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“Y—yes, my lord. A—anything. I w—want ... to play our games.” She bit her lower lip. “Please?”
He took a deep breath and pulled her shawl off. She didn’t resist. She rarely did. “Turn around and close your eyes. Good girls don’t need to see where they’re going when they’re with their cruel, evil, wicked lord husband.”
Please let this work. I can’t be other than what I am, but I can’t send her away yet, and I can’t let her suffer without trying something...
****
Mia
She didn’t flinch as Nicholas tied her wool shawl around her face. Nor when he took her arm. He led her out of the library, up the tricky back stairs—he whispered directions with the intimate patience of a saint to get her safely up the uneven treads—and then at the top of the stairs he spun her around, and around, and around until she staggered, breathless and giggly and unbalanced as a newborn foal. She had no idea which way they went at the next turn, nor the second. Was it the west wing? Had he taken her into the back hall...? It doesn’t matter. He knows where we are.
She let Nicholas lead. A door opened, and he ushered her through. “Stay here,” he ordered. On your knees. Hands behind your back. If you peek, you’re going to take twenty lashes with the crop.” He helped her to kneel on an unseen cushion, and then he left.
The room smelled like lemon oil and beeswax, but all the rooms did. Her aunt had been directing a ceiling-to-floor scrub since her father’s heart stopped. What would happen if her aunt walked in now? How would she explain kneeling here blindfolded? Embarrassment burned her cheeks as the door opened. Until she heard Nicholas’s voice.
“Keep those eyes closed. I’ve got a better blindfold. And all your favorite toys.”
“A—all, my lord?”
“You’re going to be an absolute angel for me tonight, Mia. Anything I say, remember? You’re going to earn your rewards.” She heard the rustling as he knelt in front of her. He replaced the blindfold with a small, purpose-made one of black silk she’d gotten very used to since assuming her marital duties.
“Yes, my lord. Anything.”
“What’s your name?”
“My name is...” She caught herself. He would never call her Amy in their marriage bed. Or its adjacent rooms and horizontal surfaces. “Um. Mia, my lord?”
“Mia Blackmore.” He kissed her lips. “Mia Blackmore was born in Scotland, months ago. She is Lord Clarendel’s mistress. His personal fallen angel, captive to his wicked desires after he kidnapped and ruined her.” Another soft kiss, and gentle hands ghosting over her arms. “Who are you, angel?”
“Mia Blackmore,” she answered, leaning into him for more kisses. “I’m here for your pleasure, my lord. Always.”
“And what if my pleasure is a perverse, cruel little game that makes you cry?”
Why did that make my clit throb? He’s right. He’s ruined me. “I am here for your pleasure, my lord. All of them.”
“Good. Because I hate to allow anything to hurt my angel. And she’s been hurting over and over the last week. Ever since I brought her to this house.” Nicholas ran his hands over her shoulders, her chest, down her hips, as if he were looking for hidden wounds. “So, I’m going to hurt her now and make her beg so much she can’t think of anything else.”
Mia nodded to show she was listening, though her blood rushed in her ears. “I—it will please you? The game?”
“Very much.” His stubbled cheek rasped against her throat, and Mia whimpered as he kept savaging her sensitive skin. “It’ll show me how much my angel loves me. Letting me be a wicked, cruel master from tonight until we quit this house.”
“T—Tell me how to please my lord,” Mia pleaded, arching forward as Nicholas seized her hips, pulling her off balance. She yelped, falling until he caught her, lowering her to the cool surface of a carpet, and pinned her wrists with his hands.
“You will call me something new for this game. Just now, you need a firm hand, but with more kisses for your fears. Wouldn’t that please you, Mia?”
She swallowed, her throat dry. All she wanted was to be thrown onto the carpet and made to forget everything. But the games always end in so much pleasure... “Yes, my lord. But I ... I don’t mind your harshness.”
“Don’t worry, Mia. You’ll still get to beg for mercy.” His teeth raked her collarbone, and then he left a sharp, playful bite on the rise of her right breast. “Now, be a good girl and tell me the truth. Are you wet, darling? Do you want to be held down and fucked on the carpet?”
“Y—yes.”
He didn’t need further invitation. Her skirt was already at her knees, and he didn’t have to push it up much more to get his hand back between her thighs. And he held...
“Oh no. No, my lord...” She tried to close her legs, but Nicholas was already there, and she couldn’t free her arms. “S—starting with the toys?” She struggled, but the truth was she liked the way his hands got harder, the way his weight moved to trap her. If she’d been really protesting, she knew which words to say. He made her say it every morning: cherries. If she didn’t say the word, he wouldn’t stop tormenting her. She’d only used it once, when her leg went to sleep in a binding.
“Whatever I want,” he reminded her, hushing away her protest with a kiss. “That’s my cunt to do whatever I want with, isn’t it?”
“Y—yes.” The cold carved stone head at her entrance made her wince, and she gasped as he pushed it into her. The toy was almost as big as Nicholas’s cock, and he hadn’t played with her first—or at all for days—and so she was tight with nerves and need. “Please g—go slow?”
