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She was probably the only bride in history to have absolutely no desire to sit down, no matter how much her feet hurt or how tired she felt. Every single part of her bottom was sore, and the welts left from the birch stung when she pressed on them. She knew because she'd poked at each and every one of them this morning while she'd been admiring them in the mirror. At long last, she'd had some physical evidence of what she'd gone through! The sight had fascinated her to say the least, although she was less enamored of how it felt when any pressure at all was placed on her tender cheeks.
"I think it's time we left, baggage."
"Oh but..." Not that she wanted to put off the good stuff, but she'd missed out on the last round of éclairs to go through the room, and the footman she'd snagged had promised to bring her some. Plus, she'd barely gotten to speak to Matthew and Vincent.
Unfortunately, the Earl was not impressed by her protest. His stuffed-shirt persona was firmly back in place, not a hint of amusement to be seen. He swept her up into his arms, one arm behind her back and the other under her legs as she gasped with shock. Titters and whispers swept through the room as he headed straight for the door, and Cynthia sighed. Apparently she wasn't going to get her éclairs after all.
Of course, she was going to finally find out what all the fuss of being a married woman was about. That perked her up. She gave a cheery wave over Wesley's shoulder, spotting Edwin and Eleanor, who were both laughing, and the ever-scandalized expression of Irene as Wesley swept past.
"Wesley, put Cynthia down this minute!"
"Sorry Mother," he said, blandly, as he reached the door, turning to look over the crowd. Most of them looked utterly overjoyed at this new display of the Earl of Spencer's unusual behavior. "Thank you all for coming, my bride and I are going to step out now for a private discussion, but stay as long as you like and enjoy yourselves."
"Here, here!" Several of the men shouted, raising their glasses of champagne and drowning out the Dowager-Countess' protests as Wesley pushed through the door.
"You're going to be in trouble later," Cynthia said, rather admiringly. She would have never dared ignore Wesley's mother in such a fashion. It was quite impressive.
Her new husband made an exasperated noise and eyed her. "You're more afraid of my mother than you are of me, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't you be?"
That made him laugh. Cynthia watched, fascinated. With one arm around his neck to help her stay in position, this was the closest she'd ever been able to observe him. She could see the pulse in his neck, the way his throat worked as he laughed, the small dark hairs that curled around the shell of his ear because they were too short to be tied back... With her free hand, she reached up to stroke his hair.
Immediately he stopped, in the middle of the hall. The sounds from the ballroom had mostly faded away and there wasn't a servant to be seen, giving them momentary privacy. The heat in his eyes when he looked at her made her heart beat faster.
"What are you doing, sweetheart?"
Her mouth went dry at the growling rasp in his voice. Beneath her dress, her nipples tightened into little points, rubbing against the fabric as his hands tightened on her.
"Touching you?" she asked, doing it again, and this time letting her finger slide down the side of his throat.
A muscle in his jaw clenched and then suddenly she found herself pushed up against the wall, her legs dropped down and no longer in his arms. But her feet didn't touch the ground either; his leg was wedged between hers, and he was tall enough that she could just barely feel her toes brushing the floor. All of her weight rested on her core, and even the sharp pinches flaring in her bottom as it was pressed against the wall didn't stop the flash of pleasure that streaked through her like lightening.
His lips devoured hers, his hard cock digging into her stomach, and Cynthia clutched at him, reeling from the suddenness of his passion. The gloves had come off, and she suddenly realized how much control he'd always retained in his dealings with her. Control that he obviously no longer felt such a keen need to hold onto now that they were married. She'd been poking a tiger in his cage, only to find that he'd slipped through the bars and now kitty wanted to play.
Cynthia whimpered as he rocked against her, making her clit pulse as her weight moved over it. The hardness of his thigh was almost painful against her soft folds, even through the cushioning fabric of her wedding dress. His tongue was dancing in her mouth, sliding against hers as if dueling for possession of the space, until she could barely breathe. It felt like all of her intimate parts, from her breasts down to her pussy, were swollen with arousal.
When his hands cupped her buttocks, making her rock even more firmly against his thigh, the welts fizzed with pain and made her writhe in intense, torturous pleasure.
It wasn't until she heard ripping fabric, as the train of her skirt came loose, and the Earl pulled away that she was able to come back to herself. Her lips felt swollen from his rough kisses, her breasts heavy, and she stared up at him, dazed as she gasped for air.
"I am not deflowering you against a wall in a hallway," he said, clipping off the end of each word in his frustrated angst, glaring at her as if it were her fault.
Maybe it was. But how could she have known that such a small touch could incite such a disproportionate reaction? Definitely something to remember later, if by some miracle her brain was still working.
Wesley hauled her up into his arms again, this time holding her in such a way that her own arms were trapped against her sides. Gritting his teeth against the temptation to throw caution to the winds and just take her here and now, he strode down the hallway as quickly as he could. Fortunately, for both their sakes, his bride remained absolutely silent as he kicked open the door to his room.
Their room.
A wave of masculine smugness washed over him, helping to temper his anxiousness to sink into her body. She was all his now. In his arms, in his room, and about to be in his bed where she belonged. Never again would she sleep anywhere but beside him. There would be no more nights waking up alone, aching for her. She'd be right there, beside him, soft and warm and reachable.
He tossed her onto the bed.
Blinking, her cheeks rosy and pretty pink lips slightly parted, she stared up at him in a kind of sensual daze. Wesley yanked off his jacket, enjoying the way her eyes widened as he started to strip. She sat up, watching with eagerness as piece after piece of clothing fell to the ground. The way she was looking at him had his balls aching, her eyes focused on his cock as it stood out from his body as if reaching for her.
As he stood there, enjoying watching her look at him, her eyes slowly went up his body to his face. Her little pink tongue flicked out, moistening her lower lip, reminding him of how sweet her mouth was. But that's not where his cock was going today.
"We're... going to..." Surprisingly, she flushed. It was charmingly erotic, to see his brazen little bride turning pink. She could crawl into his bed in the middle of the night, looking to be ruined before her wedding, but now that they were married she turned slightly shy.
