Page 44 of In Service to the Duke

“Bend over the desk.” My voice is gruff, roughened by emotions I don’t dare let out.

To give into the thoughts and feelings swirling through me would be to harm the little omega rushing to obey me. I can’t trust myself not to shake her until she sees reason. The fact that I opened up to her, proposed when we still don’t even know all that much about each other… and then to have her throw it back in my face.

No. This will not be borne.

With a snarl, I dry off my hands and storm over to her, not gentling my touch as I toss her skirts up. Instead of coaxing her thighs apart, I slide my foot in between her legs and forcefully shove them open. Though she whimpers, and a delicate tendril of unease fills the air, it’s still overpowered by the scent of her blossoming arousal.

She likes my rough treatment, craves it even. Why in all of Hades does she resist? To be honest, I’d half expected her to trap me, just like Delilah tried to do. Never in a lifetime would I expect her to say no.

She should be like every other omega—just chomping at the bit to snag a rare Alpha of their very own. Not to mention one of my caliber. It just doesn’t make any rational sense. And when things don’t make sense, it causes my brain to burn until I correct the discrepancy.

Prying her arse cheeks apart, I grip the base of the ginger and tug. Though I’m furious at her refusal, I don’t injure her. That would solve nothing. All it would do is make me feel even guiltier than I do now.

It’s why marrying her was so important. She might not know, remember, or even understand all the liberties I’ve taken with her, but I do. I did things to her which has already ruined her in the eyes of everyone who would know or find out. The only sensible thing to do was marry her before I did something else she couldn’t recover from.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I drink in her whimpers as I twist and tug on the ginger plug. At this point, I don’t dare examine the more tender feelings I have toward her or the overwhelming desire to make her mine. To do so would be to descend into madness.

To keep a level head in this situation, I can’t allow any more feelings to interfere than already bubble around me. Shaking my head, I finish removing the ginger and wrap it in a handkerchief. I’ll dispose of that later once we’re done talking.

As much as I want to stare at her delectable arse, I pull her skirts back down, keeping my raging hormones in check. If I continue to see her glistening pussy, I will certainly do something we will both regret. Though I want her as my wife, I want her to come to me willingly and not because I trap her.

Gripping her by the shoulders, I whirl her around, taking in her tear-stained face. Despite myself, my heart begins to melt. She looks absolutely miserable. Perhaps I just didn’t propose to her in the correct way.

But what other way is a man supposed to ask a woman to marry them? Is she wanting flowers, finery, or frippery? That’s not the type of man I am. And even if she doesn’t know much about me, she should at least know that.

I don’t do nice, refined, or elegant. Based on her body’s reaction to me, I thought she didn’t want those things from me anyway. Hurt, anger, lust, and the abject need to chain her to my side bounce around in my mind as we stare at each other, both stuck in this stalemate.

Maybe I should try genteel. If that doesn’t work, then nothing else will. Dropping my hands to hers, I gather them in mine and bring them to my lips. With a soft sigh, I plant gentle kisses along her knuckles, doing my best to conjure the few dandies and fops I know.

However, if she thinks that’s who she’s going to get in her marriage bed, she’s sorely mistaken. Her body responds, but thankfully not as strongly as when I’m rough with her. It makes me hopeful about our future.

“Miss Gillet, I am asking you to do me the honor of making me your husband. Please?” The fact that I’m the one begging her doesn’t sit well within me, but if it’s what has to be done, then so be it.

“Do you love me?”

Her words slam into me like an arrow piercing my heart. I have strong feelings for her, that’s to be certain, but love? Before I even have a chance to sift through all the emotions rioting within me, she snatches her hands away.

“Please don’t do this. I can’t marry you, and I won’t.”

Anger edges out the fleeting feelings of affection until it bubbles up within me. How can she talk of love when all our interactions have been rife with emotion? It’s not as if she could possibly love me. Infatuated, most certainly, but love?

Love is what my parents had. It was a gentle swelling of emotions, a soft, hidden smile when you think no one else is looking. What I feel for Miss Gillet goes far beyond these things.

I don’t want to just cuddle with her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. I don’t want to sigh longingly as she dances with another, waiting off in the wings as duty demands. As the fucking Ton demands.

I wish to tie her down and bite every inch of her skin. I want to mar her body with my whip. I want to kiss her flesh with my leather until she’s crying out for me to stop and give her more all at the same time.

Men like me don’t deal in the currency of love. It’s too soft, too pristine, too… nice. I am not a nice man, and deep down, I thought she knew that. I thought she knew what it was I offered and wanted it too.

I guess I was wrong. If only I didn’t have these savage appetites. If only I was far gentler. Then maybe she and I could call the emotions swirling between us love. Maybe then she’d actually want to join her life with mine.

Anguish and desperation line my features, making me rigid as I clench my fists. How dare she toy with me this way, giving me a glimpse of what could be and yanking it away? Stepping back, I growl under my breath, my traitorous cock surging forward as that glint of unease flits through her expression.

“You are under a misapprehension here, little governess.” She visibly flinches as I leave off the word my. Until she says yes to me, she will never be my anything. “All I have to do is unlock the door, draw your skirts up, and make the most unholy sounds for others to come running. When they see us, you’ll be ruined and have no choice.”

“Y- you would trap me?” There’s such a look of disbelief on her face which would be comical if the situation wasn’t so dire.

But truly, I would never do such a dishonorable thing. Even speaking it into existence causes my stomach to clench and nausea to bubble up my throat until I nearly gag. But I am wounded, and like a feral animal, I’ll lash out in any way possible.