CHAPTER FOUR
aphne’s second night at Dunnottar passed uneventfully, much to her surprise. As promised, Adam came to dine with her in the drawing room adjacent to her chambers—the same room where he’d shamed her in front of Niall and done wicked things to her on top of the table. Her face burned with excruciating embarrassment as she sat there, forced to eat at the same table upon which he had demonstrated how easily he could bend her to his will. He seemed to know it, casting her knowing glances from across the table, smugly smirking as he brought bits of lamb up to his mouth with his fork.
She half expected him to lunge across the table and take her down to the carpet, perhaps indulging in a repeat performance from this morning. Maybe he would push things further. Her throat had constricted at the thought, making it difficult to breathe, let alone eat.
However, Adam proved capable of behaving like a gentleman. They ate together in near silence, the only words exchanged comments on the spread laid out between them. Once they finished, he bid her good night and left her alone in the drawing room. He did not even touch her, though he did pause in the doorway and rake his gaze over her in that way of his—the way that reminded her that for the next twenty-nine days, she was this man’s property. She’d barely survived the first day, feeling several times as if she might break under the strain and suspense. Yet, she had persevered.
“One down, twenty-nine more to go,” she muttered to herself as she left the drawing room and returned to her own chamber.
Tomorrow, she would not spend so much of her time in this room alone. Perhaps she would explore more of the areas Adam had given her permission to enter. Though, curiosity had her wondering what lay in the wing just off the one she occupied. The one he had explicitly warned her away from.
“Don’t be daft,” she chided herself. “The man will throw you out without the money, and then where will you be?”
The sound of a throat being cleared startled her, and she fought to calm her racing heart as Maeve came into view, approaching from the corner of the room.
“Beg your pardon, my lady,” she said with a quick curtsy. “I did not mean to frighten you. I was waiting up to prepare you for bed.”
Lifting her chin, Daphne pretended to be unperturbed by having been caught talking to herself. “That would be fine, Maeve.”
As the young maid approached, Daphne held still and allowed her to begin unfastening the gown. She released a sigh of relief as the constricting garment fell away, heedless to her nudity underneath. Despite being annoyed with Adam for insisting she have new clothing during her stay, she found herself looking forward to wearing garments that fit.
Maeve hummed happily as she gently laid the gown across the bench sitting at the foot of the bed, then took up the nightgown she’d draped beside it. Daphne studied the maid with curious eyes, wondering why she would willingly work for a man like Adam. Yes, work could be hard to come by for a servant, but there was no shortage of homes in London where Maeve could work as a lady’s maid. What inspired such loyalty in her for the ‘Master’ of Dunnottar? Did she know about the things Adam had done to her since her arrival? Perhaps it was not surprising because he was in the habit of debauching young maidens of the ton. Or worse … he had done them to Maeve.
For reasons she did not understand, the notion of Adam kissing Maeve the way he had her—touching her … stripping away her clothing with a single gaze—caused anger to flare in her gut.
“There,” Maeve said once she’d finished brushing and braiding Daphne’s hair for bed. “Would you like anything before you go to sleep, my lady? A nightcap or tea, perhaps? A book to read? The Master gave me a collection of tomes he thought you might enjoy.”
Raising her eyebrows, she paused in the middle of climbing into the bed, the covers turned down and one knee upon the mattress. “He did? When?”
Maeve smiled, beaming as if proud of her ‘Master’ for doing something so thoughtful for his guest. “Just this evening before dinner. I placed them on the bedside table.”
Glancing to her left, she found a stack of books waiting for her beside a lit lamp. With a frown, she glanced back up at Maeve. The maid went on smiling, giving her an encouraging nod, her gaze darting to the pile.
Settling against the pillows, she sighed. “Thank you, Maeve. I will read one of these books, but the nightcap will not be necessary. Good night.”
The maid curtsied and picked up her discarded dress and slippers before leaving. “Good night, my lady.”
Once she had been left alone, Daphne reached toward the books, taking the one on top of the stack. Just because she hated Adam and the things he’d done to her family did not mean she couldn’t enjoy what his extensive library had to offer. From what she’d seen during her tour today, there was more where these books had come from.
She glanced down at the front cover of the tome in her hands and gasped, her breath catching in her throat and beginning to burn. Her heart thundered in her chest as she read the inscribed words, her face growing hot.
The School of Venus, or the Ladies’ Delight, Reduced into Rules of Practice.
An erotic novel. Adam had sent an erotic novel to her room.
Tossing the book aside, she reached for the next one in the stack, her jaw clenching as she read the second title.
Venus in the Cloister.
Yet another salacious and indecent work of fiction.
Daphne rifled through the others, her jaw dropping as she found more of the filth, more than she could possibly read in a night.
A Dialogue Between a Married Lady and a Maid.
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.
The Tale of Two Lovers.
Fanny Hill.
Les Bijoux Indiscrets.
She shoved the books away, causing them to spread across her duvet. The covers stared up at her accusingly, the knowledge of their contents flooding her with shame, even though she hadn’t read them.
Damn Adam … he was making fun her and her confession from this afternoon. In fact, he’d probably known she would react this way—with maidenly outrage. He and Niall likely shared a good laugh over it in his study over tumblers of brandy. The thought infuriated her, and the urge to throw the books into the fire seized her.
Yet, as she glanced down at the tomes spread out in front of her, she decided not to stoop so low. If she destroyed his property, he might think of some way to make her pay for it—or worse, throw her out without the bank draft or the answers she’d come for.
Stacking the books neatly, she laid them on the bedside table. Then, plopping back against her pillows, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to claim her. Exhaustion had been nipping at her heels all day, despite the nap she’d taken that afternoon. The long journey to Scotland and the emotional turmoil Adam had put her through since her arrival had wrung her dry. A few seconds with her eyes closed should have been enough to send her drifting off.
However, one minute passed, and then another, and another. The longer she lay there, counting the minutes as they passed her by, the more she thought of the books beside her. Like some unholy beacon drawing her in, the erotic novels seemed to call to her, to dare her to open their covers and discover the naughty delights inside.
Heaving a sigh, she opened her eyes and stared up at the canopy above her. He had been wrong about her. She was not a hypocrite—a lion in lambs’ clothing. She had allowed a man to take a few liberties with her body and had enjoyed them. It was no more than some of her friends had done. That did not make her a whore, or a wicked person. If feeling such strong desires was unnatural, why did so many fall prey to scandal? Why countless women disgrace themselves for a stolen moment of pleasure?
Yet, the books continued to taunt her, the firelight flickering over them and casting their shadow against the paneled wall.
If her desires were normal, then reading about the desires of others couldn’t be so bad. And, truly, reading them would mean she had won, not Adam. He wanted her to feel ashamed, to make fun of her confession. She would show him. She would read every one of these books, and when he asked how she enjoyed them, she would hold her head high and tell him her favorite parts.
That decided, she reached for the copy of The School of Venus and pried it open. Curling up against her pillows and angling the book so the candlelight shone upon the pages, she began to read.
The next morning, Daphne woke with a pounding headache. She hadn’t slept much, becoming so engrossed in The School of Venus that she’d hardly been able to put it down. The titillating story of Kate and her intimate education at the hands of her suitor, Roger, had captured her attention thoroughly. Aside from putting heat in her cheeks, it had also made her giggle, proving to be quite witty in places. It had reminded her of those summers spent in the country, exploring new desires and passions with her dashing neighbor. In fact, those exploits proved fodder worthy of an erotic novel themselves.
She’d smiled to herself while reading, wondering if she could ever be bold enough to chronicle her own exploits. They might not be as salacious as the contents of Venus, but they certainly made her pulse race whenever she thought of them. Besides, by the end of her thirty days with Adam, perhaps she’d have even more material for such a project. The thought had dampened her excitement a bit. If she was going to explore her own sensuality with a man, she would never have chosen Lord Hartmoor with which to do it.
She’d had someone once, but had not seen him in years. Now that her family stood on the fringes of high society, he would likely shun her should they cross paths again. The notion made her chest ache, but she steeled herself against the sensation of heartbreak. She might never marry now that she had given herself over to Adam to be ruined, but she would be the savior of her family. It was all that mattered.
Morning seemed to arrive far too quickly after she’d finally set the novel aside to sleep, but once Maeve entered and threw open her curtains to allow in sunlight, Daphne could not coerce herself back to sleep. The maid cheerfully announced that her new wardrobe had arrived, before ushering in an army of footmen, all of whom toted shop packages wrapped in brown paper. Her eyes widened as the boxes slowly filled the room—covering the bed and every other available surface. Maeve turned in circles, her smile wide as she seemed to try to decide which to open first.
Approaching the bed, Daphne began tearing the paper off the first box her hand fell upon. “Why so many?”
Maeve joined her at the bed, lifting the lid off a hatbox and revealing a straw bonnet adorned with flowers along the brim. “The Master wanted you to have clothing for every possible contingency.”
Frowning, she lifted a morning gown from her own box. “I cannot imagine why. I had thought I’d spend most of my time …”
She paused and cleared her throat, pushing the first box aside to reach for a second. Maeve hummed quietly as she went about opening another. The unspoken thought lingered between them unsaid. Daphne had expected to spend most of her time nude in Adam’s bed. It would seem her captor had other ideas. Not knowing what he could be thinking made her blood run cold, her mouth becoming dry while her head spun at the possibilities.
“Allow me to dress you and finish this on my own while you have breakfast and explore a bit, my lady,” Maeve chirped, pulling a pair of slippers out of her hands.
Restlessness and the urge to leave this room caused Daphne to acquiesce. Perhaps some time spent exploring the castle would help pass the time until Adam decided he wanted her.
“Where is Lord Hartmoor?” she asked while the maid helped her out of her nightgown and into one of the new morning gowns—without undergarments.
“Had a bit of business to attend this morning,” the maid replied. “He says you’re to have breakfast on your own and occupy yourself until he’s finished.”
Maeve brushed her hair and secured a jeweled pink comb into one side, sweeping the hair away from her ear. Then came her stockings and slippers, before another ribbon tied around her throat—pink trimmed in white lace. Inside one of the boxes, she spied several spools of ribbon in an array colors—some trimmed in lace, others with false gemstones. Also Adam’s doing, she supposed. He’d seemed to like the blue ribbon she’d worn yesterday. With a disdainful snort, she realized that, of course, he’d enjoyed a piece of clothing meant to make her look like a pet. A possession. His to use and toy with.
Giving her a curious glance, Maeve announced she was finished and that breakfast would be served in the adjoining drawing room as before. She left the maid to her work and walked into the drawing room to find the table laden with several dishes and the same silver tea service. Only, this time, she ate alone, without even the imposing presence of Niall to disturb her. Once she’d eaten her fill, she left the drawing room through a door leading into the corridor. Pausing, she glanced toward the sharp turn leading to a different wing of the castle. The forbidden corridor.
Realizing Adam would likely become angry if he caught her even contemplating going down there, she turned the way she’d gone with him the day before. Walking at a leisurely pace, she opened doors and peered into the rooms to familiarize herself further with this wing of the palace.
Most of them turned out to be guest chambers with adjoining sitting rooms, but one door not far from her own room drew her in. Stepping through the doorway, her eyes wide and jaw slack with awe, she observed the impressive collection of instruments making up a music room. A long, low table against one wall held several violins, flutes, a clarinet, and a lute. A collection of polished brass music stands gleamed in the light of several lamps, while stacks of sheet music littered the end tables situated between oversized pieces of furniture. A harpsichord and spinet took up opposite corners of the room.
However, the two instruments filling the center of the room drew her eye and held her attention. The first was a large, golden harp—the most beautiful she’d ever seen. Its pillar had been adorned with the painted figures of angels taking flight. As she came closer, unable to keep her hands off the instrument, her gaze roamed over the angelic fixtures, their hair billowing as if they flew into the wind, their golden wings stretched behind them. She smiled as memories of learning the instrument came back to her. It had been ages since she’d touched a harp, but as she caressed the strings of this one, something within her resounded with overwhelming force. Should she decide to attempt it, she had a feeling her fingers would return to the practice with stunning accuracy. A part of her, clearly, had not forgotten.
Beside the harp rested the largest, most beautiful pianoforte she’d ever seen. Its polished surface, the worn cushion of the bench resting before it, and the lit lamps told her someone used this room quite often. Obviously, the servants took care to ensure it would be ready for said person’s use.
Adam, perhaps? Or someone else in his household?
Was there even a household here at Dunnottar? From what she’d seen, Lord Hartmoor resided here alone.
“Do you play an instrument?”
His deep, resonant voice caused her to flinch, her blood rushing as her skin seemed to vibrate in response to his presence. Resting one hand on the surface of the pianoforte, she turned slowly to face him, taking a deep breath and gathering her wits. Her breath came out in a rush as their gazes collided—hers wide and frightened, his feral and primitive. He leaned against the door frame, his casual posture belied by the capacity for destruction radiating from his eyes.
His hair had been pulled back and secured with a ribbon at the nape of his neck, though his attire proved downright indecent. He wore no coat, and his shirt lay open to reveal most of his chest. Coils of dark hair drew her eye, blanketing bulging muscles which made her mouth go dry. His breeches were so snug, there was no disguising the steady swell of his cock as he stood there staring at her. Despite his distance from her and such dim lighting, she could see he was only half-aroused. Even then, the masculine organ appeared as intimidating as the rest of him.
Raising one eyebrow, he smirked at her as if discerning the direction of her thoughts. “I asked you a question, Daphne.”
Shaking her head, she blinked and forced her gaze away from him, focusing on the wallpaper. “I was never any good at the pianoforte … much to my mother’s chagrin. But the harp …”
Her gaze strayed to the beautiful golden instrument, though Adam’s never left her. She could feel his gaze caressing her form, undressing her with his eyes. Her throat seized as she wondered if she would surrender her maidenhead here, on the carpet, in this music room, with the painted angels gazing down upon her.
“Would you like to play it?” he asked, straightening away from the door frame and entering the room.
The hard muscles now moved fluidly beneath his clothing and his skin as he approached her slowly, like a hunter stalking its next meal. She backed away from him until the pianoforte halted her progress. Her rear struck the keys, sending a discordant collection of notes floating through the air.
“I … I would,” she stammered. “If you will allow it.”
He paused when only a bare inch of space separated them, bracing his hands on either side of her against the instrument, his arms trapping her. She tried to hold her breath, but after a while, found it necessary to inhale—drawing his fragrance into her nostrils. Her head spun as that spicy scent of his seemed to imprint itself on her from the inside.
“Perhaps I will,” he murmured in a teasing tone. “Perhaps I will not. It all depends, Daphne.”
Lifting her chin and fighting to maintain her dignity, she met his piercing gaze with a level stare of her own. “Upon?”
“Upon what you are willing to give me in return,” he replied, reaching up to stroke the line of her jaw. “Are you ready to reveal more of your secrets to me, little dove?”
Goosebumps pricked along her skin as his touch skimmed the side of her neck, pausing over the ribbon as if in approval, then moving farther down.
“What would you like to know?”
Suddenly taking hold of her waist, he lifted her onto the surface of the pianoforte. The backs of her thighs struck the keys, filling the room with more disjointed notes. He sank onto the bench before her, their positions bringing his head level with her knees. Grasping her ankles, he gazed up at her, a wicked gleam creeping into his eyes.
“Did you choose a book from among those I sent?” he asked, tightening his hold on her legs, his large hands akin to shackles.
“I did,” she replied. “The School of Venus.”
“Ah,” he said. “The salacious adventures of the virginal Katy. Quite a … stimulating read.”
One of his hands slid up over her calf, sending a shiver down her spine. Stimulating, indeed.
“I found it interesting,” she admitted, her defenses melting away as both his palms stroked her legs, his rough callouses abrading the silk covering them.
He was doing it again, battering her defenses, tearing down her guard and forcing her to feel … to acknowledge how the pleasure affected her, how he affected her.
“Did you?” he prodded. “Perhaps it was also educational?”
Pursing her lips, she refused to break his gaze as he slid her gown up to her knees, his fingers curling around her garters. He moved his knuckles languidly against her skin, curling his digits around the lace and ribbon-adorned garters.
“The content, thus far, is hardly shocking,” she replied, raising her eyebrows at him. “It was nothing I was not already aware of.”
Releasing her garters with a tug, he smirked when she gasped at the feel of the fabric snapping against her skin. His hands glided higher, skimming her thighs, his fingers digging in once he’d reached her hips. She stiffened, her breasts lifting as she sucked in a deep breath and it caught in her lungs.
“My little dove has been naughty,” he teased, shifting closer and wedging his broad shoulders between her knees. “Tell me, Daphne, how many men have plundered your body … and I will allow you to practice the harp whenever you wish.”
“Th-there has only been one before you,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the shame flushing her cheeks as he nuzzled her mons through her gown—reminding her that only one layer of thin fabric separated him from her.
“A lucky bastard,” he growled, his breath heating the flesh between her legs. “Did he find his way beneath your gown, like this?”
She squirmed, her breath coming out in a rush when he gave her hips a squeeze. “Yes.”
Another growl emitted from his throat … primal, masculine. “How old were you the first time you let him touch you?”
“Ten and six, the first time. His family’s country estate bordered ours, and we were of an age.”
She had promised herself that she would not reveal these things to him, but he was leaving her with no choice. Just as he had that morning he’d thrown her, naked, onto the table, he was giving her no room to deny him.
Closing her eyes, she tried to pretend she could not feel his burning gaze on her. She reminded herself that giving him this secret would allow her something she wanted … and she’d already lost the fight over underthings with him. It would injure her pride to lose ground here, as well. Besides, these mundane details did not give him the full picture of her feelings for the young suitor of her past … nor did they ruin them. She would not let him ruin them.
“How romantic,” he grumbled, clear disdain tingeing his words. “The lord’s young daughter and the neighbor’s son … sneaking away to steal kisses when Papa isn’t watching. Such a wicked girl you were.”
Her response died on her lips as he suddenly jerked her gown up to her waist, baring her body from the hips down. Despite the fact that he’d already seen her naked, instinct caused her thighs to clench inward. They met the resistance of his shoulders, and he chuckled, seeming to sense her distress over being unable to cover herself.
She kept her eyes closed, hoping that detaching herself from him would make this easier for her. Perhaps she could pretend he was her first lover—a man who had touched her with such reverence and care.
His hand cracked against her inner thigh in a reprimand, and a gasp lodged in her throat as her eyes flew open. Gazing down at him in shock, she bit back a whimper at the stinging pain blossoming where he’d struck her.
His gaze burned into her, his voice clipped and abrupt when he spoke. “Always keep your eyes open. I don’t want you escaping me.”
It lay on the tip of her tongue to argue that she hadn’t been trying to escape. But they would both know it to be a lie. That was precisely what she’d been trying to do. As he turned his head and began kissing her reddened flesh, Daphne realized she should have known he would never allow it.
So, she kept her rapt attention upon him as he went on kissing the inside of her thigh, as if to soothe the skin he’d bruised. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and his sharp stubble prickled her skin, exacerbating the sting from his blow. Yet, his lips skimmed her in a pleasant counterpoint. The dual sensations did queer things to her belly, twisting her in knots until she was left uncertain of how to feel.
“Tell me more about your first lover,” he mumbled between kisses, bracing his large hands upon her thighs to hold her open.
She shuddered in his grasp, but could not move otherwise, forced to rest on her elbows as he turned his attention to her other leg, kissing her and running his nose along her skin as if breathing her in. The longer she watched him, the more some hidden part of her reacted … the more she enjoyed what he did to her.
“He was no one important,” she lied.
She might reveal her secrets, but she would not utter his name.
“Of course he was,” Adam countered, lifting his head and meeting her gaze once more. “He must have been quite special to you … if you allowed him access to your body. Did he touch you, little dove?”
His breath tickled her mons, the sensation lodging her breath in her throat. She could only manage a swift, jerky nod, which prompted a feline smile from Adam.
“Like this?” he asked, slipping a thumb between her nether lips, seeking out the little bud of her pleasure.
She gasped when he pressed down upon it, then began moving his thumb in slow circles. Her insides fluttered, her hips bucking against his hand.
How did he do this … understand what her body would respond to with such accuracy?
“N-no,” she panted out between swift breaths. “I mean … yes, but … not the way you are doing it.”
He chuckled, the golden flecks in his eyes becoming downright molten as he held her gaze while still steadily stroking her clitoris. “Do you not like the way I’m touching you?”
The shudder that tore through her answered his question, even as she struggled to find words. Her mind had begun to fade as her body seemed to practically hum with pleasure from the press of only his thumb.
“His touch was lighter than yours,” she whispered. “Gentler.”
He laughed again, the one hand holding her thigh tightening, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core.
“What a gentleman he must have been. I’d wager he did not open you up and spread you out wide like this, did he?”
Her face flamed hot as she recalled the slender hands of the man in question slipping beneath her skirts, touching her through her drawers. She did not need to answer for Adam to know to truth.
“His loss, I say,” he declared. “How about this, little dove … did he touch you like this?”
She mewled when he pushed a thick finger inside of her, the wetness he’d coaxed from her core slicking his path. One of her feet slipped and struck several keys of the pianoforte, sending notes of music floating through the air to mingle with the soft sounds he pushed out of her with each slow stroke of his finger inside her. A familiar sensation began winding in her middle, growing tighter and tighter until she felt as if she might snap. Arching her back, she struggled to keep her eyes open as Adam had demanded. But she was spiraling, her body hovering on the verge of release.
“Did he?” he asked again, his voice growing sharper as he suddenly pulled out of her.
“No,” she exclaimed, the word coming out on a cry of regret at the loss of that thick digit filling her.
“How about like this?” he asked, pressing both thumbs to the lips of her mons and parting them to reveal the tender flesh inside.
Before she could reply, he laid his tongue against her, dragging it up and over her folds, then swirling it over her clit in one long lap. She cried out, her eyes falling closed again as the unfamiliar sensation sent fresh waves of desire through her. Now beyond caring about who he was or what he’d done, her body simply craved release. For thirty days, he would possess her body, use it as he saw fit. Why should she not derive pleasure if he wanted to give it? The alternative was something she did not wish to think of.
“N-no,” she whispered, trembling in his hold. “No one has ever done that to me before.”
He made a little sound in the back of his throat just before surging forward and putting his mouth on her. His tongue laved her clit while he suckled at her tender inner flesh, his hands holding tight to her thighs. Her head fell back, and she melted, her limbs becoming heavy as he nibbled upon her as if starving. He licked and kissed, suckled and tugged, causing her to squirm beneath him, her feet and legs striking the keys when he struck a particularly sensitive place and caused her entire body to quake. Then, he centered all his attentions upon her clit, drawing it into his mouth and sucking it with deep, merciless pulls that made her toes curl.
The tension in her core unfurled in a torrent that stole her breath away. Her lips parted on a silent cry as the tremors of a climax ripped violently through her, accompanied by a flood of moisture. Adam held her down when her hips lifted from the pianoforte, refusing to pull his lips away from her until the spasms had ceased and she’d gone still beneath him.
Opening her eyes, she found the ceiling above her spinning, her entire world tilting and swaying precariously. She’d achieved climax many times—both at the hand of her first lover, and at her own once she’d figured out that she need only touch herself the way he had—but it had never been so explosive, so all-encompassing. And he’d only been touching her with his mouth.
Struggling back up onto her elbows, she forced herself to look at him. It would not do to lose what she’d gained if he caught her trying to avoid looking at him. He was watching her with a smirk curving his arrogant mouth, the twinkle in his eye unmistakable. He knew what he’d just done to her and must be feeling quite proud of himself. He stood abruptly, forcing a gasp from her as her heart began to pound in anticipation of what he would do next. Her legs flailed, her instinct for self-preservation flaring to life as he loomed over her—so overwhelmingly large and masculine.
With a throaty laugh, he hooked his fingers into the ribbon tied around her neck and pulled, hauling her up against him. His wide body forced her legs to remain parted, leaving her open and vulnerable to him as he kept hold of the ribbon, his knuckles digging into her throat.
Lifting his other hand to her face, he held her captive with his fiery eyes, locked in her stare as he ran his index finger over her lips. The scent of her own arousal flooded her senses, mingling with Adam’s earthy, masculine aroma. It proved a heady fragrance, making her head spin and her body relax against his. He flicked his tongue out, tickling her upper lip, then her lower, then the seam of her mouth. She opened for him with a sigh, whimpering as their mingled taste overwhelmed her palate, causing desire to flare back to life deep in her belly.
Pulling away abruptly, he sat her up, taking both her hands in his and pressing them against his middle. She gasped at the feel of him through his shirt. Without the layers of a waistcoat and coat between them, she could feel every hard inch of his abdomen, his skin radiating heat through the linen.
“Now you,” he demanded. “Show me how you touched him.”
Her hands trembled as she wrinkled her brow, her mouth going dry as she realized what he was asking her to do. She’d only ever been so bold once, after much cajoling.
His hand shot up in an eye’s blink, his fingers biting into her jaw. She gasped at the naked intensity she found in his gaze, a quiet threat lurking in the depths.
“Obey, Daphne,” he said in a low whisper more threatening than any roar would have been. “If you fight me, I’ll only enjoy it more.”
His words spurred her into action, and she dropped her hands to his breeches, her fingers fumbling to get them open. Clenching her teeth, she forced her shaking hands into submission and managed to open his fall, freeing the heavy root between his thighs. Her mouth fell open in a shocked gasp as she glanced down at his cock, the long, thick organ stretching out toward her through the opening of his breeches, the head dripping with wetness.
She’d only touched one other man’s cock, and his hadn’t been half as big as this. Her gut churned as she tried to imagine him putting it inside of her and wondering if he might not split her in two. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she reminded herself of his threat. If she didn’t do what he’d demanded, who knew what he’d do to punish her.
Wrapping one hand around him, she tested his weight and length, curiosity propelling her past fear. When she had touched her previous lover, she’d been too ashamed to look at him, too young and afraid to be so bold. This would be her first unobstructed view of a man’s cock, as well as her first thorough exploration.
His skin was hot and smooth, so soft against her palm. Yet, when she gave him a little squeeze, he felt as if he were made of iron inside, hard and unrelenting. Grunting, he surged his hips, stroking it against her palm. She followed his lead, closing her hand around him, her fingers barely meeting her thumb as she stroked in time with his thrusts.
He grasped her other hand and urged it toward his cock, wrapping it around him just above the other. But he did not let go this time. Instead, he kept a tight hold on her fist and guided her, shifting his hips to meet each downward motion. His breath grew harsher, and against the base of his throat, his pulse hammered wildly.
“That’s it, little dove,” he groaned, quickening their strokes by coaxing her hands faster, the moisture urged from his head causing skin to glide easily over skin. “Stroke me with those soft, pretty hands.”
He captured her lower lip between his teeth, making her whimper and flinch at the stinging nip of his teeth. Then he soothed it with his tongue, plunging it into her mouth while he kept thrusting his cock into her hands.
“Fuck,” he muttered, jerking against her and gritting his teeth, the corded muscles of his neck straining.
A shudder wracked him, and then he spent, his cock shooting hot spurts of his seed onto her. She gasped when it splattered her lower belly, another sudden stream of it staining one of her thighs, even more of it dribbling over the back of one hand. Staring at him open-mouthed, she remained speechless as he straightened and tucked himself back into his breeches.
Still breathing heavily, his chest stretching his shirt with each inhale, he gave her a wicked grin. “The harp is yours, little dove … whenever you wish.”
Then, he was turning to leave, striding for the door with all the swagger and cocky assurance of a man who’d just gotten exactly what he wanted.
Daphne remained where she sat on the pianoforte for a moment, still shocked. She trembled, her body humming as if her blood rushed hotly through her veins. As promised, he’d used her, and it would seem he was now finished.
Carefully lowering herself to the floor, she cringed as her gown fell to cover her. Adam’s seed still marked her, sticky and wet against her belly and one thigh. Hoping Maeve would not be in her chambers so she could clean the evidence of the encounter off her body in private, she left the room.