Page 60 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

“I have no debts. At least none that has been revealed to me. Is this why you’ve had such an obsession with money? You think I’m somehow responsible for the ruination of my household? Talk with Asher. He will tell you all of it.”

Shaking his head, Foxford pulls back and glares at me, a soft growl rumbling in his chest. Despite the anger I feel for him, despite how disgusted I am at this turn of conversation, my body is helpless to resist. I writhe against the wood, needing more than just that maddening sound. I need him. I need his touch.

“I have spoken with Asher. He’s the one that’s made it abundantly clear just how much havoc you’ve wreaked in his household.” His eyes still look at me with anger, but now there’s something else there.

If I’m not entirely mistaken, his expression is now tinged with uncertainty. Even now, he stares at me, his gaze searching mine, looking for something. I wish I could give him whatever answers he wanted because I’m also laden with confusion.

“I- I don’t understand. I’ve done nothing. I-”

“Don’t worry,” he snaps, coming back to himself. “I’ll know everything soon enough. I won’t lay these at your feet at the moment. What I can take you to task for is how you blatantly disregarded all manner of safety and put yourself in danger tonight. And trust me, the punishment will be more than enough.”

With a quick wrench of his hands, he rips the shirt I’m wearing in two, baring my naked breasts to his gaze. Tsking softly, he cups them, palming their weight for a moment before pulling back. I sigh, letting my body hang there.

But before I can fully feel the relief, his hand swings forward, catching my left breast with his palm. Everything goes white for a moment as both pain and pleasure rip through my body. It’s a sensation I’ve never experienced before, and I’m not sure how I feel about it now.

My mind is torn. The pleasurable side, the part of me that secretly revels in his harsh treatment of me, nearly purrs as the warmth from the sting settles deep into my core. On the other hand, there’s a part of me that’s still in shock from the impact.

Though it doesn’t seem like it was hard enough to cause damage, the area tingles, sending pinpricks into my nipple. Bending low, he takes it into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the taut peaks. Unable to resist, I moan loud and long.

As my toes curl from the change in sensations, he strikes the other breast, lighting up that part of my brain that doesn’t know if I should flee or fight. But just like with the left one, he slides his tongue around my right nipple before engulfing it with the heat of his mouth.

Arousal drips from my body, splattering on the floor below. Between the sound of his mouth sucking at my sensitive skin, I can hear it. Mortification coils through my body, adding to the maelstrom of emotions already swamping my mind.

Pulling back, he stares at me, his eyes dark with need. I can feel the energy rolling off of him in waves. He stands there, a pillar of strength, a golem waiting for the right words, the right instructions to pounce. More than that, his restraint is nigh palpable in the air.

With quick strides, he walks over to a set of drawers and rummages around. I crane my neck to see, to figure out what he has planned for me. My stomach clenches as both curiosity and self-preservation war within. So far, nothing he’s done has harmed me in any way, and yet, I’ve never seen him as angry as I have tonight.

Silently, he prowls forward, his eyes raking over my body. I can almost feel it as if it were nails imbedding themselves in my skin. Lifting his hand, he holds onto one end of what looks like an odd little clamp and lets the other fall. A shiny chain dangles between the two, and I can’t even fathom what their purpose is.

But Foxford is nothing if not generous in that he never allows me too much time to think, or overthink as the case may be. He grabs my nipple in his rough grasp and yanks me forward. So much pressure. My nipple tingles as he closes the clamp over it, pinching me in a way that has no words.

Pain.

That’s one word for what this feels like. The need to cry out, to howl out my discomfort, beats at my chest. But part of me doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction. Lips screwing down into a fierce scowl, he studies me for a moment before yanking on the chain.

A piercing cry erupts from my throat, my sobs coming from the very depths of my being. This isn’t just pleasurable agony. This goes far beyond what my mind and body can handle.

Racking sobs bend and twist my body, my arms still held aloft by the restraints. At least the pain from the clamp takes away the mild ache that’s forming in my shoulders. Grabbing my other nipple, he pinches and twists it, mirroring the pain in the other.

Just as my body can’t take anymore, he releases it, making it throb angrily. Deep, heaving breaths bow my body off the cross, jutting my breasts further into his face. Once more, he leans down, hovering his lips over me.

“Shall I kiss it and make it better?”

Foxford doesn’t even wait for me to answer before breathing warm air over the nipple in question. With featherlight touches, he skims his lips over the tender bud, drawing out a different sound entirely. Pure pleasure lances through my body as he swirls his tongue around the aching point.

Reaching over, he grabs the chain and attaches the clamp to the other nipple. Now, both ache and throb in unison, which, in some ways, feels better. At least my agony is equal.

His lips slant over mine, drinking in my uncomfortable whines as he undoes the cuffs. Before I can sigh in relief, he simply pulls away and turns me around. With a hard jerk of his hand, he tears the shirt the rest of the way off, leaving me completely bare to his machinations. The click as he refastens the cuffs, positioning me so that my chest presses into a bit of square padding, thunders in my ear like the sound of finality.

My nipples feel raw and abused as the clamped buds rub up against the leather, but somehow that only seems to fuel my body, making my insides cramp with need. Like a wanton, I rock my hips back and forth, grinding on air as I seek some sort of release. At this point, I’d take almost anything from the duke if it meant pleasure after.

The thuds from his footfalls seem to echo in my mind, hazy, as if I’m back under the blissful waves of unconsciousness. But he’s not choking me. Why is my body responding like this? Acting like this? I want to understand, to explore these feelings and emotions, but I can’t.

Between the discomfort in my nipples to the throbbing ache between my thighs, I can’t seem to hold on to a single thought. It bursts into nothingness the moment I try to gather it.

The only thing that’s clear is that my punishment is only beginning. If only I had stayed home. If only I confronted him in a safe space. But if I’m being absolutely honest with myself, there’s a large part that’s grateful for this, grateful for his touch, even if it’s agonizing.

Here, we’re able to connect, to drop all barriers and pretenses. He sees my needs, even the ones I don’t know about. He pulls feelings from me that I can’t imagine anyone else being able to do. What he’s doing is dastardly and wrong, but in the end, my body wouldn’t have it any other way.