Page 22 of In Service to the Duke

“But I-”

“I did not give you permission to speak,” I growl out, my cock pulsing as I watch my words play over her skin, drawing shivering bumps along her delicate flesh. “In this room, you have no say as to what happens to you. This is a place of punishment, of self-reflection. You will only speak if I ask you a question. Understood?”

“Y- yes, Your Grace.” Her voice is soft, barely a whisper.

Trailing my finger along the thick wood, I lock my gaze onto hers. “You’ve been a rather naughty governess, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” This time, her voice cracks a touch, as if she truly believes herself to be wicked.

This just won’t do. Sliding to her side, I lift her chin so her gaze once more meets mine. “And you wish me to bring you absolution for your sins. Yes?”

The way she nods, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, has my mind at war within myself, a private battle which twists me about. There’s something there she’s not revealing. That, or this game is far more terrifying to her than I originally thought it would be.

Either way, I will know her secrets. Not today, but someday. Eventually, all will be laid bare to me. She cannot help it. The natural submissive desires will have her eating out of the palm of my hand even as the other smacks her upturned arse.

With a smirk, I walk back over to the foot of the bed and grab the crops from off of the floor. None of them appear to be damaged. Not that it would save her from a good lashing. Even if just one were to become unusable, I have more than enough to spare.

I set them next to her on the bed before grabbing a shorter, allowing her to see it as I turn it about in the firelight. After a moment or two of teasing her, I slide the broad side of it under her chin, allowing her to feel the kiss of the leather in a non-painful way.

“I will ask you again. Do you wish to atone?” Once more, she nods, refusing to speak. “I will have your words, little governess.”

“Punish me, Your Grace. Please.”

Her words race through my veins like fire, burning me from the inside out. It melts my brain until all I can think about is my knot stretching out her tight, virginal holes. This game of ours is dangerous, and yet, I must see it to its end. To deny myself would be insanity, but to indulge fully would be criminal. What to do?

Hopefully, this little interlude will show her just what it means to be at my mercy, and we will not have a repeat performance. But as I watch her lower lips swell and turn dusky pink in the dim lighting, I have the niggling suspicion this will only cause her antics to become worse.

She may not understand, but her body does. Her soul craves my discipline, and soon, she will seek out my retribution, if only to quiet the screaming in her mind. I’ve seen it before many times at The Rose and Thorne, and Miss Gillet will be just like all the others.

My shoulders slump at that thought. There’s only so much innocence to take before there is none left. Will our interactions become mundane as they are becoming at our club of iniquity? Will I awaken one morning to find myself no longer becoming hard at the idea of punishing her?

I’d like to say no. But eventually, she will show her true colors. Just like all the rest at The Rose and Thorne. Just like Delilah. There’s no way on God’s green Earth someone like her can be so perfect and yet so out of my reach.

If only she were like Catherine, my brother’s bride. If only she harbored a far more impressive lineage which would allow me to take her and own her—all of her. But alas, I am not one to be so lucky.

Ugly emotions rise, clouding my brain. If I were not the only naturally born son with the Dowding name. If only I were common, allowed to marry and claim who I chose. But no. My lot in life is to always be a duke first and a man second. Arousal be damned.

A duke doesn’t get to dally with a governess whose very being cries out for the same deviance as mine. A duke doesn’t get to have his heart satisfied by someone possessing the same longings as he. And a duke certainly doesn't get to put his needs above his family.

It doesn’t matter that Father married a governess. Mother is different. She doesn’t possess one deviant bone in her body. Just like Father never harbored these strange lusts which plague me and my friends. At least, he never confided as such to me before his passing.

Not that I would wish to have that conversation with him. Mother, though being low born, was at least proper in all ways. She was circumspect. Not Miss Gillet, though. Her body craves the dark passions I wish to unleash. And though she may still be innocent, she craves my punishing hand far too much to be what I need.

I cannot allow myself to be entrapped by these pretty lips and begging eyes. I need someone sensible, someone who will allow me to carry on my duties and not be distracted. What I really need is a plain miss with ordinary desires. I need a woman I can bed, impregnate, and go on about my day.

That’s not who Miss Gillet is. Her body speaks of hours lost in her embrace, of eschewing all responsibilities just to hear one pained gasp drip from her lips. In all of this, I thought it was merely her lack of title which stayed my hand, or the threat of entrapment that kept me at arm’s length.

It’s far more than that. To marry Miss Gillet would be to turn my back on everything just to play with her, to truss her up and devour her at every waking moment. She’s far too enticing for me to even contemplate. To allow her to entrap me with her soft cries and entreaties would be to practically give up my title.

There’s no other way to look at this. I have to resist her. I must. For my family, for my sanity, and for both of our honors, I cannot allow myself to go much further. And none of this even touches the problem concerning her secrets she so desperately tries to hide.

I see them shining in her eyes as unshed tears. She craves my discipline, but not just for the titillation it can bring, but for the absolution she craves. But why? What is this girl hiding from me?

Again, I almost lose myself, forgetting the important matters to satisfy the lusts of the flesh. It just won’t do. The anger and hunger she pulls out of me is almost beyond my control, and I must be the one to show restraint.

Pulling back, I pace the floor, wishing to control myself before laying into her flesh with my tools. It’s not the pain I’ll inflict that I'm worried about, it’s the idea that I may go too far in my anger and do something irreversible. Already my teeth itch with the need to sink them into her flesh and claim her.

Devil take it. She’s not worth me losing control and trapping us in a union which can never happen. This fleeting moment of intrigue between us is not worth the loss of my sanity. Striding back over, I remove the implements one by one and hang them up. With ritualistic precision, I ensure they hang just so, one next to the other.