Page 36 of In Service to the Duke

After tonight, I’ll have to find a way to make her my wife. It doesn’t matter if I have to hunt down a special license or not, she will be mine in every sense of the word. I’m so besotted, so far gone, I cannot even contemplate the idea of her not returning my affections. It’s unconscionable, something I cannot even fathom.

Hunched over her body, I glide my hand up and down my shaft. Even if I have to wait for the banns to be read to make her my bride, it will be worth it. She will be worth it.

A feral groan shatters the air as I gather her arousal and use it as a lubricant to coat my cock. Right now, however, her pussy is not enough. I want to impale her, to feel her muscles constricting around me. Dragging my fingers through her sodden cunt, I gather her slick and slide it lower to her bottom hole.

My balls clench as I ease a finger inside. This time, her cries reach a fever pitch as she rocks back and forth, drawing my thick digit deeper inside. The fact that her body at least craves this eases my conscience somewhat. If she were crying or recoiling from me, I would not be able to go through with this.

But it’s as if she were made for me. My perfect match in all things. Gripping my cock at its tip, I ease the plump head into her tight ring, our moans intertwining in unison. It’s an erotic cacophony which fills my head and fuzzes my brain.

I don’t dare push past and fully seat myself while she’s asleep. The chance of actually harming her is far too high. Instead, I keep only my tip in as I stroke myself, rocking my hips back and forth in tiny increments. My knot swells as my release comes close to overtaking me.

With a loud shout, I grip the base, wringing my knot as cum shoots out and fills her arse. Miss Gillet cries out as well, but hers is a sound of desperation. My body shudders at the needy whine. Once I pull out, I drop my face to her pussy and devour her.

I no longer drag her along, but instead, I allow her to come as soon as her body wishes it. Her cries of ecstasy are a thing of beauty, and I will never tire of hearing them. I continue to lap at her, drawing out her release until her moans turn to sounds of discomfort.

Pulling away is agonizing, but I know I must get her back to bed before the drugs wear off. I pad over to the basin and wet a towel, doing my best to remove all evidence of tonight’s activities. Tomorrow, she’ll no doubt have questions about her morning routine, but I suspect she’ll keep them to herself.

From what I’ve seen of her, she’s a very private person. I just can’t risk my seed being in her or on her again until she’s officially my wife. Starting tomorrow, I’ll set my plans in motion, and she will be mine.

CHAPTER 16

EMMA

Rain pelts against the glass, rousing me from my drug-addled sleep. All I want to do is curl back into the covers and drift right back to the delicious nightmare plaguing me. It was far more intense this time, somehow a bit more visceral in the actions of the demon tormenting me.

Shaking my head, I stare over into the dying fire, a sigh heavy on my lips. If only my dreams were real. Granted, not everything happening was pleasant. But somehow, that perfect melding of pain and pleasure makes me long for explosions to cascade down my body once more.

As I reach below the sheets, I feel that odd wetness. Unfortunately, this affliction seems to plague me whenever Blackport is around. I skim the delicate flesh, holding back a moan as skitters of need roll down my body. It’s a madness which will not quit.

With a groan, I force myself to rise out of the bed, wincing as my body protests. It’s the same as the last time I took that bitter draught. I’m not used to the effects of laudanum, and as only my second experience, I’m not too concerned. Last time, by the time I took my suppressant and had a nice bit of warming chocolate, I felt back to normal.

However, what’s different in this instance is where I hurt. Before, it was an all-over ache, as if performing some arduous task. This time, very specific areas. Most notable is my bottom hole. With each movement of my legs, it aches and twinges.

Worse is the burning, scraping sensation. Nothing at all like last time. I try to not let it affect me, but the more I try to not think about it, the more my mind drifts back to my dream. Is it possible to have a dream so vivid the body thinks it actually happened?

Granted, I still don’t exactly know what exactly occurred. Like last time, it was muddled visuals and sensations. The fire was the same as well as the demon, but that was it.

Padding over to the window, I draw absentminded designs in the condensation gathering. Everything is such a dull and dingy gray as the sun tries in earnest to peek through the clouds. If I’m being honest, it’s a perfect match for my mood.

Each interaction with Blackport leaves me aching and wanting in a way I know nothing about. There’s no remedy for what ails me save a trip down the aisle. But that can never happen. My mother made sure of it with her demands.

Biting back a sob, I make my way over to the nearby basin, determined to cleanse away the evidence of this dream before my maid can dress me. As I drag the wet rag along my tender flesh, it rasps along something surrounding my bottom hole.

Dread turns my gut to lead as I skim my fingers along the area. The skin is rough and jagged, encrusted almost. Drawing my fingers away, I note some white, flakey substance coating them. Horrified, I continue to wipe away, scrubbing until it’s all gone, and the area back there feels pristine once more.

What exactly does this mean? Terror shakes my limbs as I crawl back into the bed, not wishing to start the day after all. Despite not wishing to disappoint the girls by not being at breakfast, I feel queasy. Though, if I say I’m sick, they'll likely call for the physician again, and I do not wish for him to study this area too closely.

I’m not sure how this correlates to my dream, but I do recall, with as much accuracy as I can muster, an odd sensation down there. It was an immense stretch and burn as the demon eased something inside of me. As much as I want to rid my brain of these memories, they merge with the recollection of Blackport grazing his thumb around that same area.

Heat engulfs my face as I turn and burrow into the pillows. Somehow my overactive imagination is the cause of all of this. There is only one way to be sure if it’s all in my head or some odd disease taking hold. From here on out, I will no longer take any concoction as I go to bed.

If I find more of this odd powder around my back entrance, I’ll beg for the physician to come see me. If not, then it must be some odd reaction to the feverish notions dancing around my skull like imps in a fairy ring. Clutching the covers tight, I screw my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep so when the maid comes to find me, nothing is suspicious.

* * *

This time, when I awaken, the sun is a touch brighter. The sky is still overcast, turning everything a dull gray, but it’s far cheerier than before. The maid bustles about, paying me no mind. Based on the timepiece near the bed, it’s not yet time for me to prepare for breakfast.

And so, while her back is turned, I slide my hand between my thighs. The wetness is no longer there, and neither is whatever was around my bottom hole. Relief floods my system as I yawn and stretch, pretending to be waking up for the first time. If the maid is any the wiser, she doesn’t show it.