“Please, what?”
“Touch me. Please, Kenneth, I cannot bear it.”
Only then did his fingers find her swollen bud, stroking slow and merciless circles over it, and she cried out and arched up as far as the bindings would let her. He kept the rhythm without pity, his other hand splayed across her belly to pin her down when she tried to writhe against him.
“Kenneth...”
He leaned over her, his mouth at her ear, his fingers never slowing. “Beg me again. Or I will stop.”
“Please... Please do not stop—”
He pushed one thick finger inside her, letting her feel every inch of the stretch before he drew it out and drove it back. Then a second joined it, and his unhurried strokes had her clenching around him. He curled his fingers on each withdrawal, dragging against some hidden spot that made her vision go spotty.
“That is it, Madeline,” he murmured, watching her come apart on his hand. “Take it.”
He now thrust his fingers deeper and faster, the heel of his palm pressing against her with each movement, and she could do nothing but lie there and take it. The tension grew tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, releasing so violently that she screamed into the dark, her whole body wrenching against the silk that kept her open for him.
How can this be a punishment when it feels so good?
Chapter 15
“Iam certain that the dressmaker purposely designed this garment to induce apoplexy in the local clergy,” Madeline murmured at her reflection. “And the elderly dowagers.”
She preened in front of the full-length mirror, having never owned one before. Gertie was at her back, a silver-backed hairbrush at the ready in her hand, her eyes taking in the purple silk.
“It is very fashionable, Your Grace,” she murmured with admiration. “It is the French style, is it not? The lace is beautiful, and the purple stands out because you rarely use the color.”
“You are right. I often use yellows, oranges, and pinks,” Madeline confirmed, as she smoothed her palms down the exquisite fabric. “This is a change, and I am surprised that I like it. Do you think it is too daring?”
The dress was not immodest, but it did skim the very edge of appropriateness, exposing more of her décolletage.
She told herself this was her best move after that night. It had been a few days since Kenneth tormented her with his fingers.She could still remember how the pressure coiled in her belly built to a crescendo.
It is unfair that I must bear these maddening thoughts while he remains so unaffected!
Kenneth continued with his usual tasks and responsibilities as if nothing had happened. The way he greeted her coldly remained. She would not wait for him to change the way he treated her. She had to do something.
“I do not think it is too daring, Your Grace,” Gertie said, as Madeline retreated to her seat so that her maid could finish styling her hair.“It suits you perfectly.”
“Thank you, Gertie,” Madeline said, as the last pins were placed in her hair. “I think I need to pinch my cheeks a little so that I will not look like a ghost, though.”
“You look wonderful, Your Grace, if I may say so myself,” Gertie said with a grin.
For the past few days, Madeline had been distracting herself from the phantom ache that seemed to have lodged itself in her core. The mere thought of her husband made her squeeze her thighs together.
What has become of me?
The best distraction was the most boisterous members of the household, Alexander and Emily. She had been wandering the gardens with the children. She told them stories, some from her own books and some from Portia’s when she was much younger. In turn, they relayed stories of their little adventures.
“That was how I got thisblastedscar, Aunt Maddy,” Alexander ended a story of him climbing up one of the trees in the garden.
“It is a reminder not to do it again,” Emily said with a mischievous grin. The little girl also had her own share of misadventures, with bruises and scars to remind her, but she felt she just had to tell her brother to behave better.
“Please, Alex. No more swearing,” Madeline gently said with a wagging of an index finger. “You are a gentleman of the house. You do not require such language to make yourself understood. People will more likely want to hear what you have to say when you are not coarse or rude.”
“Understood, Aunt Maddy,” he said with a suspiciously angelic smile.
“And Emily. A young lady should not wipe her ink-stained fingers on her skirts,” she said to the older child.
