Page 37 of To Ensnare a Duke

The sound buzzes in my head as my body becomes wooden and heavy.

THWACK

My vision wavers. Everything becomes hazy as I stare at the wooden slats of the wall in front of me. The lines dip and sway as I blink, trying my best to right them.

THWACK

I feel nothing but warmth. The ginger burns in my backside as his punishment scalds me from the outside. The pain is still there, but it's muddled somehow. It's as if I've taken one too many sips of sherry.

THWACK

Though I wish to giggle at my drunken, muzzy state, I know deep down that I'm not supposed to move my lips. Why can't I move them? Why don't I want to?

THWACK

Nothing at all seems to make sense. Butterflies flap about in my stomach, their aerial dances fluttering about until I cannot ignore the tickle any longer. I bring my hand down to settle them, but it doesn't move. Why doesn't it move?

THWACK

My thoughts continue to click about slowly, as if they're stuck in treacle. Nothing makes sense, and yet, it does. I'm being punished, and rightfully so. But should it feel so bloody good? Again, the need to laugh bursts from my throat, but no sound comes out.

The only thing reverberating through my skull is the clatter of wood upon wood. Blast. Seems as if I've dropped it. Portswell swims into view, his fawn-like eyes cutting through some of the haze. His lips move, but I find I cannot understand his words.

"Warm," I slur, resting against the wood. "So warm."

He disappears again, but I can't find it within me to care where he went. My arms find release as strong arms scoop me up. Turning into his chest, I drink in the clove and sandalwood, taking his scent deep into my heart.

In his arms, I feel like I'm floating. I'm weightless. But all too soon, reality tries to crash in. Portswell sits us down, and the instant my bottom comes into contact with the implacable expanse of his thighs, pain zips up my spine.

Instead of crying out, a moan drips from my lips as I try to shift about to find some relief. With a chuckle, he lays me out on the bed, face down, so my bottom can be free. He kneels there next to me, his gaze searching mine.

"This is supposed to be a punishment. How can I punish you if you enjoy it so much?"

"Is that what this is?" I mutter, running a finger down his lightly stubbled cheek. "I didn't think I would enjoy it. It does hurt a bit."

"I'm sure." There's a chuckle in his voice as he runs his hand down my backside.

At the contact, I jerk away as if I were burned. His touch is spiky and sharp, nothing like it was before.

"Your backside is quite bruised. You will have a harder time sitting tomorrow. But that was by design."

He watches me again, his eyes narrowing as he studies my face. Soon, his hand drifts over my head, sliding over my hair in a soft, intimate gesture. If I had the strength to move, I’d snuggle into his touch.

"Talk to me, Augusta,” he murmurs. “Tell me what drives you so."

"Because I'm perverse," I croak, not meaning for the words to come out of my mouth.

I do my best to stop them, but they continue to pour forth, highlighting my secret shame. If Portswell judges me, he shows no sign. His eyes darken, turning nearly black as I confess the last part.

"Your pain makes me wish to touch myself."

"Touch yourself? Show me. I wish to know exactly how you find pleasure."

His strong hands turn me over. He ignores my cries as my bottom touches the rough sheets.

"I cannot. It would be unseemly."

"We're far past that, now aren't we? Consider this the last part of your punishment. Do not hide yourself away from me. If it's my pain that drives you so, then I demand to see the pleasure you derive."