Page 44 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

Foxford slides his damp fingers down my thighs, then over my shin bones, stopping at my ankles. He wriggles a thick digit between my limb and the rope surrounding it before going to the other and doing the same. Kneeling between my legs, he climbs back onto the bed and runs his fingers along my arms, stopping at my hands.

He’s so large, so impossibly huge, as he looms over me. With each breath, my nipples brush against his body, reigniting that endless well of need I never knew existed. It’s maddening how my body responds, even when he’s not doing anything to me. Before this moment, I wanted nothing more than to feel the pleasure of his hands, but now, I want to escape this prison he’s crafting around me.

“I want you to grip my fingers as hard as you can.” His deep timber cuts into the hazy thoughts floating about my mind.

Without thinking, I obey him, too tired to either put up a fight or try to puzzle through what he’s doing. After a few hums of pleasure, he takes his thumbnail and grazes it down my palm before digging it into the pad of my fingers.

“If discomfort is what you seek, Your Grace, then you are accomplishing your task.” My voice is soft and distant, as if not belonging to me somehow.

Pulling back, he scowls down at me, his lips twisting into a frightening sneer, but I cannot find it in me to care. Not now, not when my body feels as if every molecule is bouncing about, threatening to rip through my skin. His fingers reach down and skim my nipples, pulling a light moan from between my lips.

But the pleasure of his hands is soon gone as his fingers pinch me, hard, gripping the tender buds and pulling upward. I wish to follow, to somehow give my body some desperately needed slack, but I am at a disadvantage. Again, the urge to cry out hovers over my lips, right there, so easily shouted, but I can’t. I cannot allow myself to falter now.

But each moment that goes by where I don’t make a sound, his pressure increases until I am forced to sob. “Is it your intention to make me scream again? To force my hand? Do you hate me all that much?”

The duke doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls away and replaces the sting with the warmth of his tongue, rasping it against my poor, abused flesh. This time, I do cry out, but not in pain. No, somehow this devil of a man is able to take my agony and twist it into something different, something depraved. And once again, I am at his mercy.

“That’s right, little omega,” he fairly purrs, pausing to run his tongue around the stiff peak. “That’s the type of sound I want to hear. Perhaps you can be a bit louder. I want the guests downstairs to know of my prowess, of how I can take the daughter of an earl and turn her into a wanton.”

“Please, Your Grace, I beg of you-”

“That’s right. You will beg. And I will decide what I shall grant you. Know this, omega wife, you will no doubt rue the day you decided to trap me against my will, making me a husband when I was not desirous of it.”

“But I-”

“It is done. I no longer wish to hear anything more on the matter. It is settled.”

My heart cries out at the finality of his words. To him, the conversation may be over, but I will never cease to want to defend myself, to proclaim the truth, even when he doesn’t want to hear it. But for now, I wisely keep my mouth closed, allowing him this moment.

Perhaps if he takes his pound of flesh from my body, we might be able to come to an easy truce, a peace that’s predicated on my submission to his deviant appetites. One thing is for sure, I pray all of this results in me becoming pregnant, so I do not have to endure these injustices any longer. Once he has his heir and spare, I will be done with him, secluding myself to the nursery and the library.

The things he does to me turn my head until I cannot think, and to survive in this marriage, I need all my wits about me. To be honest though, part of me mourns the idea of never feeling the elation he gifts me with when he forces a release on my body. But then, I’ll just have to figure out how to do it on my own.

Tears gather in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I refuse to allow him to see what he’s doing to me. And so, I blink them away, looking off into the room as he crawls back to the edge of the bed and removes his breeches.

“Eyes on me, omega,” Foxford orders, his tone brooking no argument. “I will not tell you again.”

I drag my gaze to his member, watching as it jerks in the air. Turning my mind back to a more analytical frame of reference, I study how it looks. The length of him is a sight to behold, but it’s nothing compared to the breadth. My jaw begins to ache, phantom pains as I recall what it was like to fit him into my mouth.

I then study the veins as they seem to almost throb, wrapping around his girth like vines climbing up the side of a mighty wall. My insides clench as the sweet scent of his arousal tickles my nose, bringing back a longing so fierce, I almost beg him again. It’s by sheer willpower I continue to stare and stay silent.

Like a wild animal, he climbs back on the bed, prowling forward as he forces his body into my space. With slow, methodical movements, he undoes my wrists, pausing to rub first one, then the other. Leaning back, he does the same with my ankles until I’m free.

I can run. I can flee this situation with my maidenhood still intact. And as he stares at me, I know he’s waiting for me to make the first move. He studies me, his eyes dilating as the scent of my indecision fills the room. He is a wild animal, after all.

Even with that mask of civility, the veneer of being a gentleman, underneath, he’s still just a predator, and I’m clearly his prey. The knowledge hits me hard, but instead of panicking, my traitorous body hums with need. I want him like this. Deep down, I know it, and that’s what makes it all so dangerous.

Curling his hands around my wrists, he pins them down onto the bed, holding them there for a few moments. My pulse beats against his fingers, fluttering under his exacting touch. Again, a moan hovers at the back of my throat, demanding to be free.

After several heartbeats, he lets me go. Skimming his palms down the sides of my legs, he maneuvers my thighs how he wants them, placing them on either side of his body. The very width of him stretches my legs out until my joints begin to groan in protest. Rocking his hips forward just a touch, I can feel the weight of his length as he rubs it against me, making me moan at the contact.

Once more, he grips my wrists, pinning me to the spot. “What witchery do you hold? Hmmm? My perfect little doll?” he groans out as more of his arousal scents the air. “I should want nothing to do with you, and yet, my body craves you in a way I’ve never felt, not since I was a budding lad bedding my first woman.”

Pulling back a hair, he reaches in between us, the back of his knuckles grazing against that sensitive bundle of nerves until my hips rock against his on their own accord. But soon, a different sensation nearly sends my brain into overdrive. Something hard and blunt prods at my entrance, and though I cannot see what it is, somehow, I know it’s his tip.

Somehow, he means to fit all of him into me. But it cannot be done! Even now, as my brain calculates the sensations I’ve received already, I know he cannot fit. Not unless he means to split me in two. And that’s when real panic sets in.

My breath comes in harried gasps as my gaze drifts from his eyes down the length of his body and back up. I squirm, attempting to dislodge myself, but the weight of his body gives me no room.