding and utterly overwhelming. But before he could think about that, Madam Arabella tugged on his hair again, bringing his mouth closer to her pussy.

Experimentally, he circled her swollen clitoris with just the tip of his tongue, and when she cried out, a rush of victorious elation filled him. In the past, both he and Lydia had always ensured the act was completed as soon as possible, so hadn't kissed or touched or pleasured each other. But Madam Arabella wanted it. No, she was insisting upon it.

Despite his lack of experience, he would do his very best.

"You taste," Edmund mumbled as he flattened his tongue and dragged it along Madam Arabella's heady center, "so good."

She cried out again, grinding against his chin until his face was drenched in juices. "Yes. Yes ."

Edmund paused, shuddering as the burning, stretching, solid fullness of the dildo in his arse grew too pronounced to ignore. How could he bear it? Yet when he tried to buck, Nev held him immobile with surprising strength, twisting and turning the smooth, polished stone phallus inside him until Edmund's mind threatened to splinter.

He growled, a guttural, feral sound that was swiftly muffled as Madam Arabella took him captive between her thighs. By instinct alone, Edmund nuzzled her soaked pussy until he found her clitoris and then, closing his mouth over it, began to suck. Soon he existed in a hazy, dreamy world of pain-tinged bliss, Madam Arabella's tight grip on him and the dildo ruthlessly fucking his arse the only things stopping him from floating away.

Moments later, Madam Arabella bucked on the bed, her orgasmic scream echoing around the diamond chamber. But Edmund barely had a moment to gulp in air when her thighs fell away from him, as Nev wrapped his oil-slick hand around Edmund's swollen cock and rubbed with ruthless precision. Pleasure hit him like a storm surge and a low roar tore from his throat as he came, his seed gushing and gushing like it might never stop.

Exhausted, barely conscious, Edmund began to shake. After the dildo was removed he was pulled into a caring embrace, his head settling neatly onto luscious breasts and his hair tenderly stroked. Equally good, a warm body surrounded him from behind, pressing soft kisses to his neck and shoulders. And they were complimenting him. Praising his efforts. His obedience. His courage.

Ah. So this was what it felt like to see angels.