Page 19 of A Tale of Two Dukes

This time, there is no rebuke, no retribution in his touch. However, he refuses to stop stroking me, even as my body quivers and light sparks behind my eyelids. I grow sensitive. Too sensitive.

“P- please, Your Grace,” I whimper, desperate to flee from the overwhelming sensations wracking my body.

“Oh no, my little strumpet. I suspect you have at least one more release in you. Come now, don’t you want to please me? Come for me, my pussycat. Let go for me again. You’re so damned beautiful when you do so.”

This time, he alternates stroking the nerves between my thighs and thrusting in and out, sending my brain into a spiral. I cannot speak. I cannot even think. His grunts bark out into the air, adding yet another layer of sensation brushing along my body.

I shudder as a new sensation sparks through me. Birchleigh is once more stretching me out, but this time, it’s far more immense. My fingers grasp at the rope as I find myself desperate for purchase.

I’m not frightened. In fact, I’m quite the opposite. Deep inside, I understand something profound is about to happen. Though I’m still not sure what. Whimpers and nonsensical words claw at my throat as the duke drives forward, taking me to some place I know I’ll never want to return from.

Once more, he strums his fingers over me, distracting me with his maddening touch. Sobs break free, floating in the ether. They sound foreign to my ears, as if coming from someone else entirely.

Is this me? Is this really what I’ve become? I long to cry out, to beg him to stop. Part of me needs him to end this torment before I’m forever ruined and unable to go back to the chaste girl I once was.

But the wicked, carnal part of me is desperate for another release. Somehow, he knew. I cannot fathom how a stranger knows my body better than I know it myself. And yet, I strain against the ropes, frenzied in my need to fall apart for this man.

“Please,” I whine, no longer sure what I’m begging for.

“Easy now, love. I’m almost in.”

Almost? Panic assails me for a moment as my body continues to open. How much more of him is left? Craning my neck up, I watch, my eyes locking onto the massive part of him stretching me open. It’s so impossibly large, and yet, the very sight causes more arousal to gather.

He slips in the rest of the way, groaning as his crisp hairs abrade my sensitive flesh. I feel him now, far more intimately than I did when he was merely rocking in and out. It’s a fullness I never expected.

It stills my breath even as my body cries out, rippling around him. Once firmly in place, he moves back and forth in minute movements that somehow rock my entire body into another release. This one tears through me, leaving me shaking, quaking underneath him.

With one more thrust, he throws his head back and groans long and loud. His member jerks a few times before my insides are bathed in a strange heat. Ripples of pleasure slither through my veins, drawing out a similar sound from between my lips. He stays there, his body tight, straining for a few scant moments before dropping his head to look at me.

The satisfaction and pleasure in his eyes root me to the spot. I can’t look away even if I wanted to. With soft, tender movements, he glides the pads of his fingertips over the swell of my cheek.

“Fucking well done, my little kitten.”

My heart burns at his praise, even if I shouldn’t want his words of acclamation for something so debased, so vile, so… absolutely decadent and perfect. I hide his compliments deep in my heart, saving them away for the next person to mount me.

That’s what I’m made for now, isn’t it? To be used by men until they release? Despair lances through my heart, the emotions clogging my throat. I want to beg the duke to rescue me, to take me away from this place and protect me. But I can’t.

Even in the haze of my release, I know Mr. Beaumont is still there. He’s still watching me, waiting for me to slip up and say something, forcing him to act. And so I keep quiet, refusing to allow my emotions to get the better of me.

Still locked inside, Birchleigh undoes the restraints, letting the rope fall to the floor. Relief floods my system as I move about, getting blood back into my limbs. I suppose it’s over now.

I move to sit up, but his strong, warm hand presses me down. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“To clean up? I suppose you’re done with me.”

“Oh, is that what you think, my delectable little ingénue? Try. Let’s see how far away you get.”

My lips turn down into a frown as I raise up on my elbows. What game is he playing at? I shift my hips, desperate to flee from his presence, where I can mull over tonight's activities without an audience. But I find that I’m stuck. With each movement, sparks of pain zip through my body, gluing me to the spot.

“Not so easy, is it? Come, let us clean up together.” There’s an impish smile that crosses his face, a flash of some unknown mirth.

It does things to my insides that no smile ever should. Sliding his hands down my thighs, he urges my legs around his midsection. When he hugs me close to his body and lifts me up as if I weigh nothing, I sag against his large frame.

Again, that feeling of safety swamps my brain, muddying my senses until my eyelids start to flutter. When will I ever feel this safe again? My fingers drift over his chest, feeling the bunching of his muscles as he carries me out of that room and somewhere far more secluded.

He must have a routine here at this brothel. That or somehow the workers can just anticipate his thoughts. One by one, they file into the room and fill the massive tub in the center with warm water. And all without him saying a word.

Wrapping his arms around me, he keeps us conjoined as we sink into the steaming bath. A groan stutters from my lips as I rest my forehead against him. It feels so good to be held like this.