Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

BENEDICT

I stare down at her back as she turns her head to rest it on the desk. Despite the fear thrumming through her, she seems so trusting and calm. It takes all my willpower to resist the urge to run my hand down her spine to feel the vibrations of anxiety trembling below the surface.

She's not mine in this way. I'm only supposed to punish her. Nothing more. Nothing less. And yet, her scent teases my nostrils, begging me to lean in and drink from her, dragging her deep into my lungs where she'll never escape. Ginger and spice swirl about the room, drowning me in its potent haze.

Has she always smelled this divine? Granted, when she was younger, I wouldn't have noticed. Her age precluded me from even thinking about her in such a way. But she's not a child. Not anymore. In the eyes of the Ton and the law, she is a woman fit for marriage.

Hell, she'll be producing babies soon enough. I'm allowed to indulge now in a way that wasn't available to me before, and that knowledge is frightening. Not because I fear I'll harm the poor girl, but because it whittles away yet one more excuse not to make her mine.

Shaking my head, I pull back from her, testing the weight of the tawse in my hand. I better get this over with before I lose my head completely. It's not like me to feel so out of control. No doubt it's because I haven't availed myself to any sort of release in a bit of time.

All the pent-up lust and emotions swirl close to the surface, and she's the nearest target. At least, that's what I tell myself as I study her pert backside as it jiggles while as she shuffles back and forth trying to get comfortable. It's a lie, but a comfort, nonetheless.

Biting back a groan, I cup my balls as I contemplate what to do. She can't see me touch myself, and thus can't possibly know the lewd thoughts racing through my mind. I want to impart a lesson to her, that much is clear. But exactly how far past the boundaries am I willing to go?

I tuck the edge of the tawse in the band of my trousers and grip the hem of her skirt. Her brother chastised her over the bundles of fabric, but I will not show her such mercy. Despite the arousal swamping me, I feel duty-bound to impart to her just how dangerous her actions were.

Obviously, Lord Hardon did not make enough of an impression if she thinks it's acceptable to walk about unchaperoned and put herself into danger. This is worse than what she did with the tree in that it could have caused irreparable damage to not only her name, but her brother's as well. Granted, what I'm doing is no better, but at least with me, a marriage wouldn't be detrimental to my friend.

In truth, our friendship will probably never be repaired again, but they could do much worse than aligning their house with mine. Again, I force those traitorous thoughts out of my head. They serve me ill. I can't fall for her. I won't.

With a mighty yank, I pull her skirts up around her waist, baring her backside to my gaze. Her shriek of indignation only makes the arousal worse, drawing precum up my tip until it smears against the fabric. As she squirms, I plant my hand on her back and step away from her flailing feet.

"What is the meaning of this?" she hisses, doing her best to keep her voice low.

Though I applaud her for her discretion, it still doesn't change the fact that any noise from her lips, no matter how slight, might draw unwanted attention. Bending low, I drink in her anger, using the acrid scent to shore up my defenses.

"I suggest you refrain from speaking. That is unless you wish to draw an audience to your humiliation."

Augusta peers over her shoulder at me, her lips screwed up into a thoughtful frown. Is the chit actually contemplating my words? Someone as gentle and delicate as her should be shrouded in fear. Yet, this beautiful specimen seems to weigh my threat with some unknown measurement in her mind.

It makes my knot tingle and my cock pulse. God help me, but I want nothing more than to drag her to The Rose and Thorne and strip her bare for all to see. I want to punish her in front of the others to see if, in fact, she does like the idea of someone watching.

A savage growl rumbles through my throat as I press my hand against her upper back, pinning her to the desk. "That idea should not appeal to you."

"I… It doesn't," she stammers. "Not in the least." Her words say the correct thing, yet her tone leaves much to be desired.

"Don't. Move."

With a swift jerk of my hands, I tuck the skirts up, but then change my mind. It could be she is unsure of what she likes, seeing as she's so innocent. One good way to test the theory is to give her just a taste and see how she reacts.

"Release the desk with one of your hands. Your choosing." Her arm trembles as she brings her hand back by her side. "Good girl. Now, you are going to hold your skirts out of the way so I can discipline your bottom without any interference. If you drop them at any point, we will start again. Am I clear?"

"Y- yes, Your Grace."

Part of me wants to correct her, to hear my Christian name on her tongue. But hearing my title drip from her lips as her body quivers beneath my gaze is such an aphrodisiac. The only way it could get better is if she said Master.

I don't dare toy with fate enough to make that request. Pulling back, I watch as her fingers tighten around the fabric, turning white with how tightly she holds it. My cock presses against my buckskin trousers until my vision blurs from the need coursing through me. Blazes. When was the last time I felt such painful arousal?

Again, she shifts about, drawing my attention to her bare arse. So lovely and round, plump, perfect for marking. Sliding a foot in between her legs, I urge her to spread, revealing her body to me. Now, she has the decency to feel shame. What little I catch of her face before she buries it against the desk is bright red and, no doubt, just as hot.

Her pussy spreads out before me as she stretches wide, showing me the proof of her arousal. Slick gathers at her entrance and drips down, making quite a mess on the floor. How I wish to slide my fingers in her, to draw more of that precious liquid to the surface.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice muffled by the desk.

"A bit late for that, isn't it?"

"I don't mean the fire."

"For what then?" Confusion gives me pause as I drag my gaze away from the enticing scene and onto the tear-stained face in front of me.

"I don't know what is wrong with me to make my body do this. I- I can understand if you wish to send me to Bedlam. I only ask that you spare my brother the humiliation of knowing where I am."

"Stand up and drop your skirts."

She complies, her face lined with misery as she refuses to meet my gaze. "Please. Please don't tell him."

"There is nothing to tell, sweet girl. But know this. There is nothing wrong with you. That is, nothing marriage won't fix. Bedlam is no place for someone with your affliction."

"Then what can I do? How do I stop it?"

I cannot tell her. I cannot explain the intricacies of marriage without wanting to show her in person. At least now I know for certain she's still innocent and a perfect match for anyone wishing to be her husband. My insides clench as I run the pad of my thumb down her cheek.

"Your husband will instruct you. I cannot. To do so would be a step too far."

"I see."

She says nothing more, but then, she doesn't have to. Her body says it all. Turning, she lowers her head and gets back into position, revealing her pussy to me once more as she stretches out over the desk and lifts her skirts.

Her lower lips are puffy, glistening with need. At the apex, her clit pokes out, swollen, desperate, and enchanting. Her desire is certainly as great as mine. How I wish I could have her. At first, I thought her desires would align perfectly with mine, but knowing just how clueless she is, just how innocent… It's like a splash of cold water to help stifle my ardor.

Plucking the tawse out of my trousers, I skim my fingers over the mound of her arse. Augusta jerks forward at my touch, startled and skittish, like a baby foal.

"Easy, little sister," I tease, hoping to remind her I mean her no true harm. "I'm simply preparing your skin for my punishment. It will be over soon, and we can both put this behind us."

I cannot delay any more. To do so would be to completely erode my resolve. Gritting my teeth, I keep my touch light and far away from the glistening petals of her enticing quim. One touch, and I know I'll be completely lost.

With a gentle smack of my palm against her skin, I warm up her bottom, alternating my swats from one cheek to the other. At the onset, I wished to give her a harsh punishment, something she'll never soon forget. Now, I find my motivations have changed. My tawse will hurt plenty enough, but there's no reason why I can't temper the pain by preparing her first.

She squirms under my touch, her soft moans running over my skin like rain sluicing against me. I continue until her skin is nice and pink, only stopping to slide the cravat back over to her.

"Trust me, you'll want this."

With a shaky grasp, she takes the cloth and shoves it between her lips, the visual driving me to distraction. With her mouth stuffed wide and her eyes nearly black with need, she's the picture of perfection.

Grabbing my tawse, I don't allow her time to think too much. I lay the first blow against her skin. She bucks against me, her cries muffled by the fabric. I do the same to the other, my cock pulsing as I watch the red bloom on her skin. Blazes, but she's such a temptation wrapped up in a confining cloud of na?veté.

Tears drip from her face, wetting the desk beneath her. Likewise, her pussy drips all the more, her arousal creaming her skin and sliding down her inner thighs. How easy would it be to put her out of her misery? Mine as well.

I snap the leather against her arse again, gripping my cock through the thick fabric with my free hand. If I were less controlled, I'd be stroking myself here and now as I punish her. But then, what would punish me?

Again, I grit my teeth, willing my lust to flag as I swat her three more times, bringing the count to six. Dropping the tawse onto the desk, I skim my fingers over the inflamed skin, nearly groaning as I graze the angry welts.

My breathing comes in haggard gulps as I pull the fabric from out between her perfect lips. "Now then, have you learned your lesson?"

"Y- yes, Your Grace," she sniffles, standing up and putting her skirts to rights.

"Very well. You took your punishment with far better grace than I could have imagined. Your lady's maid is safe, and we will never discuss this indiscretion again. Now run off and go about your day. Your bottom will be sore for the next few days, so mind how you sit."

"Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace. I shall endeavor only to please you from here on."

"I expect nothing less."

When she trots out of the room, I lock the door behind her and slump down into a nearby chair. Why does that disappoint me so? I'm not one to take up with disobedient brats. Unfortunately, knowing that I'll never look upon her pretty pussy again has my heart clenching in sorrow.

But she's just so damned innocent. Too innocent. I'd feel like England's worst cad if I made her my own for my selfish reasons.

Loosening my breeches, I allow my cock to pop free. I'll need to clean up when I get home. Punishing Augusta made quite a mess. A grin teases the edges of my lips. Not as much as she made. Even now, her arousal still dampens the floor, sending perfumed waves through the air.

I'm not so far gone as to lap at the spot just to taste her. That would be madness. Shaking my head, I grip my cock, groaning as my fingers wrap around the thick shaft.

If the poor girl thinks she's bound to Bedlam for her reactions to me, then I'm certainly a prime candidate indeed. It's a shame some other man will educate her. I can only hope they break her in gently for her sake. In fact, I'll make sure she only entertains weak men who are loyal and true to a fault.

A soft growl vibrates through the air as I try and fail to think of whom to pair her with. But surely, I must rid myself of these possessive thoughts. She's not mine. Nor will she ever be. Lord Hardon made that very clear.

Still though, it can't hurt to imagine her kneeling in front of me, her eyes sparkling as I teach her how to take me in her mouth. My balls clench as I look over at my cravat lying on the desk. How beautiful she looked with her mouth stuffed, her soft moans and squeals peppering the air.

My strokes turn feral as groans give way to raspy grunts. I must purge her from my mind and body. For both our sakes, it's a necessity. Rising from the chair, I grab the cravat and hold it at my tip, recalling the red of her arse and the feel of the welts under my skin. With a few more strokes, I grit my teeth, quelling the roar of completion as it shudders through me.

I empty myself into the fabric, jutting my hips back and forth as the relief floods my veins. Blazes, but the aftershocks feel like heaven as I clean myself up, doing my best to keep my friend's study pristine. There's a lot I can explain away, but my seed in his study is not easily justified.

Clarity settles upon me once more as I leave the house, doing my best to avoid the servants and any gossiping tongues. No doubt there will be more than enough to go around if Augusta refuses to keep her lips shut about what occurred in the study. If she's a smart girl, as I suspect, we have nothing to worry about.