Disciplined by the Duke Page 14

  He held up a bit of melon, the juice running down his fingers. He brushed her lips with the peach-colored fruit. Instead of opening up for him, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and stared at him. Her eyes were a plea, a question.

  He put the plate of food down. “Miss Smith. Elizabeth.”

  “Liz. Please call me Liz. It’s been so long since anyone has.”

  “Liz.” He cupped her face, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. “This isn’t right. You’re my servant. You might feel obligated to me because of our relative positions.”

  “I don’t feel obligated.” A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “I don’t know what it is I’m feeling exactly, but it isn’t that.”

  His heart skipped. He was on the edge of a cliff. He shouldn’t take that leap, but, god, he wanted to. “What is it you want?”

  Her cheeks heated under his hands, and she bit her lip. He tilted her head to face his better. “Look at me. Tell me what you want, but remember, all actions have consequences.”

  She lowered her gaze to his lips, took a deep breath. “I want you to kiss me,” she whispered.

  He hadn’t expected her to be so forthright. So honest. Pain pierced his heart, and he didn’t know if the woman in front of him was opening a hole in his heart or filling one. Her face ran the gamut of emotions. Longing and hope. Fear that he might reject her. Curiosity over what she was feeling. He saw her, and she was beautiful.

  She was a magnet, drawing him in. His lips hovered above hers for an instant, inhaling the breath she released. He brushed his mouth against hers, once, twice, before pulling back to look at her again. Her eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, looking for all the world like a woman aching to be touched.

  Sod it all to hell. He crushed his mouth to hers and drank of her like she was a spring and he was dying of thirst.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sweet. God, she was sweet. And soft. He sucked at the juice at the corner of her mouth, licked the curve of her full bottom lip. She sighed, and he took advantage of the opportunity.

  His blood rushed through his ears, blocking out any sound but their heated breaths, her soft moan. She was hesitant, as still as a cornered stag at the first slide of his tongue against hers. When she tentatively met his thrust with one of her own, he growled his approval. Curving one hand around the nape of her neck, he deepened the kiss, pressing his other hand into the small of her back. He wanted to feel her body, the one she kept buttoned up in her neat maid’s uniform. He drew her close, her chest pressed flush to his, her heart in a race with his own.

  No kiss had ever been so exciting. His other women had been pleasing, but practiced. When he paid doxies, they gave the appropriate responses. Smiled and sighed in skillful measure. The widows he bedded were glad to renew their remembered intimacies, and receive the odd bit of jewelry he methodically doled out. Marcus had no illusions. Those women liked him more for his title and purse than for his company. There were no surprises, and he preferred it that way.

  Or so he’d believed. The woman in his arms was a surprise. He didn’t know how she’d react nor could he predict how this would end. The thought opened a yawning pit in his stomach at the same time as it sent fire racing through his veins. Dragging his mouth from hers, he sucked in deep breaths. He needed to regain control, for both their sakes.

  “Liz.” He rubbed his nose against hers.

  She opened her eyes, looking dazed, her mouth swollen from his attentions. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  He stiffened. “When I’m holding you in my arms, don’t use my title.” He swore. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  She clasped the lapels of his coat. “I shouldn’t do many things, but that doesn’t mean I wish to stop. Please, Montague.” She shifted, her leg brushing against his. Her hand fell to his thigh. He needed it a couple inches higher.

  The itch in his fingers eased when he stroked the soft skin of her neck. This close to her, he couldn’t not touch her. “There is so much you don’t know, about your body, about what you’re feeling. You don’t know what you’re asking.” He rubbed his thumb into the wrinkle that appeared above her nose. “I don’t think you can truly consent to what you don’t understand.”

  She struggled against him, and he forced his hands to relax their grip. Rising to her feet, she paced in front of him, shooting him dark looks. “So I can never find out what it is I don’t know because I don’t know it? That makes no sense.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Yes. I mean no. Wait, repeat the question?”

  She ignored him. “I was coddled all my life, the bitter realities of the world hidden from me, and it left me completely ill prepared for what came my way. I am tired of not understanding what others do.” Her pacing increased in speed, each pivot a sharp about-face even Wellington would be proud of. “Ignorance can have unintended consequences and people get hurt. My sister . . .” Biting her lip, she darted a glance at him from the corner of her eye.

  He crossed his legs and settled more deeply into the settee. “Your sister?”

  “No matter.” Her shoulders slumped. “None of this matters. You’re right; we shouldn’t be doing”—her hand flapped between the two of them—“this. I just wanted to know why, when I’m with you, I feel . . .” She stopped, at an apparent loss for words.

  Rising to his feet, he stalked towards her. “What do you feel?” he asked.

  “I’m unsure.” She shook her head, more ebony strands falling loose around her shoulders. “It feels . . . wonderful, as exhilarating as galloping across a meadow, but at the same time I want nothing more to do with it.”

  “Do you feel like you did in the servants’ passage, watching your friend with Mr. Todd? Is that how I make you feel?”

  Her head snapped up, and she sucked in a breath. “I . . . yes.” She pressed both hands to her stomach. “This is all wrong. I apologize, Your Grace; I should go.” She dropped a hasty curtsy.

  He grabbed her shoulders when she straightened, stopping any attempt at flight. His gut burned. He clenched and relaxed his hands, his mind telling his fingers to release her, to let her go, another organ begging him to draw her close. His heart gave a painful squeeze. “No.”

  Her brows drew down. “No?”

  Stepping around her, he turned the lock on the study’s door. He leaned against the exit, crossed his arms, forcing his breaths in and out in a slow and even tempo instead of the ragged gulps his lungs demanded.

  Liz lacked the same control, her chest heaving like she’d raced up three sets of stairs. Her eyes darted from him to the door latch and back. Her face lacked expression, but she couldn’t hide the heat in her eyes, or her nerves as she shifted from one foot to the other. She was hungry and fearful and curious, and had no idea what to do about it.

  He pushed off the door. He could show her what her body needed. Not everything. Nothing that would ruin her or break his own rules. After tonight, those rules would be severely bent, but there was no way he was letting her out of this room as aching with need as he’d been since the moment he first saw her. He was strong enough to make this night about her wants and ignore his own. He set his shoulders. He’d make sure of that.

  She turned like a top as he circled her, keeping her wary gaze on him. “Montague? What are you doing?”

  “Giving you a lesson. About your body.” He trailed a finger down the side of her neck. She tilted her head, exposing more skin to his caress. “About your desires. About how to ease the ache inside you.” He stepped away from her, and smiled at the small mewl of protest she made at their separation. “I can show you much tonight. But you have to choose it.”

  A flicker of candlelight drew his attention to a small, round plate of glass displayed on the mantel. Picking it up, he examined the finely detailed landscape painted upon it. His father had purchased it on one of his trips to Venice, one more trinket to fill a house empty of his wife and youngest son. It would serve Marcus’s purpose well.

  When he held it out to Liz
, she was slow to reach out her hand to take the memento. He trailed his fingertips over her palm as he released it to her, and a surge of satisfaction pumped through his veins at her shiver. “You can return to your chambers with no consequences. Or you can stay. Put yourself into my hands for the night. Learn what it is you desire. Understand why your friend sought out Mr. Todd’s attentions. The choice is yours.”

  His body stilled as he waited for her decision. He wanted nothing more than to use his lips, his fingers, to convince her to take the chance. To let him mold her. His cock pressed against his trousers at the thought of taking this woman under his command.

  “Montague . . .” She looked down at the plate and back up at him. Her forehead smoothed as understanding struck her. “All actions have consequences,” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. After a moment’s pause, her dark eyes bore once again into his. She raised her hand. Slowly, she opened her fingers so the fragile piece of glass rested on her palm. With no more hesitation she turned her hand, and the glass fell end over end. It missed the rug, and shattered into pieces on the hardwood floor.

  He was on her in a second. He pressed her body against his, felt her heart race against his chest. He loved that evidence of her fervor, of her vitality. She was so full of life, her currents running deep beneath the still façade. He pulled the pins from her hair, and finally that beautiful mass cascaded through his fingers, as smooth as water. She opened her mouth, to say he didn’t know what, and he took advantage of the opening, and blocked any protest she may have made.

  She’d already made her choice.

  He invaded her mouth, owned every corner of it. Her tongue danced with his, and the tightness eased from his chest. He would show her what pleasure was. First, however, she had asked for another lesson.

  He rested his forehead against hers, and dug down deep in his gut for control. With an effort that could have qualified as a Herculean task, he pulled back. “Look at me.” A sliver of mahogany showed beneath her lids. Bedroom eyes. He clenched his jaw. “You made a choice. You were feeling out of control, lost, and you decided to do something about it. You broke your employer’s property, willfully, and that choice has an answering effect.”

  He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, pulling it out from the bite of her teeth. “You need something, an end to your riotous emotions, something that will make you feel better. Redeemed.” He brushed his lips over the shell of her ear, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. “Don’t worry, my little bird. I’ll give it to you.”

  One arm banded around her waist, he drew her to his desk. He laid one more soft kiss on her lips, prayed that he was right about what she needed, that she’d enjoy it as much as he thought she would. He’d want her regardless; but if she also enjoyed his brand of discipline? His chest tightened at the thought. Turning her, he pushed her chest down over the hard wood surface.

  She gasped, and he bent over to kiss the nape of her neck. “Reach your hands up and grab the edge of the desk.”

  She complied, her round bottom rocking into his crotch at the movement, her soft flesh cushioning his throbbing shaft. He thought her action inadvertent, until she did it again.

  “You little minx.” He placed a hand at the base of her spine. “Further teasing on your part will only incur more punishment. Since this is all new to you, I think that is something you will want to avoid.”

  He smoothed his hand across her back and between her shoulder blades, her muscles softening beneath his touch. The heat from her body warmed him, even through both layers of their clothes. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and he enjoyed her surrender as she sank into his caress. For her to put herself into his hands like this, to trust him so much, made him feel ten feet tall. His hands swept lower. He prepared himself to stop his roving hands at the first sign of her unease.

  It never came.

  He felt the contours of her arse through her skirts, the delightful edge where her bottom met her thighs. Slowly, he drew her skirt up, inch by inch, exposing her flesh-colored drawers. He itched to tear the thin cotton from her, wanting no barriers between them, but knew she might require it for her peace of mind. He trailed his fingers down one round cheek. She was perfect.

  “Do you need this?” he asked, his voice harsher than he intended. “Do you need to be punished?”

  Her ragged breath met his ears, and for a moment, he didn’t think she would answer. “Yes,” Liz said softly. “I was bad. I deserve it.”

  The fervency in her voice made him pause. His little bird believed her sins to be great, much larger than breaking his plate. He cocked his head. He had her in a vulnerable position. The questions he had regarding Lord Westmore swirled in his head. With a circle of a finger here, a thrust of his tongue there, he could have her spilling every secret she’d ever held.

  Her fingers clamped onto the edge of the desk, her knuckles white, and his hands resumed their soothing caress. He couldn’t do it, not when she put so much trust into him. It would be a violation that could turn her against his sort of discipline forever. He ran his fingers through her hair, combing it out, and she sighed. Besides, it was coincidence that her former employer’s name had been raised in his current investigation. The chances of his maid having any relevant information were small indeed.

  He pressed his body over hers, kissed her ear. “Relax. Nothing outside this room matters right now. There is just you and me and the discipline that you ache for.”

  She nodded. Straightening, he knew she was as ready as she ever would be. His palms grew damp as he wondered what her reaction would be. Would she be one of those women who loved being taken in hand, who grew to crave the peace that came with it, or would the experience shock her senses, turn her stomach? He prayed for the former, but didn’t want to examine too closely why her response mattered so much to him. He couldn’t let it matter. This was only to help her discover who she was. It could be nothing more.

  “Close your eyes.” He walked around the desk and opened the bottom drawer. Pulling out a drafting ruler, he rapped it against his palm, testing the sting. She tensed at the sound, but made no other move. Circling back behind her, he examined her from tip to top, observed her flushed cheeks, her heaving breaths, her knees pressed tightly together in anticipation. He had never been so attuned to a woman’s body, her emotions. It was a connection that would help him measure what she needed, what she could take, to give her the experience she craved. It was a connection that sent a wave of heat rolling throughout him, settling low in his gut.

  He gripped the ruler. His body wanted to make her his. Fuck her hard. Hear her scream his name. He swallowed. His mind knew better. She was only his for tonight. He traced the swell of her bottom with the stiff wood, pleased when she sighed at the touch. “You will count out each stroke. That is all you have to do. That, and keep your hands where they are. The rest is my responsibility. Do you understand, Liz?” His chest swelled as her name rolled over his tongue. Such a neat, little name that suited her perfectly. That he was allowed the intimacy of calling her by it gave him great pleasure.

  Her hips shifted. “Yes. I understand.”

  Not wanting to give her time to second-guess her decision, he lifted the ruler and brought it down with a solid smack against her right cheek. Not so hard to hurt her, but firm enough to let her know what she was getting into.

  Her body jolted at the impact, but immediately settled back down on the desk. “One,” she whispered. He smoothed over the tender area with his free hand before striking her left side. A whisper of breath hissed between her lips before she said, “Two.”

  He took her measure, and smiled in satisfaction. Her self-control was a balm to his own turbulent mind. He focused only on Liz, her reactions, her pleasure. There was no room for the troubles of his life to invade.

  Her loose muscles and serene face showed she was neither shocked nor horrified by this new experience. Whether she would grow to crave it remained t
o be seen. He began a deliberate campaign, smacking a different area of her bottom with each flick of his wrist. Waiting for her soft count, he caressed her over her drawers between strikes.

  He had planned on stopping at twenty. That would be enough for a novice, enough for her to get a taste, to determine whether it was something she liked or abhorred. But he didn’t stop. She’d begun rocking her hips, reaching out to anticipate the next blow, and bringing them back down to rub her pelvis against his desk as she counted, the movement slight but unmistakable. She worried her bottom lip. Her voice became more and more breathless.

  His little bird was aroused. By him. By his dominance. And he wasn’t willing to end it just yet. He stepped in close behind her, let her bottom cradle his erection while he rubbed soothing circles over her back, her arms. Leaning over, he pressed a soft kiss to her neck, enjoying the salty sweetness of her heated skin on his lips. “You’re doing so well, Liz. So well.” He bit back a groan as she pressed back against him and wiggled, a hint of frustration creasing between her closed eyes.

  Straightening, he ran his fingers between the layers where her raised skirts met her drawers. He traced around her middle until he found the tie, unknotted it. Slowly dragging the undergarments down, he revealed inch after inch of her luscious bottom. “We’ll go a little further tonight, give you a little more.”

  Her muscles tensed as the cool air met her skin, but he soothed her with his hands, his lips on her neck, until her drawers were pooled around her ankles. Standing back up, he stared at her heart-shaped ass, pink from his ministrations. His cock throbbed with want. Flashes of everything he could do to her swept through his mind. Taking her from behind like a rutting beast. Biting that creamy flesh, scoring her with his mark. Pushing her to her knees and fucking that sweet mouth.