CHAPTER FOURTEEN
aphne slowly spooned small portions of a vegetable soup into her mouth, trying to still her shaking hands so she did not stain the pristine white tablecloth. Keeping her eyes lowered, she murmured a few times here and there in response to the conversation taking place at the table around her. Otherwise, she remained silent, her tongue a heavy, cumbersome thing in her mouth. Each spoonful of soup tasted like ash, her stomach rebelling against every swallow. She remained constantly aware of the constant scrutiny … of the disdainful and questioning gazes being tossed her way.
While Adam proved the consummate host—regaling his guests with tales of Dunnottar’s history and promising a tour after they had concluded their meal—she seemed to be the main attraction. At the far end of the table, Lady Loring had already engaged in her favorite pastime, whispering to the ladies closest to her while casting disdainful glances at Daphne from the corner of her eye. Near Daphne sat a woman she had not noticed in her shock over Robert’s arrival—Lady Stanley, Robert’s mother. Her wrinkled face held a heavy measure of censure as she gazed at Daphne from across the table, and every so often, she could be found shaking her head and murmuring under her breath … words such as ‘shameful’ and ‘despicable.’
The woman had seemed to want to balk at the way the seating had been arranged, with Adam at the head of the table and Daphne seated to his left, and Robert wedged on her left. Seated across from them, she had a clear view of her son beside a harlot and the man who had paid to possess her body.
“Time has certainly done little to change you,” Robert said suddenly, drawing her attention away from the soup.
When she raised her eyebrows in question, he cleared his throat and flushed. The endearing trait had always given away his embarrassment, turning his cheeks and the tips of his ears scarlet.
“That is to say … you are as lovely as ever,” he added. “And I daresay as spirited.”
“Oh, yes,” Adam muttered between bites of soup, his droll tone unmistakable. “Lady Daphne possesses quite a bit of spirit.”
Across from her, Lady Stanley issued a soft gasp, dropping her spoon to clatter to the saucer beneath her bowl. Robert seemed oblivious to Adam’s ribbing and carried on.
“Do you remember what great fun we used to have—you, Bertie, and me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with good humor as he leaned toward her, his soup forgotten. “Riding, running about in the woods between our lands. Our governesses had quite the devil of a time keeping up with us, that is for certain. And you, as wild and untamed as any boy your age.”
Despite her position at the moment, the memories he conjured made her smile. They called to mind simpler times, when the world had not been so complicated. When she’d only been a girl who loved to run and play with the boys, wearing her brother’s old breeches and leaving her slippers behind to traipse about barefoot. In the country, a girl could get away with such behavior, surrounded by trees and covered by the sky, her deeds going unseen by the judgmental eyes of the London ton.
“You paint the picture of quite a little harridan,” Adam mused as the servants came forward to remove the soup and prepare to serve the main course.
Robert chuckled, leaning back in his chair and glancing past her at Adam. “She was quite endearing, my lord. Imagine my surprise when I returned home from Harrow one summer to find she had transformed into a young lady.”
“As girls are wont to do,” Adam murmured dryly.
Daphne busied herself by taking a sip of wine, needing to cool her face due to the images Robert’s recollections brought to mind. Of them wading in a shallow stream in the woods—without Bertram for company, for a change. Of him eying her exposed calves as she held her gown aloft and licking his lips hungrily. Of him lifting her into his arms after she’d stepped on a stone and cut her foot … using his own cravat to stifle the bleeding … leaning over her for a kiss.
He had taught her a woman’s pleasure, plucking her tender, budding breasts, and causing her to realize how massaging the little bud of her womanhood could cause stars to explode behind her closed eyelids.
“Yes, well, some things never change,” Robert said, filling the awkward silence. “Lady Daphne has always been a unique sort of lady, sharing many of the same interests as Bertram and I. Quite rare to find in a woman, I must say.”
“Oh, I think our friend Bertie has developed quite a few new interests over the years,” Adam muttered.
Daphne sputtered, nearly choking on a mouthful of Madeira. Setting her glass down, she broke into a coughing fit, her throat burning as she struggled to breathe through the wine she had nearly inhaled in response to Adam’s jibe. Of course, it would seem innocent to anyone who was ignorant to Bertram’s misdeeds.
Thankfully, the servants had just finished laying out the main course, and conversation faded to a minimum as the men served themselves and the women seated at their side. Adam filled her plate from the dishes closest to them, seeming to remember her preferences. During an intimate meal, where they dined alone, she might have found it endearing. However, she could feel the probing eyes of Robert and his mother upon them, seeming to catalog their interactions—their familiarity.
“Quite a shame, the trouble that has recently befallen your family as of late, Lady Daphne,” Lady Stanley spoke up while using her knife to cut a portion of lamb.
Daphne paused with her fork halfway to her lips and frowned. She could not be certain exactly what the woman referred to given the events of the past five years.
“Thank you, my lady,” she replied, grasping at the first thing that came to mind. “The loss of Uncle William was quite a devastating blow.”
“Hmph,” the woman mumbled between bites of her lamb. “I am certain. Being forced to abandon Fairchild House in London must have only added to the strain.”
This time, it was Daphne who dropped her utensil, the shock of the woman’s words lodging in her gut like a dagger. Had her parents been forced to sell their townhome in London? Her grandfather had purchased that house in Grosvenor Square, one of the loftiest addresses in Mayfair. Did that mean they had returned to their estate in Suffolk? Circumstances there were even direr than in London—the lands producing just enough to cover the necessary expenses, and even some of those would soon be neglected. In the coming years, it might become a ruin … a relic of a long-forgotten family fallen into the gutter.
“I …. I …”
She fumbled for words, uncertain of how to respond when Lady Stanley had blindsided her. The woman gave her a knowing look … as if she had known Daphne to be ignorant of this development. Of course she was ignorant; she’d been acting as Adam’s whore for the past four weeks.
“Many families have faced ruin due to the actions of their patriarchs,” Adam cut in, his tone icy enough to lower the temperature in the room tremendously. “As we all know, young unmarried ladies are hardly to blame for the fates that befall them.”
Daphne swiveled her gaze to Adam, who might have reduced Lady Stanley to ash if looks could kill. The woman’s face reddened, but she simply returned her attention to her lamb.
Adam met her gaze and gave her a curt nod, as if to reassure her. But why? He had created this situation to gain his own ends. She was not stupid enough to believe he cared about the loss of Fairchild House. It had to have been just another step in his plan to ruin them.
Had he spoken up to protect her from Lady Stanley’s humiliation? No, he could not possibly care about that, either. This entire farce was about humiliating her.
Whatever the cause, she was grateful for the temporary reprieve. Though, she was hardly surprised by Lady Stanley’s behavior. The woman had never liked her, thinking her beneath her precious son—even though she was the daughter of a viscount, and Robert the son of a baron. Daphne was too wild, too unconventional to wed Robert, and the old biddy had made her thoughts on the subject known quite frequently.
The rest of dinner continued without another embarrassing incident, the conversation turning to small talk. Adam engaged Robert over fencing—an interest they shared, while Daphne sulked in silence, moving the food about on her plate to make it look as if she’d eaten. All the while, Robert watched her pensively. She shuddered to think what he might find if he looked too closely. Like the evidence of what Adam’s touch had turned her into, and how much she’d enjoyed it.
After the dessert course, Adam announced he would lead them on a tour. This, his guests seemed excited over, as many had only heard rumors of the old ruin of a castle the Earl of Hartmoor had turned into his own personal palace.
He kept a hand at the small of her back while leading the party down the winding halls of the castle, flaunting the music room and sun rooms, as well as the library. He impressed them all with his knowledge of the castle’s history, right down to the various builders who had influenced its aesthetic over the past few centuries. Even she found herself enthralled by the tales he weaved, some of the information being things he had not yet told her.
“I have heard rumors of secret passages and caverns,” said one of the gentlemen. “As well as an escape tunnel leading out to the shore?”
“Aye, there are many passages one could get lost in,” Adam confirmed. “The cave you refer to was used for escape in many of the battles that took place here. It leads through a postern gate and down the side of the escarpment on the north face. Would you like to see it?”
The entire group agreed collectively, even Lady Stanley seeming excited over being able to see this cavern for herself. Even Daphne could not help that her curiosity had been stoked, the cavern being one of the few places she had never seen.
They set off with Adam in the lead. He made a stop along the way to retrieve a large candelabra, using it to light their way as they moved toward darker parts of Dunnottar … the parts that had not yet been renovated. She found the darkened corridors beautiful in their starkness, the shadows clinging to various corners lending it all a gothic feel.
After a while, he led them into a long, dark corridor paved with stones. Adam chuckled when a few of the women gasped and whimpered in distress, moving closer to the men who had accompanied them.
“Never fear, ladies,” he quipped. “I am certain the brave men in our company would protect you from anything that might come rushing through this tunnel.”
The light he carried moved on, and they followed, the others walking past Daphne faster than she could keep up, eventually putting her toward the back of the procession. After a while, the stone gave way to earthen walls, and the ground beneath them began to slope sharply. The smell of earth mingled with that of the ocean as they drew nearer to the shore. Adam continued his tale of the battles that had been won and lost here, of the men who had only survived because of the tunnel they stood in. Her attention became stolen away by the hand brushing hers in the dark. A man’s hand.
“Daphne,” Robert whispered near her ear, his familiar scent flooding her nostrils as she leaned close. “Daphne, we must talk.”
Her gaze flitted to Adam’s shadow, large and ominous at the front of their group. He seemed oblivious to them, attending to the entertainment of his guests.
“Robert, please …”
His hand enclosed around hers, squeezing tight. “Just tell me if he’s hurt you, Daphne. Should I call him out?”
She snatched her hand away as if he’d burned her, uncertain why allowing him the liberty felt so wrong after all they’d shared together. It felt like betrayal of Adam.
“Ask me no more, I beg you,” she hissed. “You will only make matters worse.”
She tried to move past him, but she felt his presence near her constantly. He stood at her back during the rest of their walk through the cavern, then beside her once Adam had guided them to the moonlit shore.
After what felt like an eternity, Adam turned to lead their party back toward the tunnel. Turning to fall in line with the others, Daphne lifted her skirts and trudged over the sand. Just before the mouth of the cave could swallow her up, a hand closed around her arm, and she was brought up short.
Robert.
She stifled a sound of alarm as he pulled her into his arms and propelled her toward the outside edge of the cave. Pressing her against the hard rock, he covered her mouth with his hand and kept it there until the voices of the others had faded down the tunnel.
Then, removing his hand, he replaced it with his mouth. His kiss muffled her protest, his hands insistent as they swept over her shoulders, her neck, moving up into her hair. He kissed her hungrily, lapping at her with his tongue and cupping the back of her head the way he knew she liked.
The way she used to like.
Now, she could not help but compare his kiss to another’s and find it lacking. His body was too sinewy against hers, lacking the hardness of Adam’s. He held her too gently, as if she were some fragile thing he was afraid to break. She almost wished he would tighten his hold on her hair, thrust his hips at her, bite her lip … something to show her that he realized she was no longer the innocent maiden he had kissed and touched in hidden meadows six years ago.
When he finally pulled away, she sighed, the sound one of disappointment. He hardly seemed to notice, pressing his forehead against hers and stroking her cheek. He pressed little kisses against her nose, her cheeks, her neck.
After a while, she placed her hands against his chest and pushed. She did not know why she’d allowed it to go on this long. Perhaps she had sought some of that lost innocence. Maybe, her disappointment was not with him, but in her own self and the depths she had sunk to.
“Robert, we cannot do this,” she insisted. “Adam … he will not like it.”
“So, it is Adam, is it?” he scoffed.
The moonlight illuminated his face, showing his clear annoyance. She had never noticed how petulant he looked when angry.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “The rumors of your family’s desperate situation have reached Suffolk. I cannot blame you for whatever situation you’ve found yourself in, but … dash it all, Daff! Why did you not come to me?”
Indignation bristled her spine, annoyance heating her face. “You? The man who refused to offer for me after I came of age? The man who let me go off to London for my first Season and did not even possess the bollocks to come after me?”
He grasped her shoulders again, holding on tight, his eyes wide and wild as he drew her back to him. “I have so many regrets, Daphne … you have no idea. I was young, and thought perhaps there might be more for me to learn before I could marry you.”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “More like you thought there might be more cunt for you to chase!”
He reared back as if she’d struck him, and she reveled in the satisfaction it caused her. He needed to understand she was not the girl he’d once known.
“You are right,” he replied, lowering his head. “I was a fool, and after I had finished chasing the things I came to realize were meaningless … there was only you. The woman I love. The woman I—”
“It is too late,” she interjected, knowing she could not bear to hear him confess to wanting to marry her.
“Of course it isn’t,” he declared, giving her a shake. “Do you not realize I’ve loved you since I was a boy? Nothing will change that.”
“I cannot be what you want me to be, Robert,” she argued, trying to dislodge herself from his hold and failing. “I am ruined.”
He grew stronger in his desperation, his fingers biting painfully into her arms. Finally, a display of strength from him … and she did not find it the least bit appealing.
“Do you think I care that he’s had you?” he demanded. “I don’t… not when I know he must have coerced you or forced you … God, Daphne, tell me he forced you, and I will call him out. The bastard … sitting there flaunting you like some bloody mistress! Baiting me with those sly remarks. Say the word, and I will give him what for.”
She stifled a laugh at the thought of Robert attempting to engage Adam in a duel. The man who had so effortlessly bent her to his will was no weakling. She could imagine him wrapping one massive hand around Robert’s throat the same way he had her … only this time, he would squeeze and squeeze until Robert ceased to draw breath.
“Things are different now,” she said. “Please … leave me be.”
She tried to brush him off, but he pursued her, grasping her wrist and attempting to pull her back against him. Despite knowing she had no need to fear him, she struggled in his hold.
“Robert … unhand me this instant … let … let go!”
“Just wait a moment … please!”
A dark shadow fell over them both, blotting out the moon. She went still, the shiver running down her spine putting her at ease instead of frightening her. Robert, fool that he was, only tightened his grip, narrowing his eyes at the intruder.
Adam’s voice washed over them like a frigid tide, turning her blood to ice in her veins. “Is there a problem here?”
“See here, Hartmoor—”
Daphne wrenched her arm from Robert’s hold and rushed toward Adam, seeing in his eyes what the fool behind her could not. Murder glimmered in the depths, turning his irises into cold, hard emeralds. He clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides, pulsing them as if imagining strangling the life from Robert.
“Everything is fine,” she said, hoping the softness of her tone would convince him. “Adam … we are fine. Robert simply wished to have a word with me in private.”
She pressed a hand to his chest, flinching when he growled, moving as if to take a step toward Robert. The hard muscles flexed and hardened against her palm, but her touched stilled him, though he never took his gaze away from Robert.
“If you are quite finished now, perhaps the two of you might come inside,” he snapped. “Mr. Stanley, I do believe your mother is wondering where you’ve gotten off to.”
Robert’s gaze burned into her back, and Daphne felt it sliding over her, watching the way she interacted with Adam … the way she touched him.
After a long moment of silence between the two men, she felt movement at her back.
“Of course,” Robert replied, his voice clipped and strained. “I shall go to her directly. I am certain we will depart shortly. We’ve a house party to attend not far from here. Daphne, it was lovely seeing you again.”
She avoided meeting his gaze as he brushed past them, storming back toward the cave and disappearing inside.
Lifting her eyes to meet Adam’s stare, she choked on a gasp, her breath hitching at the expression she found upon his face. Moonlight slashed across his features, illuminating the pure rage burning in his eyes. His mouth contorted into a sneer as he leaned down toward her, one hand shooting out to grasp her jaw.
Her pulse ramped up at his touch, the familiar fear curling low in her belly and spreading warmth between her legs.
“Did he touch you?” he growled, his fingers biting into her jaw. “Did you let him put his hands on you?”
Knowing he had clearly seen her struggling in his hold, she knew not to lie to him. However, telling him Robert had kissed her would be a mistake.
“J-just when he grabbed my arm,” she managed between rushed breaths. “That is all.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, but then nodded as if accepting her word. “Then you aren’t hurt?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. Robert would never—”
“Come,” he snapped, taking hold of her arm and pulling her along the way Robert had gone.
The darkness swallowed them without the benefit of his candelabra, but he walked confidently, allowing her to relax at his side. For some reason, her heart thundered in her chest, her mind hardly put at ease by his easy acceptance of what he’d just seen.
The tension in Adam’s body did not abate, only seeming to increase as they drew closer to the castle, his long strides forcing her to trot to keep up with him.
She shivered at the silent promise his tight hold upon her arm made. He was angry, and she was sure to suffer his wrath once his guests had departed.
The insides of her thighs became smeared with arousal as she wondered just what he might do to her.
She almost laughed again at the absurdity of it all. When she’d told Robert she had been ruined, she had not meant it in the way he’d thought. Losing her maidenhead had not ruined her … Adam had ruined her. He had made her want things she should not, things no proper lady should desire. And now, she could not stop craving him or the things he’d taught her body to enjoy.
She was ruined … perhaps even beyond repair.
An hour later, with the party guests gone, Daphne followed Adam into his bedchamber. The tension that had been present during the encounter on the shore had not left his body. In fact, it had seemed to grow worse with each passing minute, his scathing glares settling on Robert several times throughout what had remained of the evening. Then, he would settle that stare upon her, his eyes promising retribution.
The guilt and fear she had experienced upon being caught alone with Robert melted away, indignation taking its place. He had no right to be angry with her when he had orchestrated this entire evening. She had gone along with it all, smiling and putting on a brave face just as he’d told her to. Was it not enough that he had destroyed what remained of her reputation? Had he not been satisfied with her performance, even after all the insults and slights she’d suffered throughout the evening?
By the time the last of the guests departed, she had begun returning his angry glares with a few of her own. The long evening had frazzled her nerves, and she was short on patience, as well as exhausted.
So, when she pushed the bedroom door closed behind her, it was with the intent to undress and fall immediately into bed.
Adam, it would seem, had other ideas.
He kept his predatory gaze upon her while he disrobed, each movement of his hands clearly showing his agitation. It showed in the way he jerked at his cravat, tossing it carelessly onto the bed, and the way he tore at the buttons of his waistcoat, sending one of them skittering across the floor in his haste.
Once he had stripped to the waist, he raised an eyebrow at her. “You are still dressed.”
Scoffing, she rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “So it would seem.”
He moved toward her, the firelight emanating from the hearth playing over the muscles moving fluidly beneath his skin.
“Do not play games with me, Daphne,” he growled.
Not in the mood to cower away from him after being browbeaten all evening, she jabbed one finger at the center of his chest.
“Why not?” she challenged. “You certainly seem to enjoy playing them! Is that not why you purposely invited Robert and Lady Stanley here without warning me?”
Reaching out to grasp her wrist, he hauled her closer—until their bodies collided. The heat of his skin burned through the satin of her gown, searing her to the bone.
“You precious Robert is fortunate I did not tear him limb from limb for daring to lay a hand upon what is mine,” he snarled.
She fought his hold, but he only tightened his grip on her wrist. When she swung her opposite hand at him, he snatched it out of the air, too, holding both her arms between their bodies and refusing to let her go.
“I do not belong to you,” she spat, unable to help the spark of defiance causing her to go against him.
She’d spent her entire night being as quiet and demure as possible, biting her tongue to keep from retorting to every rude remark that fell from Lady Stanley’s lips. She refused to cower anymore.
His smile chilled her to the core, sending a tremor of dread down her spine.
“But you are. You agreed to thirty days and nights, and until the sun rises at dawn, you still belong to me, little dove. Which is why I am going to make you pay for letting that simpering mama’s boy touch you. I am going to make you pay for letting him touch you, and lying to me about it.”
Her boldness began to melt away as he spun her around and pushed her toward the bed, throwing her facedown upon the coverlet. She tried to stand, but he was on top of her in an instant, his fingers fisting in her hair and wrenching upward. Her back arched, and her scalp tingled, his breath tickling her ear as he pressed his mouth against it.
“You were about to lie to me again,” he murmured. “So allow me to save you the trouble. I know he had his hands on you … that he kissed you … tried to help himself to what belongs to me. I can smell him on you. The little milksop is more perfumed than you are.”
She closed her eyes and released a sigh of regret, cursing herself for a fool. Of course he had known.
“I tried to fight him,” she whispered hoarsely, tears springing to her eyes. “But he would not take no for an answer.”
Adam chuckled, the low rumble vibrating through her entire body. “Of course he wouldn’t. The idiot still thinks you’re his … that you are the same little girl he petted and kissed all those years ago.”
She gasped when he released her hair, swiftly taking hold of the back of her gown and tearing it. It rent as if it were made of paper instead of satin, baring her naked back to him.
“Did you like it when he kissed you, little dove?” he taunted, yanking her dress down her body to reveal her buttocks and stocking-clad legs. “Were his lips more pleasing than mine? Softer … gentler?”
She gasped when he thrust a finger into her, not bothering to be gentle. But then, she did not need him to be, her cunt wet and ready for him. Squirming beneath him, she clenched the counterpane in both hands and held on, gritting her teeth to hold back a moan. His thick digit caressed her inner walls, slowly moving back and forth inside her.
“Answer me,” he ground out, adding a second finger. “And do not lie to me again. Did you like it?”
Her back arched, and her knees pulled beneath her body, raising her arse into the air and inviting him in deeper. She shamelessly rocked against his hand, seeking her pleasure, wordlessly begging for more.
“N-No,” she whimpered, turning her head to rest it upon the bed, closing her eyes and surrendering to the moment.
There was no use fighting him. She had long since learned that he would only work harder to break her if she did … and he would not be gentle about it.
“I did not like it,” she added.
“Why not?” he prodded, sliding his thumb between her lower lips and seeking out her clit while still steadily pumping three fingers in and out of her channel. “Why didn’t you like it?”
She gasped, spreading her legs wider and undulating her hips, so close to spending, she could taste it.
“He … he was too soft … too … gentle.”
Adam growled, the sound low and ominous. She could not tell if it were a sound of approval or one of anger.
“And you do not want soft or gentle, do you, little dove?” he urged, deepening his reach inside her, slamming his knuckles against her with each thrust.
“No,” she replied, no longer caring what it meant for her to admit to that … what a wanton it made her.
All she cared about was reaching the climax Adam held just out of reach, finding the sort of glorious ending only he could give her.
“Is this what you want?”
His question was her only warning before he withdrew his fingers from inside her, then cracked the palm of his opposite hand against one of her buttocks. Her skin stung at the point of impact, the strength of the blow knocking the wind from her. Parting her lips on a silent cry, she tightened her hold on the bedclothes.
“Is it?” he urged, spanking her again, this time slapping her opposite cheek.
This blow forced the air from her lungs, and it came out on a low moan. Her legs trembled beneath her, her inner channel clenching greedily with the echoes of her desperation.
“Yes!” she screamed when he hit her again, harder this time … so hard, she toppled onto her stomach.
He took hold of her hips and yanked her back into position.
“I warned you my next punishment would not be so merciful, did I not?” he rasped, before smacking her three more times in rapid succession, these blows more powerful than the ones before them. “But you do not want me merciful, do you? You want me punishing, and cruel, because that is the sort of insatiable little tart you are, isn’t it? Answer me!”
“Yes!” she cried breathlessly between blows. “Yes, yes, yes!”
The pain in her buttocks dissipated into something else the more he struck her, the fire he lit upon her arse melting to combine with the heat of her desire.
“He does not know you … he never can,” he panted out between ragged breaths, pausing in the midst of his punishment. “He would never appreciate you like this, little dove, at your most beautiful and vulnerable. That is why you ran off to London without marrying him … why you arrived at the age of four and twenty still a maiden. Isn’t it?”
She nodded, the coverlet beneath her cheek damp from her tears. A sob tore from her chest as the truth came crashing down upon her, so heavy she could hardly breathe beneath its weight.
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Yes … it’s true.”
She closed her eyes and wept into the counterpane as he went back to spanking her. Sinking into the darkness, into a haze where only this feeling existed. She needed to escape her own thoughts—the truth that despite her accusations, she was the reason Robert was not her husband. She could have returned to Suffolk at any time, and he would have offered for her. She’d always known that. Instead, she’d hidden from him in London, knowing he could never give her the things she truly desired … the cravings she hid in the darkest corners of her heart and mind.
When she spiraled back up out of the haze, he was positioning himself at her entrance, hands holding tight to her hips. She threw her head back and cried out when he entered her, the first brutal thrust triggering her climax. Her core clenched and spasmed around him, the echoes of it so powerful, she felt them as deep as her womb. Her lungs burned from the breath she held, unable to release it while he pounded into her, his pelvis smacking against her sore arse and his cock drilling into her relentlessly.
Glancing at him over her shoulder, she found him lost in his own desire—eyes squeezed closed, lips parted as guttural groans spilled from within, the muscles in his abdomen bunching and flexing with each movement. His hair had come loose from its binding, falling over his shoulders and draping him in beautiful sable waves.
Just as suddenly as he’d begun, he pulled out of her abruptly, wrenching a cry of dismay from her. He laughed, the sound both cruel and mocking as he strummed a finger down her spine.
“Do not worry, little dove … I am far from being finished with you.”
She gasped when his finger delved back into her channel before pulling out again. Then, he was probing her rear entrance, sending a fresh rush of heat and shame through her. He had never done this to her before … never violated this forbidden part of her by delving the tip of his finger inside.
“Adam,” she whimpered, struggling against the need to protest and the desire to know where this would lead. “Wait.”
“Mine,” he rasped, thrusting the finger wet with her juices in and out of her rear passage. “Every part of you, Daphne … all of it is mine.”
She choked on a protest when he pulled his finger free, grasping her buttocks with both hands and spreading her wide.
“Wait,” she gasped when the head of his cock touched her there, his tip seeming impossibly large against the little opening. “Adam … please …”
He shifted against her with a groan, his cock nudging against the tight hole, sending lightning strikes of sensation through her entire being.
“You know how I love it when you beg, little dove,” he moaned, pushing against her again, gaining an inch into her this time.
The new sensation gave way to burning pain as he forced his way inside of her inch by slow inch, groaning and panting with each surge of his hips. She sobbed and clawed at the coverlet, clenching her teeth to try to muffle the sounds.
“I can’t … it hurts … please,” she moaned, her words contradicting her body. Her knees spread wider, her back arching deeper as if to take him farther in, to take every inch of him.
“You can,” he replied, his voice rough and tortured, as if he hovered on the same line between bliss and agony that she did. “Touch yourself, Daphne … breathe … relax.”
She released a shaky breath while working a hand beneath her body, searching for her clit. When her fingers found it, she gasped, in reaction to both the pleasure it caused and the evidence of her own desire. She was absolutely drenched, her cunt wetter than she’d ever experienced.
“Yes, that’s it,” he urged, slowly withdrawing a few inches and then plunging into her arse, his grip on her buttocks tight enough to leave fingerprints. “Let yourself feel … do not fight it.”
She released another sob, this one combined with a sound of pleasure as she circled her fingers over her clit. Adam gave her more of his cock with each thrust, the burning sensation at odds with the pleasure exploding from where she touched her little bud of pleasure. Then, his pelvis came to rest against her arse, his entire cock lodged inside of her. She continued to breathe slowly, in and out, urging her body to unwind and accept him instead of fighting him.
When he moved again, circling his hips against her, it sent a ripple of bliss to the tips of her fingers and toes, tearing a surprised moan from deep in her throat. He did it again and again, teaching her body a new pleasure, one that seemed ten times as intense as what she felt when he thrust inside her cunt.
“Aye, little dove … that’s it … slip your fingers into your cunt … fuck yourself with them.”
She did as he commanded, heightening the ecstasy to near unbearable limits. Yet, she persevered, steadily pumping two fingers in and out of her sheath while Adam fucked her arse, moving faster and faster with each stroke.
“Goddamn it,” he groaned, his entire body trembling against hers. “Jesus-fucking-Christ … Daphne … Daphne …”
His name on her lips, rough and ground out from between clenched teeth, sent her over the edge, and she shattered again, her screams reverberating off the walls. Her vision went black as her channel pulsated around her fingers, her body wracked with spasms so violent, she could not control them. She collapsed onto her stomach and Adam followed, his chest resting against her back as he pumped into her arse a few more times before spending with a tortured groan.
He fell limp on top of her, resting there for a moment and panting in her ear. His hair fell around them, blanketing her in a cocoon of sable silk. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the oblivion, allowing her body to float in the blackness that filled her mind. It enveloped her like a warm blanket, dragging her into unconsciousness.
She was not certain how long she remained that way, but when she came to, Adam was carrying her into the washroom. The candelabra resting on the washstand illuminated the shower bath, which he carried her to with long, sure strides.
How could he stand after what they’d just shared? She felt as if she were half dead, let alone capable of standing on her own two feet.
She tried to mumble something to that effect, but it came out unintelligible, slurred as if she were drunk.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, keeping his arms right around her as he rested her feet on the wooden bottom of the lower basin. “Hold on to me, little dove.”
She wrapped her weak arms around him, resting her head against his chest. A moment later, water washed over them in a warm deluge, startling her back to full wakefulness. She gasped, raising her head as the water doused her head, the droplets splattering her face. It rinsed her clean, washing away Adam’s touch and his seed. His hands moved over her without lingering in any place overlong, helping the liquid remove the traces of him that could be washed away. The soap followed, a masculine-scented cake that reminded her of him. He used it on them both, somehow managing to get them both clean before rinsing them.
Then, he was carrying her again. Laying her on the counterpane and toweling her off with clean linens. After that, he maneuvered her so he could remove the coverlet and rest her on the cool, dry sheets. Fanning her damp hair out on the pillow, he then laid his body over hers, gently parting her legs and lowering his hips between them.
Despite having just had him, her body roared to life when his head kissed her entrance, his cock having surged back to life. She arched her back, clawing at his shoulders as he thrust into her, so slowly and gently that tears sprung to her eyes again. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder as he took her slowly. The throbbing soreness in her arse mingling blissfully with the pleasure he created in her sheath, his pelvis at the perfect angle to stimulate her clit with every stroke.
“Ah, little dove,” he whispered, nibbling her ear and kissing her neck as if he were her lover instead of her tormentor. “If things were different … if you were someone else …”
She moaned in response, unable to say with words that she knew what he meant … that she heard the things he did not say.
“In the morning, I will let you go,” he groaned. “But not now … not tonight.”
No … tonight, he was still the monster who had dragged her into his cave. And she was his little dove—ripped from her cage and clenched in the jaws of a beast.
As climax swept over her once again, Daphne had no choice but to admit to herself she was exactly where she wished to be.