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In the split second I hesitated, I could see my husband’s face darken, and he leaned back in the chair. I noticed his powerful thighs had fallen apart. He had one hand on each side of his chair and his pose was relaxed, but I felt nervous.

“Get over here, wife,” he ordered again.

“I am not used to b-being spoken to like that,” I said, stumbling over my words.

“So I gather,” my husband said dryly. “But you’re not a Wendover anymore, are you? You’re Viscountess St. Erth. And you are now mine to do what I want with.”

“C-Can’t you get your revenge another way?” I asked hopefully. “Maybe by not paying all my father’s debts?”

St. Erth laughed coldly. “I won’t be payinganyof his debts, you little fool. I’ll be getting my revenge withyourbody andourbaby. Don’t disobey me or I’ll tan your ass until you’ve got welts.”

I gasped. I had never been spoken to in such a way in my life. Surely he wasn’t serious!

But I didn’t want to test him.

So I walked up to my new husband and stood there uncertainly.

His eyes flicked lazily up and down my body, but there was something that wasn’t lazy too.

“On your knees,” he said.

I didn’t know if this was part of the whole wifely duty thing, so I delayed, biting my lip nervously.

“What for?”

Suddenly, my husband rose from the chair in a swift, almost predatorial, motion and pounced on me, gripping my hair tightly.

“Ouch, stop!” I complained.

“I told you to get on your knees,” St. Erth gritted out in my ear. “Unless you want the whole inn listening as I whip you.”

He didn’t even give me another chance to obey, but put one big hand on my shoulder and bore me down to the ground as my legs tangled in the skirts of my dress. I was so trapped by my wedding gown that I couldn’t move.

St. Erth sat back down in his chair.

“Get my cock out,” he said.

CHAPTER 9

St. Erth

It was not necessary to have my wife suck my cock to complete my revenge. She only needed her legs pried or forced open to be bred.

But my desire had been growing in me and Catherine was completely under my power. So I was going to indulge in it.

When she still hesitated, I tightened my legs around her and drew my hard length out of my breeches.

“Remember this cock?” I asked. “Right now it goes in your mouth.”

How many times had I gotten my cock sucked, from some of the finest cock-suckers in the London Opera?

So why did the thought of my little shy red-haired wife doing it make me feel almost animalistic with need?

She looked at my thick length with undisguised loathing and I couldn’t help my lips twisting up in a wicked smile.

“Open your mouth,” I said, then I grabbed her heavy updo in one hand, the curls feeling silky and glossy under my fingers, and I drove her head harshly down on my cock.

Catherine squeaked with surprise as I hit the back of her throat, her body wriggling wildly under my hands.