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Chapter Thirteen
KNOWING THAT AROUSAL would dissipate the pain, Alastair continued to fondle her swollen clitoris. By her haggard moans and flowing wetness, there was no denying that her body was ready for more. He had applied the paddle more forcefully than intended, and as recompense, he agitated his fingers against her till her breaths quickened and the groans shortened into grunts. He would have liked to satisfy her, to bring her to that longed-for crest. But she had dropped the crop. And he had a purpose beyond granting her desires. He still believed Château Follet was no place for Millie. By acquiescing to her wishes, he also meant to discourage her from returning.
And so he retracted his hand, ignored her soft whine, and whacked her once more with the paddle. Her legs buckled a little, and it sounded as if she had choked back a sob. Her arse glowed an angry red. But still she did not utter her safety word.
Damn.
She had a high tolerance for pain. Nevertheless, he asked, "Do you require your safety word?"
"No, my lord."
Looking at the lovely flush across her arse, he felt a familiar tug at his crotch. But he was not to satisfy himself. Not tonight. Not with Millie. Stepping back, he whacked her again. The paddle he used, though neither the thickest nor the swiftest, could still deal a vicious blow, and the cry that tore from her throat made him regret the force he had employed. He waited and hoped for the safety word. But it did not come.
"Thank you, my-my lord."
He wanted to reward her now. He reached between her legs and resumed his earlier caresses. Her clitoris had swelled nicely, and she moaned the instant his fingers grazed it. He strummed the little flesh with his index and middle fingers, quickening his motions as her whimpering grew louder. His fingers easily slid along her dampness.
"Do you wish to spend?" It was not a question he had ever thought to pose to his cousin, but he found he spoke it easily enough.
"Yes, my lord."
He slowed his ministrations. "You must ask for it first."
"May I spend, my lord?"
"Only upon my command."
He plied his fingers a little more vigorously against her.
"M-May I spend now?"
"No."
"Why must I not?"
"Because I have chosen so."
"But my body has a will of its own!"
"At Château Follet, you must learn to control your urges."
"Why?"
"Because it is your duty to please me."
Her body strained to do as he bid, but it was a struggle. To assist her, he ceased his fondling. She groaned—from relief or frustration, or possibly both, he could not tell. It mattered not. She had wanted the experience of Château Follet, and he was providing it to her.
His fingers were coated with the evidence of her arousal. There was no denying the heat flowing through his own veins. Perhaps it was knowing that his own satisfaction, that which he had eagerly anticipated for a sennight, was to be denied. Perhaps he was simply easily titillated, and it did not matter that the woman bent over the table was Millie. Bereft of other company, perhaps any woman would have caused his desire to swell.
He applied the paddle to her arse and admired how it quivered.
"Thank you, my lord."
Setting down the paddle, he removed his waistcoat, for he had grown too warm for it. He then reached for a small bottle of salve and rubbed the contents over her arse to cool the burn. A few streaks from the crop remained, but there were no signs of bruising.
"May I be permitted to spend now?"
He replaced the salve. "When I am pleased enough with your performance.”
