Chapter 12

12

Patience couldn't believe what she'd just agreed to. What on Earth was she thinking?

She didn't mind the idea of organizing his library; in fact, it didn't seem like a punishment at all. To her, it sounded like an adventure, a chance to discover new books and perhaps even unearth some botanical treasures.

No, she was going mad from loneliness, she thought. Was it that she craved human touch so much she'd take a spanking? Or was it that she couldn't tear her gaze from this powerful, wounded man, so haunted, with secrets lurking behind his eyes, that she was ready to accept anything he offered her?

Like that kiss before the soirée.

That kiss was magical.

"But I have conditions of my own," she said, her head high. "If I take the spanking, you will let me sleep here in your bed tonight."

His head snapped back. "What?"

"I came here for a night of sleep. And that is what I shall have. "

"I do not let anyone sleep in my bed," he said. "No one ever has."

She frowned. "No one?"

"No one. Not even Titan is allowed."

She squared her shoulders. "Well, Your Grace, too bad. You took away my freedom, my life, and my family. I demand that you at least give me back some sleep."

He was like a cornered animal. It was quite a strange sight… He felt cornered—by her? He, who had all the power?

"It seems this will hardly suffice as a solution."

"We will try. If it doesn't, it doesn't. Then, I suppose, I'm doomed to suffer from insomnia for the rest of my days. You owe it to me to try."

He scowled, his fists clenching.

"Well?" she asked. "What do you say?"

He swallowed. "But you will never come here again. That is the lesson. You must learn to obey."

"All right. I'll stay away from here after tonight, if that's still your wish. But if you reconsider, if you decide you would like me to come to your room again after all, then you must let me sleep here."

He was silent for a moment, looking her over, his dark eyes like shining pieces of onyx. "Very well, dear girl, we agree so." He chuckled softly with self-depreciation. "But that will likely never come to pass, for after tonight, you will want nothing to do with me. You'll flee from this room as if possessed."

"We shall see."

He went and sat down at the edge of the bed, his knees wide apart. The sides of his crimson dressing gown fell away, exposing his powerful, well-defined thighs, strong knees, and sculpted, muscular calves, covered with soft-looking dark hair. A thrilling, hot shiver pulsed through her. For the first time in her life, she was seeing naked male legs.

"Come here, Duchess," he said softly, his gaze holding her like a physical touch on her skin.

She obeyed, not feeling the rug under her feet.

The warm simmer started to feel like an ache in the lower part of her stomach. Her sex felt hot and swollen. What was happening to her? She felt heavy and pliable, like she was made of warm wax, and he was the fire warming her.

She approached him as if on cotton legs. "Aren't you going to remove your glove?" she asked.

His gaze grew more tortured. "No."

"Do you ever remove it?"

"Do not talk of my hand or my glove."

She licked her lips. Yet another thing she was not supposed to do. But was she right that it pained him? "Do you like to do this to a lot of women?" she asked, and a pinch of pain in her heart told her she really wanted him to say no.

"No," he said. "I don't. I haven't done anything to any woman since I married you."

She nodded, somehow reassured. "I don't know what to do," she said. "You need to tell me."

"Just come here." He stretched out his hand.

It was his left hand, with long, beautiful fingers. Not the gloved one, which rested on his thigh. Which one would spank her? she wondered. Another pleasant shimmer of sensation went through her at the thought of that strong, bare hand on her body.

"Something must be wrong with me," she said as she took his warm and dry hand, so large it enveloped her small, cold one.

"Why?" he purred as he pulled her to him.

All she could hear was the strong beat of her heart in her ears and his velvety, buttery voice.

"I should be afraid, shouldn't I?" she asked .

"Are you?"

"Well, yes. And no… I trust you."

"Oh," he said, and there was a sudden change in his face, like he was puzzled, like he didn't know what to do with this information.

She was surprised, too.

They were still holding hands, and his warm touch was comforting and reassuring, the rightest thing she could ever do was to hold his hand like this and tell him about her feelings.

"My parents never punished me," she said. "They never punished anyone. Especially not John…"

She regretted talking about John the moment she said his name. Had she just spoiled the fragile trust, the tenuous connection they had?

She remembered John fondly. She was six when he brought her the book on botany from Oxford that would change her life and define her passion. He was someone who loved having fun, had sense of humor. Whenever he was there, she remembered laughter, even though some of her sisters didn't join in.

But Dorian's eyes only darkened and glimmered with interest.

"Did you ever do something you weren't allowed?" he asked. "Something you were supposed to be punished for?"

"Yes." She chuckled. "I secretly worked on my roses while I was supposed to be plucking weeds in the kitchen garden. Mama and Papa still don't know."

While they thought she spent many hours caring for carrots and parsnips, she sketched, artificially fertilized roses, experimented with grafting on fruit trees, recorded observations, and corresponded with two members of the Linnean Society of London—Mr. Jay Essop and the society's president, Sir James Edward Smith .

"Hm. Naughty girl," he murmured with satisfaction and pulled her closer to him.

He had her lie across his lap, with her elbows supporting her against the bed. She stared at the silky cover of his bed, and felt her cheeks and neck grow red-hot with embarrassment.

She felt him pull up her dressing gown and chemise, and cool air kissed first her ankles, then the backs of her thighs, and finally, her buttocks—which now felt quite as hot as her face.

He sucked in air and made a strange, guttural growl. Was that good?

A wave of fear mingled with exhilaration washed over her. It was like standing on a cliff's edge before a tumultuous sea for the first time, knowing that diving in could be thrilling, yet potentially deadly.

He exhaled slowly, then fell utterly still, leaving her uncertain whether he would act or remain motionless.

"Good God," he murmured. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"That can't be true," she said. "You're staring at my behind!"

She couldn't believe it. How could a man like him truly consider a country girl like her—who had never attended a ball, never had a finishing governess…or any governess at all—as the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen?

Surely not.

Then she felt his hand on her skin—his left hand, touching her directly. His caress was feather-light, yet it made her jerk as if scalded. A myriad of sensations, like starlight, shot through her. He began kneading and massaging her behind, murmuring things she never imagined a man would whisper to her.

"Beautiful. "

"Soft."

"Sweet."

So far, everything had been delightfully pleasant, sparking a warm, simmering sensation in her core that tightened with a growing need. She wriggled in desire for more, craving his fingers and hands all over her.

She moaned.

He cursed. "Make more sounds like that and I won't be able to resist."

"Resist what?" she asked.

"What I've wanted to do since the moment I saw you in the church."

"And what is that?"

He growled and gave her a smack on the bottom, and she whimpered as an intense stinging shot through her. It was almost painful but also exquisitely pleasurable—a sensation she'd never felt before. Her sex grew even tighter and hotter.

"More, Duchess?" he asked.

"Uh…" She swallowed, trying to understand what just happened.

On the one hand, someone had hit her. And only her sisters had hit her when they were children and didn't know better.

But this didn't feel like violence.

It felt playful, like she was the center of his focused attention.

And it sent so much pleasure through her core, she couldn't even say what was happening to her.

She swallowed. "More."

He chuckled and smacked her behind again, a little stronger this time. It stung even more, like a slap of water when one jumped into a pond.

Exhilarating. And, even stronger now, she felt more beautiful sensations course down into her sex .

"More," she managed.

He fell into a rhythm, the light slap of his hand on her flesh bringing a waterfall of sensations, biting and burning, warm and wonderful, and delicious, and sweet. And she couldn't stop herself. She arched her back like a cat and gave him her behind, wanting more of his hand. More of his touch.

The need to feel these intense feelings was scratching at her nerves. She'd smiled her whole life, put on a mask, turning away from the discomfort of sadness, of anger, of confusion.

She moaned, feeling positively like a cat. He cursed again and began smacking her a little harder.

She was panting, overwhelmed by the delicious blend of ecstasy and warmth flooding her senses. Each mild stinging sensation was followed by a profound heat that radiated throughout her entire pelvis.

Now, she couldn't turn away from the darkness. The darkness came for her.

And, to her surprise, she didn't want to run. These slaps of skin against skin, the stinging and the throbbing was like opening a window into the night and taking a lungful of fresh, wet air.

She was in an intense heaven. And she was climbing somewhere, somewhere she didn't know and yet sinking even deeper into her own body.

And she wanted more. So much more.

She was also feeling something very, very long and hard pressing against her stomach.

And the more she squirmed on the duke's knees, the more that thing twitched and grew and poked at her. Then she was also hearing him moan, and growl, and curse.

"Did you have enough, love?" he asked, almost breathlessly, and she shook her head very distinctively no. "Then perhaps this should be your punishment. "

He withdrew his hand, and she did give a sound of protest, but then his hand went between her legs, in the crease where her sex was, and his fingers cupped it.

She gasped, squirmed, and a different sort of pleasure shot through her, her sex clenching even harder with some sort of need, and something wet and slippery came out of her body.

"Oh God!" she whispered as she buried her face in her palms. "I'm sorry!"

He chuckled softly. "Don't worry, dear sweet girl, this is perfectly normal. This means you want me. Don't you?"

At that, his fingers went between her folds and played with her there, making her clench and ache with ever more intense need.

"So tight," he purred as he inserted a finger in her body—and it did feel tight to her, like he didn't have much space to move, and she loved the sensation of him entering her in that way. "So warm and so sleek," he murmured as he kept playing around her folds.

She began begging, unable to restrict herself. "Please…" and "Keep going…" and "Do not stop!"

And he didn't. His fingers found an interesting spot in her body, somewhere in the center of her folds, and she jerked with the unexpected intensity of pleasure.

He touched her there, played with that place, tugging, rubbing, pinching. It felt like the more she moaned and trembled, the more he did whatever felt best to her.

And it was when he leaned down and bit her bottom that something incredible happened to her body, and she reached a breathtaking peak.

She froze, uncertain what was happening, except for her bottom throbbing and pulsating and ecstasy consuming her. And she just hung there, experiencing this beautiful clenching, but in her entire pelvis .

After what felt like too soon, she fell apart, unable to stop her cries of bliss, her body shaking with uncontrollable tremors as he kept massaging that beautiful place inside her, milking every last drop of pleasure from her.

As she trembled in his arms, he gently stroked her back and her behind as though she was a cat. When she calmed down, feeling heavy and sated, the skin of her bottom still tingling, he pulled her on top of him as though she weighed nothing and stretched together with her along the bed.

He pulled the blanket over both of them, and she was wonderfully soft and warm in the embrace of his stone-hard muscular arms. The crease between his chest and his shoulder was a perfect place to lay her head.

She closed her eyes and released a long, satisfied sigh. Feeling his warm, solid presence gently holding her, her eyelids rolled down, and a sweet, heavy contentment filled her.

Oh, she was going to fall asleep. No noises, no scratches, no creaking of floorboards would touch her while he had his arms around her.

"Are you very hurt, sweet girl?" he whispered, his warm breath tickling her forehead.

"No," she murmured. "You're very welcome to punish me this way again."

Something more than physical had been released in this experience. He had satisfied a need she didn't know she had.

His chest moved sharply as he inhaled. "The only problem is, darling, I'd like to be much, much rougher with you."

Much, much rougher? She couldn't imagine him being rough with her at all, despite the lethal strength in the blows she'd seen during his boxing practice. And still, like some sort of masochist, her insides clenched with a sweet anticipation at the words .

She'd ask about her brother again tomorrow…or another day. And then he'd punish her again.

"We'll see," she murmured as she wriggled her head, finding even more comfort with him.

"You may plant your roses in the garden tomorrow," he murmured. Then he kissed the top of her head. "Now, sleep."

And sleep she did.