around every inch of him, like a glove. Every sensitive spot was being worked,
transmitting shockwaves of pleasure throughout his body. No woman had ever felt this
good; it simply hadn't been his experience.
His pace increased as the need rose within him. Her moans encouraged him; he
wanted her pleasure.
"Open your eyes," he said, as he felt her body tense around him. "I want to see
your eyes."
He felt much tenderness for her. He kissed her, while stroking long and deep.
Her face seemed to tell the story; her enjoyment was in her smile, her moans.
He wanted her; her body thrilled him. Her fulfillment became the most
important thing.
He rocked his hips, short strokes, as he kissed her forehead, cheeks, lips. He'd
placed his hands on her cheeks, wishing to study her face, wanting her to take away the
"other" thoughts, the "other" needs. In this moment, he wanted her, truly wanted her to
be most important in his life.
"You all right?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yes, quite." Her answer sounded desperately breathless.
He lifted his body, changing the angle, finally giving her what she truly needed,
though she had no idea what that was. He saw when the fire hit her eyes, the
recognition that something new was happening—different, unexplained, inexplicable.
"What is happening?" she asked, gasping. "I'm on fire, Phillip."
"Yes, isn't it wonderful?"
She didn't answer. He began to thrust harder, though not much faster. She'd
closed her eyes, seemingly lost in the web of heat and lust he wove around her.
Her body tensed, her fingernails dug deeply into his back. He smiled at the pain,
which acted as a whip. Their union became a conflagration. He pumped, long, hard,
watching, sensing, feeling, knowing the moment she was beyond sanity.
"Let it go, my girl," he groaned, "let it go."
Her answer was a gasp. Her body went taut; she pulled him closer still,
fingernails scraping against his skin, her body fully responding to his. Her shouts of
release were like music to Phillip, for he wanted her pleasure nearly as much as he
wanted his own. His came amid bellows of gratification, the long strokes at the end
punctuated by the sharp staccato thrusts afforded him one of the most powerful
orgasms of his life.
He held her close, feeling her arms around him as well, felt her panting breath
that matched his own. He felt moisture against his cheek, assumed it was sweat. His
body relaxed, as if liquid.
He rolled to his side, taking her with him, not wishing to separate from her just
yet. She remained wrapped in his arms, his brave little wife. He knew their life
wouldn't always be like this, for this was an exception, not the rule. He wasn't made to
be a husband, at least not the man he'd just been. He wasn't a caring, thoughtful sort,
who saw to other's needs before his own. He was a selfish bastard, who this lovely
young thing would come to hate. He had not doubt.
They dozed for a time, still bound by what they'd shared. He opened one eye to
find her staring up at him. He'd never had a lover do that before. But then again, if he
were honest, he'd always left after the fucking, which indeed is all it had ever been. He
never lounged with a lover before, something that made him uncomfortable for
numerous reasons, none of which existed at the moment.
"What are you looking at?" He recognized his voice as rusty, heavy.
She smiled, her fingernail scraping across his growth of beard. "This will have to
go," she stated, with a twinkle in her eye.
"So it will." He kissed her lightly, wishing desperately he could be the man he
saw in her eyes. Though he'd rarely seen it, he thought he recognized adoration and
knew he didn't deserve that from her.
She rested her head on his shoulder and shortly after, he heard the sound of her
even breathing, felt her body finally relax completely, and reveled in her warm breath
against his skin.
He kissed her forehead, wanting to feel connected to her, willing it to happen. He
couldn't speak the words he knew he
should
say, and somehow, he knew he never
would. He'd been alone all his life, even while growing up, separated from his mother
and siblings by a father whose only goal was to raise him to be the duke. Phillip grew to
be a cold, unfeeling boy, and those attributes only heightened as he aged.
He was selfish and felt a sense of entitlement. On any other day, he would have
taken what he wanted, with no thought otherwise. But this girl, who had, through a
single act of impetuosity, embroiled them in a scandal that could've proved socially
lethal, deserved more than Phillip Allard, the goddamned almighty Duke of Thornhill
ever would.
She deserved a man who spent a few hours on her wedding day, treating her as
though she was special. Every bride should have such consideration taken on her
behalf, her needs attended to, her pleasure realized. What the hell kind of husband
takes a woman to wife, fucks her, and leaves her to grow bitter and cold, then
complains for forty years because she is as he created? Unfortunately, he knew of too
many marriages just like that.
He wouldn't ever be the husband she deserved, for she was far too beautiful for
God to have ever seen fit to award him with her. But they were a part of each other's
lives now, till death do they part. He had an obligation to her to see her safe and secure.
As she slept, the few candles that still struggled to burn showed her to be like a
delicate flower, though he certainly knew better. She was brave and sturdy, someone
he'd be proud to have on his arm. Yet, he knew he'd disappoint her, for even now, his
thoughts were veering toward the Sapphire Club and his eternal quest for what?
Though early morning, he knew the club would be operating. It always was. He
needed the attention only Haynes provided. The man was bloody efficient with a
flogger, and that's what Phillip needed. Muddled with thoughts to which he had no
right, as well as thoughts dark enough to bring about the downfall of the young woman
who lay beside him, he sighed. He didn't deserve the life that Lucien Damrill or
Prentice Hyde had with their wives; that obvious bliss they immersed themselves in
day in and day out. Their wives shared their sexual cravings, the more perverse side of
themselves.
He could never share that with Felicity, for if he did, she would look at him with
disgust and revulsion. The looks she'd given him this day were as she saw him, not as
he actually was. Indeed, he dreaded the day she learned the truth.
Chapter Nine
As Phillip stepped into the entrance hall, the club seemed quiet. All assignations
had long ago been arranged and rooms no doubt filled to capacity. The
ton
loved its sex
raw and often, though to hear them talk, one would think their children had been born
by immaculate conception.
Hampton took Phillip's great coat and hat. "Don't you ever sleep, Hampton?"
"Yes, I do, Your Grace."
"You are always here."
"Yes, I am, Your Grace."
Concise conversation with no information imparted.
Good man, Hampton.
"Is Haynes about?"
"I believe he is, Your Grace."
"Could you find him and ask him to go to my room?"
"I will do that, Your Grace."
Phillip walked across the entrance hall, the loud clicking of the grandfather
clock's pendulum and his heels striking the floor the only sounds he could hear. A
fleeting thought that he might have just asked Hampton to rouse Haynes from his bed
crossed his mind. Then he dismissed it, not particularly caring if that was the case. He
had need of the young man, and he
was
the Duke of Thornhill.
His usual room was dark, but for enough glow from a single moonbeam to allow
him to light a candle. He'd have Haynes set a fire in the grate, for the room had a chill.
While he waited, his mind drifted back to Grosvenor Square and to his wife.
Good God,
his wife
. Never had he thought to have one. Not even now, after a most
satisfying wedding night, did he particularly care to have a wife. He saw no benefit and
great detriment, particularly to her, but none of that mattered now.
A light tap sounded on the door, and a rather disheveled Haynes entered the
room. He
had
roused the man from his bed.
"Good evening, Haynes. I am sorry to have awakened you."
"Are you, Phillip?" Haynes yawned and seemed rather brusque.
He deserved that. Haynes spoke truthfully, instead of the constant deference to
title and consequence.
"Not really. Could you set a fire?"
Without a word, Haynes knelt before the grate, arranged the wood and set the
fire. It all looked so simple to Phillip, yet he'd never done such a thing in all his life. He
felt a degree of shame wash over him, then dismissed it as foolishness.
"What can I do for you, Phillip?" Haynes's tone had more than a tinge of
irritation.
"I got married today."
"You woke me to tell me that?"
"No." His reason for coming here at this hour was rapidly becoming ridiculous.
However, he was here and he would get that for which he came. He began to disrobe.
"I have great need of you, Haynes." Phillip removed his trousers, his erection
leaving no doubt as to his intention.
"I can see that; however, that will have to wait. I believe there is something else
to attend to first."
As Haynes retrieved the strap, Phillip stripped away the rest of his clothing. In
this room, he felt at home. The dark agonies he'd experienced here drew him back to
himself, like the beckoning fingers of a wraith. The more pain he got—the more he
wanted.
He positioned himself as always, legs spread wide. Haynes fastened the
restraints, though for effect only, for Phillip wasn't about to forego what came next.
He hoped Haynes was irritated enough that his anger would come out in his
lashes. Phillip wanted to feel every strike, every sting. He wanted it to burn for days, for
through that, he felt alive, reminded constantly of what he was and who he'd never be.
No respite between strokes, indeed Haynes laid the lashes on nicely. Phillip
gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, relishing the sound of the wide leather strap as it
slapped his skin. Even the whistle it made flying through the air held significance. He
concentrated, not wanting to spend his seed during the thrashing. He had other plans.
The first of the last strikes bit hard, laid over the tender skin of his ass. The
second snapped in the air and Haynes placed it precisely over the others. The third was
orgasmic, bringing tears to Phillip's eyes. Then, all too quickly, it was over.
He always liked the feeling just after the lashing ended, when the burn was at its
peak. On weak legs he shook, but his soul was salved.
Haynes released the bonds and disrobed without saying a word. When Phillip
turned around, gathering his strength, he saw Haynes had bent over the edge of the
bed. Such a blatant invitation, one that said, "Fuck me and get it over with."
If Phillip were a considerate man, he'd allow the man to go seek his bed once
more. However, he
was
the Duke of Thornhill, and all of London knew he was
not
a
considerate man.
Phillip bathed his raging erection in oil and then did the same to the willing
man's anus. He slipped two fingers into Haynes's rectum. "How does that feel?"
Phillip knew Haynes well enough to know his anger wouldn't overset the man's
need for release. He enjoyed a good ass-fucking as well as Phillip enjoyed giving it to
him.
"Your cock would feel better."
"As you wish."
Phillip took his time, slowing inching himself into Haynes. Once past the
restrictive muscle, he used quick, hard thrusts, pounding his cock into Haynes's ass.
Animalistic in nature, the grunts and moans, guttural and raw, resounded in the room.
This was a fuck for fucking sake. This had nothing to do with emotion. Phillip
simply wanted the feeling and release, tight, forbidden, and empty.
He unleashed a savagery he'd not shown Haynes before. He slapped the man's
pale ass cheeks with each stroke. Haynes groaned.
When Phillip came, he screamed like a wild man, taking his pleasure with
blinding cruelty. Once spent, he didn't linger, pulling out straight away. This was his
habit, for no emotional attachment resided between him and his vessel.
Haynes stood and Phillip looked into his eyes. The darkness he saw there
appeared threatening but appealing as well. On impulse, Phillip pulled the man's head
toward him and kissed him hard. Haynes kissed him back, matching the urgency,
bringing his arms around Phillip's neck.
When they broke apart, Haynes said, "Bend over."
The words shot warmth through Phillip, unexpected yet welcome. He'd never
allowed what he thought Haynes proposed, and yet, he found himself complying
without hesitation.
He bent over the bed, right where Haynes had been moments before. He heard a
drawer slide and felt cold liquid as Haynes applied the oil. A slathering noise told him
Haynes was lubricating his own cock.
"Hold your cheeks open, Phillip, and spread your legs wide."