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“Ms. Agatha, I need to go,” Audrey silenced the old woman’s emotional ponderings. She didn’t want to let anything else get in her way. She needed to get back to London. It was the only way to keep the duke - and herself - safe from Ana’s scandal. And the duchess’s wrath. She didn’t want to hear anything else that would convince her to try again. Agatha sighed.
“Very well,” the old woman’s shoulder slumped in disappointment. Audrey pulled herself from Agatha’s comforting embrace, facing the cold of reality once more. She trudged down the stairs once again, her tears stopping; she couldn’t cry anymore. She’d cried enough. Now, sobered by the pain of stress and loss, she dragged herself to the front door, pulling it open. The splash of dewy raindrops immediately struck her face; the valet, a portly man in a rickety wooden cart, hurried from the carriage to the front door.
“S’a hell of a storm out there today, love,” he commented cheerily. “Get yer pretty self into the carriage, savvy? I’ll grab th’ luggage, load it up.” That, at least, was a relief. Audrey stepped sprightly through the puddles of rain pooling near the front door, rivulets of water rushing between uneven cobblestones. She pulled open the squeaking carriage door, rain soaking through her linen blouse, and she hauled herself onto the stiff bench seat, exhaling deeply as she pulled the door shut behind her. Alone, now - so alone, with only the pitter-patter of rain on the roof to keep her company.
Quiet. Audrey looked out the window, across the moors - gray clouds darkened the sky, trees swayed in violent breezes. A knock on the carriage door interrupted her discordant, jumbled reverie; she opened it to see the valet.
“S’it the stuff in the other room?” the valet asked. “Yer luggage.” Audrey sighed in exasperation.
“Yes... in the back room, the maidservants can show you,” she exhaled, pulling the door shut again before too much rain flooded her cabin. Stilted quiet again. Nothing but her own thoughts to suffer with. Like detritus the storm would wash her away, carrying her back to London, leaving the idyllic fields and the palatial, rich halls of the duke’s estate - and all the promise and love and the bright future it represented - behind her.
Audrey had just begun to close her eyes when another, loud knock pounded on the carriage door. She sighed, pushing it open.
“The luggage are the sacks in the maidservant’s quarters,” she said, exhausted. “They’re—”
She could say no more before a pair of powerful, wet arms embraced her; a pair of pillowy, inviting, perfect lips pressed against her own. She quivered, knowing that kiss and those hands like she could know no other - and when she opened her eyes she saw him; his suit soaking as the rain fell hard across his body. A moan fell from her lips; he got her wet, soaked with the falling rain, and she wanted nothing else. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, but when his voice rumbled into her ear she knew he was real.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he demanded. “I love you, Audrey Fisher... I love you, and I have to have you. Not as a mistress, not as a side lover, not as a game. I love you, and I’m making you mine,” he growled. She had wanted to hear those words for longer than she even knew, but they did little to massage away her fears.
“M... master,” she trembled, “I... I can’t, we can’t. Ana... if she tells the duchess, there’ll be scandal, scandal that will ruin you, and me—”
“I don’t care about scandal. I don’t care about station, I don’t care about what they expect of me. I will have you, Audrey Fisher, if it takes pulling the stars from the sky,” he moaned into her ear, pulling her out of the carriage and into the rain. They embraced, and kissed like they had never before; with passion, power, and vigor.
“Come with me,” he demanded, in the powerful, enticing voice she knew so well. He took her wrist, and everything felt so right again as he led her back into the estate.
Chapter 10
“I told you before... that I had darker tastes that I felt I could only indulge with you, Audrey,” the duke purred as he led Audrey up the stairs, gently squeezing her wrists. His hand on hers reminded her so vividly of the tight leather, binding her wrists together; keeping her soft, pliant, and so aching with want for him to do everything to her supple body. “There’s... more, there’s a lot more,” he admitted, his voice tense. “More that I want to do with you... you’re the only woman in the world who has ever made me feel so alive. And it’s why I have to have you... it’s why I love you, Audrey Fisher.”
“M’lord,” she whimpered.
“Bryce,” he insisted, looking back at her as they entered his bedchambers. He shut the door... and locked it, tight, behind them. “I’m Bryce... but,” he added, “to you... in our bedroom...”
“Master,” she whispered breathlessly. He grinned, the first time she had seen him grin in so long. She stood, shivering in the cold; he moved to her back, unfurling the cords keeping her dress tied back. The garment fell loose on her shoulders, wet parts of it clinging to her softly-blushing, pink skin; with kisses to warm her, he peeled her dress away, until she stood damp and naked, as the storm raged outside of Bryce’s open windows. The breezes curled around both of them, making them shive
r together; he kissed away the cool rain with his hot lips, from her hips to her breasts back to her neck. She blinked, quaking in want; and then, the world went dark, as he pulled a black cloth back across her eyes. Panic set in at first; she felt so tense, giving up her every sense - not just her physical freedom, but now her sight, to her master.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered hotly into her ear. She so relished feeling that breath against her skin, and while the fear still pumped adrenaline into her heart, she certainly couldn’t deny that something so hot and so dirty made her feel so good.
“Please, I want to trust you,” Audrey murmured, her voice all full of tense steam. “I don’t know... what to feel, I’m so conflicted. This could cause so many problems, for both of us,” she breathed out, those last lingering doubts clouding her mind. “We don’t know what... what could happen, if the duchess found out about us—”
“Trust me,” he huffed heated into her ear. “Not just in the bedroom... but elsewhere. Trust me,” his voice felt so hot and perfect on her skin and she surrendered herself to him, leaning back against his body. A ruffling had preceded him removing his own jacket, and now his bare, wet chest hosted her, his arms telling her a thousand secrets with how hungrily they cupped her breasts and held her tight. “Do you trust me...?” he asked, his lips on her cheek.
“I trust you, master,” she whispered; and then, she found her body lain against the sheets of his bed; she couldn’t see anything, but she could feel the silk and the soft down beneath her.
“If you trust me. Obey me,” he growled into her ear, like a feral wolf pleased with its pliable prey. “You’re going to feel new things... don’t move... don’t make a sound... okay? Or else...” he threatens lustily, “I’ll stop... and you’ll feel nothing... so are you going to be a good servant to your master?” he exhaled sharply. She didn’t know what awaited her; darkness shrouding her senses, her ears felt hyper-active, picking up every quiet tossle and ruffle and movement of her dirty duke-lover behind her. His breath tickled her cool body and she waited; she waited, and listened, not sure what could be coming. What he had in mind.
“Don’t make a movement... don’t try to stop me... not a sound,” he whispered again. She felt so sweet in her surrender, until like a strike across her nerve came the cold ice pressing along her skin, overwhelming her senses with a shock of chill through her nerves. She felt him, drawing slow, teasing circles around her body; he turned her over, her back arching against the searing-cold, searching cube, which left trails of damp, freezing wetness across her chest. He rolled it around her sensitive nipples, causing them to perk uncontrollably; and while it made her feel uncomfortable at first, she followed his rules. She didn’t reach to stop him. And before long... with the sensation of his hot breath teasing the freezing water, she didn’t want to.
“M...” she almost broke one of his rules - she wanted so badly to call out to him, but she stopped herself, her cheeks burning beat-red. She couldn’t see him - but all at once, it stopped. The icy-cold left her body to wriggle in the stormy breeze; she heard his footsteps soft across the Persian carpet. Was he leaving her? Had she broken his rules? Would she be punished - and not in that lewd, hot, filthy way that she had been spanked before for her transgressions?
Instead, she heard hinges creak - and silence. Deafening silence. The storm began to calm for a brief moment, and even the howl of the wind and the rumble of thunder left her. Her breath began to dance painfully in her chest as she lay prone, blinded; afraid he had left her as punishment. But she couldn’t remove the blindfold to find out. Instead she waited. So agonizingly, she waited; she felt her exposed, femme petals quiver with anticipation; her breath rattle with intensity. She wanted it so badly. She wanted him - but he had vanished, and she laid, quivering. Was he there? She fought the urge to call out. To scream - to beg, to plead. To apologize to him for breaking his rules. She just wanted him again, god please. Just as her anxiety reached a fevered pitch, her breath caught in her throat, and her lips parted to call out to him, when she felt a sharp, panging SMACK against her exposed rear. She yelped, and tensely swallowed it, before she could make too much damning noise.
It felt so different... not his hand, no. Something different - something small, sharp, stinging... but she loved it, even so. Just like the painfully pleasant stinging of ice-water on her skin, she felt that sharp, quick slap against her rear and it made her every sense buzz with want. She wanted to moan, she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t - lest she ruin this utterly perfect, utterly improper experience.
Thwap! It rang out against her skin, the mystery object, and she strained, trying to feel just what he had retrieved to torment her with, so temptingly. With each hard slap she felt the pain burn hotter and sexier in her veins; then, again, and it felt so good she couldn’t even breathe. She squirmed on the bed, uncontrollably, her limbs jittering with scarcely-contained pleasure.
“I told you, my servant... no moving... didn’t I?” she felt her master’s breath tease her ear, and panic struck her brain; she wriggled and vigorously shook her head, stopping herself from crying out. She wanted so badly to apologize, but she couldn’t say a word. “Now you’ll need to be punished... denied,” he huffed. She felt the blindfold untied, and her stolen sight returned - only to find her gorgeous master in front of her, nude, his long, stiff shaft hardened in his hands as he stroked it in front of her. She reached out reflexively to taste it, to feel it - and she couldn’t believe the thought had even subconsciously occurred to her body. In a week, he had unlocked all those desires within her, and now he denied her. And the more he denied, the faster he stroked himself in front of her helpless, hapless body... the more she wanted him.
