Page 25 of To Ensnare a Duke

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.

CHAPTER 13

AUGUSTA

Alight drizzly rain pelts the window, covering the glass in a hazy film. Perfect for my sour mood. Huffing, I walk over to my chair and plop down on it, waiting for that zing of pain, that nagging discomfort that hasn't left me since Portswell took that infernal piece of leather to my backside.

Three days. That's all it took. Three. Blasted. Days. Even now, I pinch the skin, only getting slight flutters of sensation where it had been blazing hot and aching.

Three days of me touching myself in secret, reveling in the fact that I'm indeed not broken and unfixable, as I once thought. I am not Bedlam bound. To Portswell, I'm just adequate.

Three days of silly infatuations as I dream of a life where he and I might be of one accord. It's ridiculous. He made it very clear that I'm like a sister to him.

Three. Blasted. Days where I tossed and turned at night, my fingers the only thing giving me relief. It allowed me to slip back into the abyss of slumber, only to awaken and do it all again. Even now, my hands twitch with a relentless need that is untoward in the cold light of day.

Any minute now, Lydia will be here with my warming chocolate, prepared to start the morning. It won't do her any good to see me in such a state. Rising, I pace the floors again, glancing out the window with every pass. Three days, and Portswell has not stepped foot inside my residence.

He has not shown hide nor hair of himself, leaving me to wonder if I imagined it all? Walking over to the mirror, I cast a glance over to the door before hiking up my night rail. Even now, the pink stripes are still there. The welts have gone down considerably, but the color remains.

I didn't dream it. It wasn't the manifestation of some fevered vision or fantasy. And yet, the spell wrapped around me feels all too broken. It matters not that the marks remain when the sensation is gone.

A heavy sigh slips from my lips as I drop my hem and take to pacing once more. I need to distract myself, to find something else to occupy my time. Unfortunately, with the weather such, I can't gallivant about town in an effort to become 'lost' and separated from my maid.

Once more, guilt surges in my chest as I watch the door handle turn, allowing her entrance. So far, it seems as if Portswell has kept his word. She seems to be unscathed, which is a relief. If we were to become separated again, I'm sure he would not be so magnanimous.