Page 17 of The Duke’s Christmas Rejection

“Your wish is my command.”

Before I can even think, he turns me over, tossing me down onto the hay. He doesn’t even give me a chance to cry out, to change my mind, before his rough hands flip up my redingote. An icy chill slices through my body as the one thing that separates me from the elements is shoved up my body.

“How scandalous, Miss Cynthia. Seems to me you’ve left a few garments upstairs in your room. How naughty of you to come down in just your redingote and nothing else. Suppose one of the grooms caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have?”

There’s a note to his voice, an angry quaver as he studies my naked backside. But what does he care? He’s made it abundantly clear that he does not want me. Once more, sorrow worms its way in, shattering the surrounding illusion.

“But more than that, do you care nothing of your health? Surely even one as common as the daughter of a baron is familiar with the muslin disease. Why, your very skin is dotted with bumps as it tries so desperately to warm itself. If I had known you wore so few layers-”

“Then what? It’s not as if you own me. It’s not as if my body should be of any concern to you.” I move to get up, but his hand is there, pushing me back down.

“That is where you are most certainly incorrect, Miss Cynthia. While you are here, under my hand, your body is indeed of great interest to me. As far as owning it, however, that is not a task I willfully take on.”

Once more, I move, anger and hurt coalescing into one massive knot of pain in my chest, but still he keeps his hand firm on my person. I cannot fight him; I know I can’t. He’s not only much bigger and much stronger, but part of me doesn’t want to win this game. I want to see its conclusion, even if it kills me.

The first strike of leather against my skin steals my breath away. It is unexpected, giving me no ability to brace myself. The sensation is wholly unfamiliar—fire and warmth with a sting I will not soon forget. Even when mama chastised me, it was never like this. She never once took an implement to my backside, leaving me vulnerable to this form of attack, unprepared.

Another strike of the crop kissing my other cheek, and my body flies into action. I squirm, pulling forward, my fingers finding no real purchase in the sifting hay. Norhaven’s dark chuckle floods my ears, making the pain morph into something else, a pleasure beneath the sharp bite.

He picks me up with one arm, cradling me against his body as he sits down on a nearby stool, but far too soon, he shifts me again, putting me over his lap. His thighs are like steel beneath me, unyielding, unmoving. Soon, he smacks my flesh again, painting my backside with his displeasure.

I kick out, unable to handle the maelstrom of feelings and sensations flooding through me, but Norhaven doesn’t even allow me that freedom. He captures my legs with his own, tipping me forward even more, until I’m bracing against the ground with my hands.

He tosses the crop down with a soft clatter, and I sigh, thinking my punishment is soon to be over. But that is far from the truth. He continues on, but this time, with his hand. It’s far more intimate, far more scandalous, and far more arousing. Though it hurts just as badly, his hand causes my body to burn. Arousal gathers at the juncture of my thighs as I feel him harden against me.

Memories of the library, of how roughly he handled the maid flood my brain. He enjoys this. He enjoys causing pain and discomfort. Somehow, that knowledge fuels my body, causing even more heat to flood my system until my muscles clench and strain against him in need.

Dumping me off of his lap, Norhaven stares down at me, his eyes completely black as he fiddles with the front of his trousers. “Show me.”

This time, I’m unable to resist him. I need release again, far more desperately than before. However, deep inside, there’s still that embarrassment that slithers through me, staying my hand.

Turning, I move to pull my redingote down, to at least hide such an intimate part of me, but Norhaven will have none of it. With a loud snarl that produces even more of that unfamiliar fluid, he tears the fabric away.

“I will see you. Every fucking inch of you. Now, touch yourself.”

I stare up into his eyes, arrested by the heat of his gaze. Reaching down, I slide my fingertips over that aching bundle of nerves, touching myself like I did in the bath, like the maid did in the library. Norhaven must like what he sees because a soft growl of satisfaction pours from his lips, drowning me in that heavenly sound.

Stroking faster, I arch up, a whimper of pleasure on my lips. But, just like in the tub, I bite down on my lower lip, keeping the sounds to myself. Norhaven pulls his member out and runs his hand down the length and back up to the top. Every touch seems to make it ripple and jerk in his hands.

Seeing him like this, watching his fingers move over his body arouses me even further. My hips buck of their own accord as my inner walls clench. As good as this feels, something is still missing, some secret part, some component that Norhaven knows about but is not sharing.

I feel empty somehow, craving the unknown. But more than that, I want him to kiss me again, to drive out all these maddening thoughts until I can just feel. But he doesn’t. He stays aloft, stroking himself as he watches me.

Closing my eyes, I let my other senses take hold—the feel of my fingertips on my body, the sound of Norhaven’s soft grunts as they puncture the air. My body ripples as that intense sensation once more begins to take over, bowing my body as if it has a life of its own.

My lips drop open as my body starts to fly apart, and Norhaven falls to his knees between my splayed thighs. With his free hand, he reaches forward, wrapping his fingers around my mouth.

“Quiet now,” he warns. “I cannot have you giving us away as you reach your pinnacle.” With renewed vigor, he continues to glide his hand up and down his member, his knuckles brushing against the backs of my fingers.

It’s all so overwhelming. I cry out, my sounds muffled by his strong fingers. Uninhibited, I continue to moan as pleasure courses through my body. His low grunts intermingle with the stifled sounds as we both continue, straining for completion.

The moment my release hits, my hips surge up, bumping into his hand. I pull away, to give my body some relief, but Norhaven doesn’t allow me to. “Keep touching yourself,” he groans. “Do not stop until I’m finished.”

I wail beneath his fingers, unsure if I can do as he asks. Already, the bundle of nerves feel raw and overstimulated. But I have no choice but to obey his commands, wanting to please him more than see to my own comfort.

Again, as I touch myself, the pleasure starts to build. How is this possible? Can a woman reach her pinnacle more than once? Norhaven stares me down, his grunts turning into soft growls that force me to comply. The ecstasy is sharper this time as it burns through me.

It’s white-hot pleasure that twists and turns my body, forcing me to cry out again and again as another release crashes into me. I want to stop, but I don’t dare. The last thing I want to do right now is disappoint him.