CHAPTER EIGHT
dam took his time walking home from the ball, the collar of his overcoat turned up to ward off the chill of the evening air, a cigarillo held between his teeth. He’d hoped the walk would help clear his head. But, he was having the devil of a time being rational. It was Daphne, damn her, and this game she now played with him. She insisted on fighting him, even though they both knew she would eventually lose. It seemed a part of her nature to run from him … to squirm and kick and writhe, even as he closed his teeth around her and held fast.
Never … I will never let you go.
The words had come out of his mouth before he could think over their meaning. Even now, he was not certain why he’d said them, especially considering they both knew her place in his life could never be permanent. The spite amongst their families would always hang between them like some tangible thing. As long as Bertram was near enough for him to torment … as long as this need for vengeance ate away at him like some indestructible parasite … as long as he could use her to gain his own ends, things would always be this way between them.
It would be best for everyone involved if, after he’d ground Bertram into the dirt one last time, he turned away and let her go—return to Dunnottar, to his sister and niece, where he belonged. He had already been away from them for longer than he preferred, and he could see that being separated from Olivia was wearing on Niall.
But, the thought of leaving without her—without at least knowing he could return to London and lay eyes on her whenever he wished—made his stomach twist. The feeling was annoyingly similar to the sensation he felt at being disconnected from Olivia and Serena … and he despised the similarity. Daphne was not his family, not someone who held a place in his heart. Aye, she was beautiful, and intriguing, and his counterpoint in so many ways … in all the ways that mattered. That didn’t need to mean anything. She was not the first woman to earn his respect and affection, and he doubted she’d be the last.
Even knowing this in his rational mind, some deeper part of him rebelled, clinging to the idea of her, wrapping itself around her and baring its teeth, snarling at anyone or anything that tried to take away his little dove. He wanted her, and he did not accept her rejection. That was all there was to it. Rationale had nothing to do with it. This was instinct … something visceral. Something he could not deny.
“Bloody fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath as he reached Fairchild House and tossed aside the spent stub of his cheroot.
He needed a few tumblers of brandy and a good night’s sleep, if he could manage it. In the morning, he’d be able to think clearer.
The front door opened, and instead of the butler that had come with the residence, Niall hovered in the gap. Adam’s heart plummeted into the depths of his stomach as he took in the man’s haggard appearance—cravat removed, shirt askew, hair mussed, eyes bloodshot. He looked as if someone had jammed a knife into his heart.
His feet propelled him swiftly up the front steps, and Niall backed away from the door to let him in.
“What happened?” he demanded, slamming the panel behind him.
The figure of a woman appeared at the top of the stairs, and he watched, openmouthed, as Maeve descended, hands clenched in front of her, her face as tortured as Niall’s. She had been crying, he could see, her cheeks splotchy and moisture still pooling in her eyes.
His heart seemed to stop beating, his vision swimming as he tried to grapple with what her sudden appearance in London must mean.
Something was terribly wrong.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as she reached the vestibule. “What the bloody hell is going on?”
Sniffling, Maeve avoided his gaze, as if she were afraid to look him in the eye. “I did not know what else to do, Master. She’s been so despondent the past few days … and then … I only turned my back for a moment … there was glass … it all happened so quickly …”
He shoved past her, his chest aching as he barreled up the stairs, not bothering to ask where she was. He knew Niall well enough to realize where, so he went there now, his long legs carrying him up two flights of stairs and down the corridor to the room he had claimed as his own. The master suite.
Throwing open the door, he gazed around the dimly lit room, his mouth going dry and his entire body tensing, bracing him for what he would find.
Olivia lay in his bed, one of her prim nightgowns covering her willowy body. She looked worse than he’d seen her in some time, her eyes seeming overlarge in her gaunt face, the dark circles beneath them telling him she hadn’t been sleeping. His gaze dropped to the hands resting in her lap—the slender forearms covered with clean, white bandages. He released his breath on a tortured sigh, the evidence of what had occurred at Dunnottar in his absence tearing him through him like the slash of a dagger.
He approached the bed slowly, not wanting to set her off if she was still in a fragile state. It had been years since she’d hurt herself. And even though he’d known she might never be whole again, he had hoped it meant she had gotten better—not cured, but perhaps well enough that she did not need to be watched every hour of every day.
“Ah, butterfly,” he whispered, sinking onto the mattress at her side. “What have you done to yourself?”
She glanced up at him, not bothering to fight when he reached out to take hold of her hand, pulling her arm taut and carefully unwinding her bandages. Remaining silent, she simply blinked, a lone tear rolling down one cheek. As he reached the linen closest to her skin, he paused, his throat constricting as he found the telltale bloodstains. His breathing accelerated, his eyes stinging with tears he knew he would be unable to shed.
He hadn’t wept in five years … his heart and soul finally scarred over from all the hurts.
Pulling away the last layer of linen, he revealed her forearm and the series of deep, ugly cuts she’d gouged into them. Maeve said she had used glass, and he could see that Olivia had sunk it deep, as if she’d been trying to tear something loose.
As if she had wanted to spill her own blood until there was nothing left.
A sound akin to a sob came from him, and he lowered his head, clinging to her slender arm.
“Why, Livvie?” he rasped, his chest and throat burning as if he might weep. Yet, the tears would not come, the emotions compressing in his middle with so much pressure, he thought might explode.
“Why?” he repeated, leaning in to rest his head on her shoulder, to gather her close, to try to hold her together in his arms. He did not think he’d ever be strong enough.
She fell limp against him, eerily silent for so long, he feared she had retreated back into the state she’d been in upon first returning home from the asylum. She hadn’t spoken for days, and when she’d first opened her mouth, her words had been broken, senseless fragments that he and Niall had been forced to piece together themselves. It had taken her weeks to form coherent thoughts again.
Finally, she spoke, her voice muffled against the fabric of his coat.
“The laudanum … it takes everything away … all the feelings.”
He nodded. “Aye, butterfly. I know.”
She shook her head, her hair tickling his jaw. “I just wanted … I wanted to feel again, Hart. I couldn’t feel anything.”
Drawing back to look down at her, he considered her words. The physicians had told him that the laudanum seemed to be the only thing bringing her peace. Over the years, it had been the only way to stop her tears and screams, to help her sleep when terrors plagued her dreams. Yet, the more she drank it, the less effective it became, and the more of it she needed to function.
Had he and Niall done this to her? Made it to where she was drinking so much of the stuff that she could no longer feel a thing? They’d meant well, but perhaps they had been pushing her toward her death. If she’d cut herself any deeper … if Maeve hadn’t discovered her … if …
“No more laudanum,” he declared. “Not unless you truly want it.”
She nodded in agreement, another tear slipping down her cheek. “No more laudanum.”
They sat staring at each other in silence for a moment, before she spoke again.
“I’m sorry, Hart … I don’t mean to hurt you … I don’t mean to make you worry.”
He shook his head, tightening his hold on her shoulders and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Never apologize to me for things you cannot control. It is my duty to worry, and I’d suffer a thousand hurts if it meant you would be all right.”
She issued a sigh, a sound that carried in it a thousand thoughts and emotions.
“This will not be easy,” he warned her. “Your body will crave the laudanum. It won’t be pleasant.”
The smile she gave him broke his heart. “I know … I want that, too.”
He understood what she said as well as what she did not say. She wanted the pain, the sweating and the trembling of withdrawal. She wanted it, because it was better than numbness, better than swimming in a void of darkness.
He had just opened his mouth to reply to her when Niall’s voice came from the doorway.
“Master … there is someone here demanding an audience with you.”
Scowling at the man over his shoulder, he wondered who the hell could be calling on him this time of night. “Whoever it is can sod off, Niall. Now is not the time—”
A commotion in the hallway had him falling silent, another familiar voice ringing out through the open door.
“Where is he? I will not be put off! Tell the bloody coward to come and face me!”
Daphne.
He was on his feet in an instant, moving toward the door without a second thought, drawn toward the sound of her voice. She sounded angry … no, furious … but he did not care. He only wanted to lay eyes on her, to have a taste of his own addictive drug … his opium … his little dove.
He entered the corridor just in time to find her barreling toward him, hands balled into fists at her sides, her face a mask of unrestrained wrath. Before he could speak, she was on him with an enraged snarl, her slight body colliding with his big one. She stunned him into passivity for a moment, and he could do nothing but stand there as she slapped him over and over, screaming at him. Her words came out in a jumbled screech he could not decipher, but he felt the weight of each one, heard the accusations she leveled at him, felt the anger in every strike of her hand against his face.
He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, trying to wrestle her into stillness. She thrashed and flailed in his hold, her feet striking his shins, her fists pummeling every inch of him she could reach.
“You bastard!” she shrieked as he began carrying her into the room adjoining his—the feminine suite that had once belonged to her mother. “You snake!”
Her blows were starting to affect him, stoking his anger and his lust all at once, until the feelings became one—his blood heating and rushing in his veins, going straight to his groin and engorging his cock so fast, it was uncanny. Fighting down the urge to bend her over the nearest piece of furniture and silence her with the ram of his cock into her cunt, he threw her away from him.
She landed on the bed with a huff, falling silent momentarily when the wind was knocked out of her. He stalked to the open door and peered out at Niall, who was staring after them with a mixture of confusion and annoyance upon his face.
“Stay with Olivia,” he barked before grabbing hold of the door. “No laudanum.”
Without waiting for a response, he slammed the door. He had just turned to address Daphne when she came flying at him again, grunting and snarling as he grabbed hold of her wrist before she could land another blow.
“I hate you!” she bellowed as he spun her about and slammed her against the door. “I hate you, you bloody bastard!”
Her other hand came at him, and he plucked it out of the air, pinning it above her head along with the other. She bucked against him, but he overcame her easily, using his body to press her against the door. Genuine confusion wrinkled his brow as he gazed down at her, finding tears in her eyes and her face reddened with fury.
He wanted to believe she might be angry with him over their encounter at the ball—the things he’d said to her during their waltz. However, he quickly realized that it must be something else, as he’d never seen her so angry, trembling with the force of her rage, her chest heaving as she attempted to get her breathing under control.
“I realize you have many reasons to hate me,” he said calmly, hoping that being reasonable might help him get to the bottom of whatever had upset her. “Perhaps you might tell me what it is that’s made your loathing especially potent just now?”
She bucked against him, her pelvis bumping his and making him grit his teeth. Goddamn it, being this close to her was a terrible idea when she was in such a state—because she had murder in her eyes, and all it did was make him want to expel that fury from her, ram her full of his cock and drill it right out of her.
“I knew you were despicable, but I never would have believed you capable of something like this,” she spat, narrowing her eyes at him. “It was foolish of me to think you capable of any form of decency.”
Her cryptic words began to annoy him, and he gave her wrists a squeeze, pressing her tighter to the door, obliterating what was left of the space between them.
“You are going to have to be more specific, little dove,” he snapped.
“How could you?” she retorted. “How could you let them all know the truth about us? Now, everyone leaving the Mallorys’ ball is spreading the word that Lady Daphne Fairchild sold her cunt for ten thousand pounds!”
Shock rendered him speechless for a moment as her words, as well as their implications, sank in. He’d left the ball as soon as their waltz had ended, knowing that remaining so close to her would have him going out of his mind after a while. In order to keep from taking her down to the ballroom floor and embarrassing them both in front of a room full of the London ton, he’d made a hasty retreat.
Whatever had occurred after he’d left was what had her in such a state.
Shaking his head to clear it, he peered into her eyes and found the truth there—along with a healthy dose of anger directed solely at him.
“Daphne, I didn’t—”
“I do not believe you,” she interjected. “It all makes sense, your warning that I’d soon feel the consequences of your next blow … that it would all become clear to me. You could not be satisfied with ruining me and flaunting me in front of the entire ton, could you? You just couldn’t help ensuring they all knew that I was paid to act as your whore?”
“Daphne,” he tried again, but she was beyond hearing him, tears spilling from the eyes burning into his with every ounce of the hatred she claimed to feel for him.
“Did you know that the moment our dance had ended, I was approached by a man who wished to buy a night with me for fifty quid?” she sobbed, closing her eyes and causing more of the tears to fall.
The fire in his belly roared, his neck going hot and his entire body tensing as her words fell on him like the lash of a whip. His hold on her wrists tightened even more, until she whimpered and squirmed in his grasp. But he was beyond the limits of his control, murder on his mind, his vision going black at the edges.
“Who?” he growled from between clenched teeth. “Who was the man?”
“Does it matter?” she whispered, going limp against him, the fight finally leaving her body.
“Yes,” he snarled, releasing her and pacing away, running a shaking hand through his hair. “It matters. I want his name, Daphne. I want his name, and I want his blood.”
She pursued him across the room, jabbing his chest with her index finger. “Why, when this is a mess of your own making? When you are the one who ousted me as a woman whose body is for sale to all of London!”
“Goddamn it, Daphne, I told you it was not me!” he roared, his voice filling the room and practically shaking the rafters.
She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “If not you, then who? Who else would be so cruel, so calculating?”
He had just been about to retort that he had no bloody idea when it all became clear. Through the muddled haze of anger, pain, and grief that had overtaken him, the answer came at him a rush of clarity he could not deny.
“Who, indeed?” he hedged, inclining his head and returning her stare. He needed her to understand on her own … to arrive at the truth using logic. Otherwise, she would simply accuse him of casting blame to shift her anger away from him. “Yes, I will admit that this sounds like something I might do. However, I want you to remember that I have never lied to you, or about you, little dove. Not once. I have only ever been honest about who I am, what I want, and what I will do. If I were to reveal the specifics of our arrangement, do you not think I might have actually spread the truth?”
She frowned, her brow knitting and her eyes darting as she seemed to try to make sense of his words. “I do not understand.”
He came closer and took hold of her face, cupping her jaw and looking into her eyes, willing her to see the truth … to not only see it, but believe it.
“Think, little dove,” he urged. “The person who spread this rumor, they do not know the whole truth. Otherwise, they would not have told everyone that you sold yourself to me for ten thousand pounds.”
After a moment of silence, she gasped, her gaze meeting his and realization making her lips part in utter shock. “No … he didn’t … he wouldn’t …”
He nodded. “He would. It all makes sense. If he wanted to strike back at me for coming to London to publicly flaunt our relationship, then he might spread his version of the truth … a version that saw him compensated with ten thousand pounds in exchange for your maidenhead.”
Closing her eyes for a moment, she sucked in a slow breath, releasing it on a pained sigh. “Bertram … that bloody fool.”
Gently stroking her cheek with his thumb, he scowled to find more tears. He didn’t like seeing tears on her face unless he was the one who had put them there. Someone else making her weep, toying with her emotions … it made him furious. It made him want to maim and kill and rip them to shreds—both her idiot of a brother and the unnamed whoreson who had attempted to proposition his little dove.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, finding that he truly meant it.
This had been one line he hadn’t been prepared to cross, using the truth of what had happened at Dunnottar against Bertram … only because it would also mean using it against Daphne.
She opened her eyes and scoffed, her gaze now one of disdain. “Only because you did not think to do it first.”
He deserved that, so he said nothing in retaliation. It had made perfect sense for her to suspect him, to accuse him. Still, he refused to feel sorry for anything he’d done … not when it meant justice for the young woman hiding away in the suite adjoining this one.
“No,” he replied firmly. “I’m sorry for what I will be forced to do now.”
Sinking both hands into her hair, she gave it a little tug, as if trying to convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming. “Are you mad? If nothing else, this proves that things have gone too far. If one of you does not put a stop to this, we will all go down together. Can’t you see that?”
He reached out for her again, needing the contact, needing to feel her pliant skin at his fingertips … to force submission and regain control. Too much had happened in a short span of time, and he was unraveling, falling apart.
“I would tear us all apart if it means destroying your brother,” he hissed, his hand shooting out to grasp her face.
She whimpered, the sound sending another jolt of liquid heat straight to his cock. He saw the fear and excitement flashing in her eyes, the dark and deep yearning she hid in the black depths of her pupils. It called to him, beckoning, offering him sweet relief … peace … oblivion.
“And what of Olivia?” she challenged. “What of Serena? Adam, if you do not end this, Bertram certainly will not. If you believe that you can protect them from the consequences of your actions, then you are sorely mistaken. My brother may be a fool, but he isn’t an idiot. You will strike back at him, and he is sure to respond in kind. I cannot see how we will survive it.”
He pulled her closer, his fingers biting into her jaw, the urge to clamp a hand over her mouth and smother her words making his hands itch.
“Thanks to me, your brother no longer possesses the clout to come after me,” he snarled. “I dare him to try. I want him to try.”
She sighed, lowering her eyes and backpedaling so that he was forced to release her or leave bruises on her flawless skin. Biting her lower lip, she stared up at him in silence for a moment as if wrestling with herself, debating over spitting out whatever words sat on the tip of her tongue. He saw the moment she decided to speak, to strike out at him with whatever verbal assault she had built up in her mind.
“Very well,” she murmured. “Then I will do what I must for my own peace … my own sanity.”
Curiosity had him lifting his eyebrows while a sudden wariness had him studying her for any hint to what she might be getting at.
“What are you about, little dove?” he asked.
Folding her hands before her demurely, she raised her chin and squared her shoulders—steeling herself before speaking. “Robert has asked me to marry him.”
Something inside him began to wind taut, twisting and pulling in his middle. He clenched his jaw so tight, his teeth began to ache, his entire body trembling from head to toe as her words slammed into him with all the force of a massive boulder. He took one slow step toward her, then another, closing the distance between them.
“He what?” he growled from between his clenched teeth.
She maintained her defiant stance, displaying her intention to bait him, to fight him when he pushed back. She had no notion of how much danger she put herself in just now, with him already so on edge following the other events of the evening.
“He saw me home after the ball ended in disaster,” she replied. “And he offered to take me away to Gretna Green. He wishes to be married right away, so that we may escape to Suffolk and weather out the scandal.”
Her words proved a hard, sharp poker rustling the embers he tried to stifle, making them roar to life, the heat searing him from the inside out. He clenched his fists and loomed over her, so close now, he could smell her—some fragrance he could not place, but one he always recognized as being distinctly hers. Underneath it, much deeper, he smelled her fear, her need. The beast in him licked its lips, mouth watering to sink its teeth in and claim what was his, never letting it go.
“And what did you say when he made this gracious offer to save you, little dove?” he asked drily.
His voice held sarcasm, but there was nothing amusing about any of this. If she told him that she’d answered Robert with anything other than ‘no, and sod off’, he would not be held responsible for his actions.
Her chin trembled as if she realized she stood a few words away from the point of no return … just one step away from landing her foot in his trap and ensnaring herself.
“What. Did. You. Say?” he snapped when she hesitated.
Tightening her jaw, she tilted her head and challenged him, prepared to defy him, to beat her wings and taunt the demon lurking in the darkness. He waited with baited breath for her to say the words, to give him a reason to unleash the torrent of emotions swirling in his gut, giving it all to her.
“I told him I would consider it,” she replied in her haughtiest tone—that goddamn infuriating way of hers that made him want to make use of her mouth and shove those words back down her throat using his cock.
He had her hauled against him in an instant, his arm relentlessly tight around her waist, his other hand coming up to grip the back of her neck, digging in and refusing to let go, keeping her head in place and her eyes focused on him.
“What part of never did you not understand?” he whispered, his voice low and grating as he pressed his mouth against her jaw, trailing his stubble over her sensitive skin and inhaling her scent, letting it flood his senses. “I will never let you go, little dove. You are mine, and any man who is foolish enough to think he can have you must have a death wish.”
“You do not own me anymore,” she protested, trying fruitlessly to fight against his hold, to twist away from the touch of his lips. “Not since the thirtieth day of our agreement ended … not since you let me leave Dunnottar without so much as a good-bye or even a go-to-Hell. You have no right—”
“Oh, but I do,” he interrupted, nipping at the line of her jaw with his teeth and reveling in the way it made her shudder. “You’ve momentarily forgotten, but I think we both know how easy it is for me to remind you that I have every right.”
“Don’t,” she whispered weakly, already melting in his arms, and he turned and began carrying her to the bed. “Adam … don’t.”
Ignoring her feeble pleas, because nothing she could say would convince him she truly wanted him to stop, he threw her down and climbed on top of her. He straddled her, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands and arms caging in her upper body. Bending down until their lips touched, he grinned against her mouth, chuckling when she shuddered again, obviously still fighting him … fighting herself.
“Mine,” he growled before taking her lower lip between his teeth, his bite making her cry out then whimper when he began consuming her mouth.
He devoured her, drunk on her taste, but unable to get enough. He sought her tongue with his, fitting his mouth over hers until they were exchanging breaths, tongues writhing, teeth gnashing and biting. He nipped her, and she returned the bite, making him groan when she drew a drop of blood. He retreated and licked his lower lip, the tang of his life’s essence mingling with her taste on his tongue in a heady mix.
Taking hold of her hair, he yanked, tipping her head back and arching her neck the way she liked, exposing the vulnerable veins thrumming with every beat of her heart. He lowered his head again and opened his mouth, trailing his teeth over the taut tendons, lapping at her pulse.
“Mine,” he murmured against her throat, kissing, sucking hard enough to leave the marks of his possession.
She thrashed beneath him, and he could not tell if it were due to pleasure or if she was still fighting him … and he did not care. Sinking down until his body fit against hers, he thrust his hips, seeking out the mound between her legs with his cock. He groaned when he found her, his prick throbbing, begging for entrance.
But he wouldn’t give in yet, no matter how badly he might wish to. She had not yet learned her lesson.
She would. She would if it was the last thing he did.
Rearing up from her abruptly, he put some much-needed distance between them, saving himself from the madness of wanting her so badly, he could hardly think. He flipped her onto her stomach, attacking the buttons running down the back of the simple walking dress she had changed into. He missed the gold satin she’d worn to the ball, the color that had turned her into a walking, living flame of fire.
His hands shook as he tore the buttons from their holes, ripping a few of them loose in his haste.
“You cannot control me this way,” she panted, even as he removed her gown and tossed it aside, tearing off her slippers next and leaving her in only her white, lace-edged stockings and garters. “You can use me … hurt me … in the end, you cannot stop me from leaving this house when it is over and doing as I please. You cannot stop me from marrying him.”
With a savage snarl, he fisted her hair again and pulled until her back arched, her upper body bowing up off the bed. He leaned down until his mouth touched her ear, his breath harsh and ragged as he resisted the urge to ram into her from behind and fuck her until she begged him to stop.
“Perhaps I cannot stop you from marrying him,” he murmured, delving his other hand between her legs and finding her soaking wet. “But I can make your life with him very, very difficult.”
She groaned when he sank two fingers into her, curling them to find that soft, spongy part of her channel that was always sure to make her splinter, turn her into clay in his hands. He maintained a tight hold on her hair, keeping her in the position he wanted while he thrust in and out of her with his fingers, slamming into her all the way to the third knuckle, coating his digits in her juices.
“He will never know peace, and neither will you,” he taunted. “Wherever you go, I will follow. I’ll climb through your window at night and fuck you with him in the next room. I’ll still make you mine, even if you give yourself to him. And for every night that you part your legs for him, giving him what’s mine, I will take it out on your arse.”
She cried out, tensing beneath him as she neared her end, her inner channel quivering and clenching around him. Twisting his fingers inside her one last time, he swiftly pulled them out, denying her the full intensity of her rapture. She screamed in frustration, attempting to shift the position of her body, to take him back in. He slapped one of her buttocks, making it flush pink and forcing her to go still beneath him.
“Not yet, little dove,” he teased. “You do not get to spend yet … not after you’ve come here and accused me of things I did not do … flaunting your would-be fiancé, to boot. First, you are going to pay for that … then, I might let you earn your orgasm.”
He sucked his two fingers, wet with her essence, his erection pulsing at the taste of her, his senses heightening, coming alive in a way that only seemed possible with her. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent of her arousal, his cock fighting for freedom against his breeches, trying to batter its way toward her through the layers of his clothes.
He slapped her arse again, making the plump globes quiver, forcing another sharp breath from her.
“Bugger … you,” she ground out, clearly still doing battle with her own body and mind, trying to prove to them both that she truly believed what she’d said about not belonging to him.
It was so ridiculous, he wanted to laugh in her face.
He sucked his fingers again, wetting them, before using one to delve between her cheeks, pressing against the tight pucker of her rear passage.
“No, but if you’re a good girl, I might just bugger you,” he said with a chuckle.
She gasped, her hips rising up off the bed as he sank his finger into the tight hole, twisting and withdrawing before plunging again, teasing the passage he’d only invaded one other time. His cock wept, moisture wetting the front of his breeches as he thought of sinking into her arse, bollocks deep.
He pulled out, smiling when she grunted, clearly annoyed at having her pleasure taken away. But he’d meant what he’d said about making her earn it after what she’d just put him through.
Rising from on top of her, he came to his feet, swiftly shrugging out of his coat and snatching off his cravat, tossing both garments aside before reaching for her again. He pulled her toward the edge of the bed, positioning her so that her head tipped off the edge. He crowded her, using one hand against her throat to keep her docile while tearing at his fall with the other. Without smallclothes underneath, his cock was free to fall out, poised inches away from her mouth. He massaged her throat, brought his thumb up to press down on her chin, opening her up for him.
“Take me, little dove,” he rasped, nudging against her parted lips, seeking out her tongue. “Every inch … take it all. Let me feel that exquisite mouth of yours.”
She gave a helpless whimper as he nudged past her lips, groaning at the scrape of her teeth, the unrelenting clamp of her mouth giving way and letting him in. Her saliva wet him, her lips tight around him, tongue rasping against his underside as he stood there, resting in her mouth. Pausing to catch his breath, he let himself feel, registering the sensation of her simply holding him in her mouth.
Then, he released her throat and held both sides of her head with his hands, withdrawing slowly before plunging back in. She gagged, making a desperate sound around his cock. The vibration of the sound, and the pull of her tongue and lips forced a groan from deep inside him. His knees buckled, but he stayed on his feet, still holding her in place and pulling out again, pushing in, finding a rhythm that made his bollocks draw up tight against his body and his gut clench in reaction to the heavenly pleasure.
He let go of her so he could finish undressing, still steadily pumping his hips and fucking her mouth while undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, tearing it off and throwing it to the floor. The braces holding his breeches up came off his shoulders, and he let them hang from the garment as he impatiently tore at his shirt, sending the buttons flying in every direction before yanking it off over his head. Now naked from the waist up, he went back to touching her, stroking her face, her hair, running his thumb over her dainty little chin. His hips surged faster, harder, unrelenting as he plowed between her lips, seeking the back of her throat.
She gagged and moaned around his mouth, her nipples going into hard points, her back arching to bring her hips off the bed. He saw the desire smearing her inner thighs, the evidence of the way his cruelty aroused her, made her crave him, crave more of what he could offer her when she simply gave in to him.
The familiar niggling of an impending climax warned him just before he could spill in her mouth, and he withdrew swiftly, taking hold of himself and squeezing, trying to stifle it, to keep from ending too soon. As much as he wanted to spend into her hot, wet mouth, he liked this feeling of being on edge … needing it to continue drawing out her torture.
She was mindless beneath him, sighing and moaning as she lapped at him, dragging her tongue over his knuckles and circling it over his sensitive head, groaning at the taste of the bit of seed she lapped away from the slit. He gasped and reached down to grab a handful of her hair, yanking and pulling until she could no longer reach him with her tongue.
“Enough, you little tart,” he groused. “If you think trying to make me come quickly will spare you what I have planned, you had better think again.”
He pushed her back onto the mattress, letting her roll over onto her side as he walked around to the foot of the bed, snatching loose one of the tasseled ropes tying back the bed curtains. He went to the opposite post and retrieved another, then moved around to the other side of the bed. She tried to scramble away, issuing a frustrated huff when he took hold of her ankle and yanked her back toward him.
Climbing back up onto the bed, he maneuvered her like a rag doll, forcing one of her knees to bend beneath her, and pulling her arm so that he could tie one wrist to an ankle. He repeated the motions on the other side of her body, until her knees were curled beneath her, legs spread wide, arse in the air. Tilted forward and forced to rest her cheek on the mattress, weight falling forward onto her shoulders.
Motionless. Defenseless. His.
Reaching down to begin loosening the braces from his breeches, he took in the picture she presented—all her most intimate places open and bared to him, her body contorted, forced to bend to his will.
He had just been about to touch her when he spied a foreign object on the counterpane—a small wooden box that had not been there when he’d first thrown her down.
Had it fallen out of her pocket?
Reaching out for it, he glanced from what was undoubtedly a jeweler’s box to Daphne, who stared at him over her shoulder, eyes wide with panic.
It was definitely hers.
“What have we here?” he murmured, slowly prying open the box.
A large, gaudy sapphire ring lay cushioned in black velvet, twinkling in the light from the lamp on the bedside table. He sneered, turning the box to show it to her—though he was certain she’d already seen it.
“An engagement ring. You accepted this?”
Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head. “Yes … I mean, no … I mean … he told me to keep it until I’d made up my mind.”
Plucking the little ring from its velvet housing, he tossed the box carelessly aside, holding the piece of jewelry between his thumb and forefinger.
“A cheap trinket hardly worthy of someone he claims to love,” he muttered before flicking it away from him, landing it on the counterpane just in front of her face.
He wanted her to be forced to stare at it while he made her regret accepting it … wanted it just out of her reach while he fucked her mindless.
“What a waste it would be for you to marry that sniveling little milksop,” he groused as he finished unfastening his suspenders from his breeches and began wrapping the pliant leather around one hand. “He would hardly know what to do with a fiery little thing like you. But I do, little dove.”
He closed his fist and cracked the folded ended of the braces against one palm, watching the effect it had on her. She flinched, her spine going tense, legs trembling.
“You are mine,” he declared. “Say it.”
“Damn you,” she growled.
Gritting his teeth, he brought the leather down upon her arse, sending the medley of her cry and the leather cracking against her skin through the air.
“Keep quiet, or I will be forced to gag you,” he snapped. “This ends when you give me what I want. Say you’re mine.”
He swung the braces again, flushing the soft skin of her buttocks pink.
“Do not make me break you, little dove,” he warned, his patience wearing thinner and thinner the more she denied him. “Say. It.”
“Sod … off,” she managed between pants, hovering on the edge of beautiful madness.
He heard it in her voice—the way her control had begun to fray, the urge to give in overcoming her instinct to fight him. Sweat broke out over his skin as he went back to punishing her, cracking the leather straps of his braces against her buttocks over and over again, leaving light welts, red and glowing, crisscrossing over pristine, porcelain skin. His cock grew harder, his body tightening and winding like the string of a crossbow. But his mind had cleared, the heaviness on his shoulders lifting as he poured it all onto her—his rage, his anger, his grief … the overwhelming muddle of emotions she made him feel. Emotions he did not want to feel.
“This can end whenever you are ready, little dove,” he rasped between heavy breaths, his chest heaving from his exertions. “Just admit it to me … admit it to yourself.”
“I … I can’t,” she gasped, her voice broken, breaking off on a sob. “Please don’t make me … please, Adam.”
Seeing that they’d reached the tipping point, he paused, the leather straps held up in one hand. “Why not? It is the truth, is it not? All you have to do is say it.”
“If I say it … it becomes … real,” she cried, trembling and whimpering, her body covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her arousal practically dripped from her, wetting her thighs, making her pink inner flesh glisten invitingly.
“What’s more real than this?” he murmured, reaching down to stroke his fingers down her spine. “You, me, every dark desire you’ve ever suppressed and tried to pretend not to feel. It is the realest things you’ve ever felt, little dove. It’s the realest thing there is.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as much as her position would allow. “I hate you … do you know that? I hate you!”
“I do not require you to love me,” he retorted. “Only for you to submit … to admit that you are mine.”
Raising his hand for one last blow, he brought the leather down with a rough grunt, leaning down to cover her mouth just as her lips parted on a scream. She howled against his palm, jerking and writhing beneath him, unable to move the way she wanted with her body contorted and bound.
The moment he pulled his hand away, she gave him what he wanted.
“Yours,” she whispered weakly, defeated at last. “I am yours … even when I don’t want to be.”
He sighed with relief and lowered his hand, letting the leather unwind from around his knuckles and fall to the bed. Bending down, he kissed one of her tortured buttocks, producing a sharp hiss from her.
“Such a good little dove,” he whispered against her reddened skin, brushing his lips over the curve of her arse and down the back of one thigh. “I did not want to push things that far, but you forced my hand. But it’s what you wanted, Daphne, I know it is. For me to break you, tear you apart. It’s what you’ve wanted from the first time we laid eyes on each other. It’s all right to admit it. No one else will hear you … only me.”
“Yes,” she wept, groaning and panting as he lapped at her swollen, wet cunt, his tongue swirling around her clit. “Yes … Adam!”
The sweet music of his name on her lips almost proved his end—there was no sound he liked more. But he was not finished yet. Not until she pleaded and begged.
He took his time tasting her, smoothing his hands over the hot skin he’d just punished, his tongue gently teasing her in juxtaposition. She rocked against him as much as her position allowed, riding his tongue, filling his mouth with her heady, feminine taste. He could spend hours savoring her, teasing her with languid strokes of his tongue. But, as she shivered and moaned into the counterpane, he knew that it would not be enough. He’d already fucked her mouth, but his little dove needed more … and then more. She needed him to fill her in every way possible, to own her, give her the things she’d never dare to ask for out loud.
“Is this how you want me, little dove?” he teased between gentle tugs on her clit with his lips.
“No … yes … I-I don’t know,” she stammered.
He chuckled. “Aye, you do. How about this, little dove … do you want this?”
She gasped when he sank a finger into her, then another. Squirming and writhing at his fingertips, she soaked the digits in her juices. And still, her moans held a hint of frustration. It wasn’t enough … would not be enough after he’d pushed her so far.
“M-more,” she whispered.
He kissed the back of her thigh again in acquiescence, giving her a third finger, twisting and curling them to reach the places deep inside, the places that made her toes curl.
“Like this?” he murmured against her skin, teasing her with more kisses, more laps of his tongue while his fingers worked in and out of her.
She was truly gone now, beyond her reticence and beyond her hatred for him, when she spoke the words he’d been waiting for since the moment he’d thrown her onto the bed.
“Take me, Adam,” she panted. “I am yours … just … please, I need …”
She seemed incapable of naming her need—but then, he’d never required her to. Coming up onto his knees, he positioned himself behind her, swiftly reaching out to untie the tasseled cords from her wrists and ankles. She fell onto her belly, and he went down on top of her, nudging his cock into the snug cleft created by her closed legs. She was tighter this way, the squeeze of her sheath around him almost painful as he impaled her.
“Is this what you need, little dove?” he growled into her ear, one hand pressing her head into the mattress, tangling in her hair, the other bracing him over her, bearing most of his weight. “My cock, filling you, stretching you?”
“Yes,” she moaned into the bedclothes, fingers clutching the damask counterpane, twisting and bunching the fabric as he rode her.
He caught sight of that goddamn ring again—the sapphire glittering in the lamplight and taunting him, tormenting him. Gritting his teeth, he rammed her harder, reaching as deep into her as he could go, attempting to obliterate Robert from every corner of her mind, heart, and soul. She’d loved him once … he knew that. Perhaps a part of her still did. And despite not wanting or needing her love, the thought infuriated him, prodded at the possessive beast inside him that wanted to demand every piece of her … even if he had done nothing to earn it.
He pulled out of her abruptly, and she gasped, arching her spine and thrusting her arse against his pelvis, attempting to take him back in. Cruel laughter spilled from him as he swiftly turned her onto her back, wanting her to see his face, the look in his eyes when he staked his claim.
He shoved her legs wide and lunged between them, slipping back into her wet sheath. She welcomed him, arms coming around him, fingers pulling at his hair, nails raking down his back. The sting of her gouging him set him on fire, the heat of her cunt around him turning his blood to liquid fire. He gritted his teeth and rotated his hips, angling his pelvis so that he stimulated her clit with each stroke.
Propping himself up over her, he reached out with one hand to clutch her throat, his fingers finding the veins thrumming with her pulse. Her eyes widened, her face flushing and her lips parting in anticipation of what she knew would come next—the oblivion no one could give her like he could.
“I will kill him,” he rasped, pressing his lips against hers as he compressed those veins ever so slightly—just enough to make her heart beat faster, to make her pupils dilate and her breath hitch. “Do you hear me, little dove? If you give yourself to him in any way … I will fucking murder him. I will squeeze the life out of him with my bare hands while you watch, and then I’ll fuck you beside his corpse. He cannot have you … he will never have you.”
He closed his fingers, cutting off her air supply and giving her everything he had. Her thighs would be sore in the morning, but he wanted that … wanted her to carry him with her, to feel him long after he had pulled out of her. He held her gaze, watched the tumultuous build of emotions, pleasure, and pain welling up in her eyes, compressed in her veins and beating a cadence of pure desire against his fingers. He pressed harder, his own breath coming in ragged pants as he fed off the fear he saw in her eyes, the short moment of doubt she experienced as she wondered whether he would let go or strangle her in a jealous rage.
He waited until he felt the first flutters of her climax, her body trembling violently beneath him, before he released her.
“Breathe,” he commanded.
Her sheath clenched around him at the same time she drew in a deep breath. Then, she was coming apart, her body jerking and shaking under him as her cunt pulsed around him. She clung to him, her fingers tightening in his hair, making his scalp sting and sending even more heat down his spine.
He was unraveling along with her, his thrusts less precise, his chest burning as he found it difficult to breathe. His entire world narrowed to Daphne, tears in her eyes, a flush on her cheeks, lips parted as she moaned her pleasure and chanted his name.
Staring down at her, he imagined her beneath Robert like this, her legs spread and her beautiful body bared for him. Her husband, a man who would make love to her with tenderness and care … and never touch the parts of her that Adam had possessed. He imagined her growing round with his babe, smiling and happy as she rubbed her swollen belly through her gown.
Everything within him rebelled against the notion, his hold on her tightening as his climax loomed near instead of loosening—holding her close instead of pushing away.
“Mine,” he groaned as his bollocks contracted, sending swirls of heat and fire through his cock.
It spewed from him and into her in what felt like a never-ending tide. Hot and wet, he filled her, pumping his hips and wringing himself dry, making sure she took every drop into her open and vulnerable body.
Then, he collapsed on top of her, curling his arms around her and gathering her close, where no one, or nothing, could take her away from him.