Page 17 of In Service to the Duke

She can’t seem to keep herself well-behaved enough to keep out of my clutches. Spreading her legs apart, I watch as slick drips from her pussy, clinging to her lower lips. The scent of peaches and black currant fills my head, muddling my thoughts until I nearly forget myself.

Pushing her off my lap, I note the haze in her eyes. They’re glassy and unfocused. The poor girl likes my rough treatment of her. She can fake many things, but her reaction in this way is not one of them.

God help me.

I put her to rights until her vision comes back into focus. Holding out my hand, I wait for her to open her mouth before pulling out the cravat. She stands there, her body swaying as she glances around, unease filling the space between us.

“Do not worry. No one can hear you. The only way anyone will know what takes place in this room is if you tell them. And you’re not going to say a word, are you?”

“N- no, Your Grace.” Her lips tremble as she wraps her arms around her waist.

“That’s my good girl,” I can’t help but praise.

Though I just punished her, I cannot resist giving her that crumb of admiration. In all of this, she’s submitting far more beautifully than I had anticipated. With a soft smile, I trail my fingers down her cheek, committing her expression to memory.

I will need to keep my distance. As much as I enjoyed making plans while she was over my knees, they cannot come to fruition. She’s far too dangerous, far too intoxicating. The next time she’s in here with me, I’ll need to impress upon her the need to never be at the end of my discipline again.

CHAPTER 8

EMMA

Blackport leaves me there in his study as he strides out into the hall with that long, determined gait of his. Stunned, all I can do is make my way over to the chair and sit down. But it is a mistake.

The moment my backside touches the firm stuffing, an odd burn engulfs me. Seems he’s managed to flay me alive. At least, that’s the only coherent thought racing through my brain. Granted, coherent may be a stretch, given my current discombobulation.

With a groan, I bury my face into the armrest, but even that is torture. An enticing scent, one I’m beginning to realize is his, fills my lungs. Such a strong, masculine scent, just like him.

He smells of the wild pines which grow around the estate, but that savagery is tempered by a delicate infusion of honeysuckle. It’s such an intriguing scent, like the depths of summer, while the frost still chills the windows outside. The dichotomy is not lost on me.

Very much like the man himself, he’s both icy cold and burning hot. Though I’m not knowledgeable in all ways, I can see the heat of his gaze as he looks at me. None of it makes sense, though.

He hates me. I’m sure of it. How can someone love, or even mildly like, another and treat them in such a way? Shifting on the seat, I grind my backside into the cushions, hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort.

What’s most puzzling is why it causes my heart to clench and my body to burn. It’s that question which makes me wonder if I’m more fit for Bedlam than to be a finishing governess. But then, I’m not exactly the best fit for this position, am I?

My thoughts circle, never landing. Inside, my gut clenches as nothing makes sense anymore. It’s as if I’m trapped in a dream, or more like a nightmare.

All in all, I’m still not exactly sure how I ended up like this. Nothing went the way I had planned. Normally, when I put thought into something, it works out as intended. But today was not the case.

But then, did I really actually think this through? My cheeks burn as I recall our heated conversation. It was certainly far bolder than I originally anticipated. All I wanted to do was show the girls how to interact with an Alpha who’s being far too pushy, and yet…

And yet, I want him to take me over his lap again. It’s insanity. His touch woke something up in me I never knew existed. This must be what they mean when they tell omega girls to be especially careful of Alpha males.

If he can rip away my morals with one swipe of his finger against my forbidden back entrance, what else would I be willing to do? I sit there, my mind racing as I try to puzzle this out. Mother has been all but silent when it comes to what happens between a man and a woman.

Now, more than ever, I wish to know. I want so desperately to understand why I burn from the inside out. More importantly, I want to know why it is I wish to press my lips against his, even though his very existence enrages me.

My mind feels soft, as if stuffed with linens. Try as I might, my thoughts flee the moment they burst to the surface. Forcing myself to rise, I too make my way out of the study, making sure to close the door behind me.

Though he has not expressly told me to do so, I personally value the privacy. It’s bad enough knowing some servant will be in there at any moment to tidy up. But even if it’s just a few moments where no one can look upon the place where the duke tore down my resistance…

Such maudlin thoughts serve me no good. With a forceful shove, I fling the door back open. I cannot romanticize what’s happened between us. I played a game and lost. It’s as simple as that.

Reaching behind me, I glance about to make sure I’m alone before rubbing the offended area. It reignites the burn, drawing a soft moan to my lips. Before too long, that maddening scent of pine and honeysuckle assaults my nose, forcing me to drop my hand and turn around.

The smirk Blackport casts my way fills me with both yearning and annoyance. How can he look so smug and calm while my world is crashing about my ears? With a fumbled curtsy, I turn to leave, unable to be in his presence much longer.

“Normally, when I attend to naughty girls, I do not allow them to rub my punishment away.” He steps in, bringing his body so scandalously close to mine. “Shall I spank you again?”