Page 11 of A Duchess Disciplined (Dukes of Dominance #1)

CHAPTER 10

C atherine was the Duchess of Sarsen, and it was her wedding night. She paced across the floor in the duchess’s chambers, newly given to her. Soon, her husband would join her. Her husband . Catherine’s breath shuddered in her breast.

She wore her cotton nightdress and over it her dressing gown. Catherine had considered her night cap as well, but the maid had already arrived and stoked a fire in the fireplace. The room was not cold.

It was warm and comfortable, so why did she feel suffocated? Catherine threw herself across the loveseat and propped her head up against the back cushion. She watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. A knot twisted in her chest. Dorothy would know what to do. Her parting question, “ Are you sure that you are all right? ” still lingered in Catherine’s mind.

Even though their departure had been inevitable, she wished her siblings had not left so hastily. Catherine rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to put all the conflicting and colliding thoughts into some coherent order, but she still found it difficult to believe that she was the Duchess of Sarsen. A wife.

The door opened, and Catherine bolted to her feet. His Grace entered, clad in only his trousers and shirtsleeves. Catherine inhaled sharply, having never seen a man in such a state of undress. “Your Grace,” she rasped.

“My lady,” he said. “I see that you have made yourself comfortable.”

“Have I?”

She did not feel comfortable, and his presence made her pulse jump wildly. While the room had felt warm before, the temperature now felt as though she was walking through fire.

He approached her boldly, and she trembled in anticipation as his green eyes bore into her. “Do you know what comes next?” he asked lowly, his eyes dark with desire.

“Some,” she said, scarcely daring to breathe.

His Grace chuckled, the sound a low rumble from deep in his chest. “Some,” he echoed. “I take that to mean that you know very little about the matter but wish to pretend as though you do.”

Her face grew hot, mostly because he had surmised correctly. “I know enough.”

“We shall see,” her husband replied, his hands going to her dressing gown.

Catherine drew a sharp breath as he took the garment and pushed it from her shoulders. She stood before him in only her nightdress, aware of the thin fabric. His green eyes trailed the length of her body, slowly exploring every inch of her.

“You behaved yourself appropriately at the wedding,” His Grace said. “Perhaps you deserve a reward for your good behavior.”

“Only perhaps ?”

His eyes flashed. “Do not make me reconsider. Remove your nightdress.”

She shivered. All her muscles went taut as Catherine pulled the garment over her head. She let it fall to the floor in a whisper of fabric. A lump rose in her throat, as she stood entirely naked before His Grace. She should have been indignant. Deep inside, she felt the urge to push him a little, but she could not ignore the desire curling within her.

A large part of Catherine was curious to know what he would do. She wanted to experience this new thing, whatever it was. After all, Catherine had never been a proper lady, and the duke’s commands had awakened a newly found desire within her. She wanted this, even if she did not know why.

“Good girl,” he purred. “I like this.”

“This?” she whispered faintly.

“Turn around, and I shall show you,” he said.

Catherine’s throat went suddenly dry. What did he mean? Her blood roared in her ears.

His Grace clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Have you forgotten your marriage vows already? Among other things, you promised to obey ,” he said, grinning wolfishly. “Now, turn around.”

She had promised that. Still, a rebellious streak leaped inside her, but Catherine’s sense of curiosity drowned out her desire to rebel. She turned around, facing the loveseat. Without warning, her husband’s front pressed against her back. His body was hard and warm, and Catherine trembled, as he cupped his breasts with his large, firm hands.

“ This ,” he murmured, his lips pressing against her neck.

The Duke of Sarsen firmly kneaded her breasts between his hands, and she groaned.

“Grasp the back of the loveseat,” he ordered.

She did, bending just a little. He moved with her, still fondling her breasts. Catherine became acutely aware of his weight pushed against hers and of the hardening manhood pressed against her back.

“So eager ,” His Grace taunted. “Just like in the foyer of your family’s home. I will bet that you were disappointed we could not go further that day. If I had not stopped you, how far would you have let me go?”

Catherine’s breath quickened, and her thoughts grew foggy and hot. A dull ache curled between her legs, and she pressed her thighs together in a vain attempt to soothe the coiling, persistent sensation of near-pain.

He pinched her nipples, and a jolt of pain and pleasure mingled together. Catherine’s back arched against him.

“Answer me,” he rumbled.

“I—I do not know,” she stammered. “I?—”

He pinched her nipples and rolled them between his thumbs, and a low whine tore from Catherine’s throat.

“I think you are lying to me.” Her husband’s breath was hot against her neck. “I think you would have let me deflower you. You are a wicked girl, and you enjoyed that. You enjoy this too, do you not?”

Catherine’s breath came in ragged pants, her senses consumed by all the sensations inspired by his skilled hands. She was too aware of the firmness of his hands and fingers cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples, of his hard manhood against her back, his weight against her body, and the sweat gathering at the back of her knees and along her spine.

“Answer,” he said, placing a bruising kiss on the side of her neck.

Another pinch, and Catherine rocked her hips. Desperation rose within her. “Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”

That ache grew inside her until her body shivered beneath his ministrations. He chuckled and swept her hair over her right shoulder. “Please, what?”

His Grace kissed her neck.

“I—I do not know. It…” Catherine trailed off, trying to find the proper words.

But everything was so hot, and need unlike any she had ever felt before swelled within her. A low whine tore from her throat.

“Oh, that is a delightful sound, my blushing bride,” His Grace said.

He wrapped his right arm around her chest, while his left drifted lower. Catherine’s nails dug into the back of the loveseat. His Grace’s hand drifted over her ribs and down her stomach. As he neared that aching place between her legs, Catherine tossed her head back and groaned.

He did not touch her there. Instead, he traced her hips and swept back up. His fingers grasped her left buttock, and she jolted against him. Her thighs were damp and warm with the proof of her desire, and Catherine felt as if she might come undone if he did not just—just?—

Stop. Keep going.

“I had thought to take you to the bed, like a proper duchess,” His Grace growled, “but you are so eager that I doubt you will make it to the bedchamber. Perhaps, I should deflower you right here.”

Catherine’s face flushed with heat. Was that something that happened? Brides taken over loveseats and rather than beds? Her mind raced, as she tried to find some witty reply to the suggestion.

His Grace’s thumb found her entrance, flicking over that place of pulsing need. Catherine shouted, as the feelings grew and grew , and she felt the sense of almost achieving something. His Grace pinched her nipple hard, and the world seemed to burst around her.

Black spots dotted Catherine’s vision, as she rode a wave of pleasure. It was a most wondrous feeling! Her breath came in loud gasps for air, and her chest heaved. “What was that?” she asked. “What did you do to me?”

Could he make her feel that way once again? He chuckled darkly. “The French call it petit mort , the little death.”

An odd name! But if that was death, it was glorious .

She bucked her hips and arched her back, silently urging the duke to continue. There was a slight pinch as his thumb entered her, but His Grace seemed to realize that there would be some discomfort, for he stroked her entrance with his forefinger..

“Do you like that?” the duke murmured.

“I—I do not know,” she said, her hips bucking without any conscious thought on her part.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it just feels strange.”

His Grace chuckled. “I see. That is to be expected.”

He kept his thumb inside her, while his other fingers caressed her folds, up and down. Her legs quivered, as the anticipation of that nameless thing grew inside her. All her muscles tightened.

He rubbed quickly, and Catherine felt a dull rush of embarrassment that he would notice the dampness of her desire. His Grace worked her with his fingers until she felt as though she might come undone, for there was certainly no possible way for any human being to be this tight inside.

She was wet and trembling by the time he withdrew his hand. Her breath came in haphazard pants, as she endeavored to clasp that nameless sensation building inside her that left her hot with need for something for which she had no words.

“I think my duchess is ready now,” he murmured.

His hand left her breast, and Catherine looked over her shoulder. Her body felt tense and sensitive, and she still trembled with the force of the pleasure she had found. He unfastened his trousers and freed his member. Catherine gasped, her eyes fixed on it. Although she had no real reference for comparison, it looked as though he was impossibly huge.

“I like this,” he said. “Bend lower and spread your thighs.”

“You are…” Catherine licked her lips anxiously. “You are really going to deflower me over the loveseat.”

He pumped his thumb inside her, and Catherine clenched her thighs together around his hand. Her hips jerked forward, her body reacting to his touch without conscious thought.

“You have said that you are not a proper lady,” His Grace said. “That was why our marriage had a stipulation that you would be proper in public . Proper ladies are taken to bed. Improper ladies are taken like this.”

Catherine’s breath hitched. She had no retort for that, but she—she did not want to leave this moment and go to bed. Catherine wanted to know what would happen next and how it would feel, and that same impossible tightness was twisting inside her once again.

She bent a little more and turned her head, letting her cheek rest atop her hands. Catherine spread her thighs further apart, and despite the warmth of the room, the air seemed cool against her exposed maidenhood. His Grace withdrew his hand and instead used it to guide his member to her entrance. He pressed against her, and Catherine groaned. She arched her back, torn between pushing herself against him and pulling away.

“You are so wet and ready for me,” His Grace said. “You were anticipating this. I imagine you laid in bed, restless every night wanting me to do just this to you.”

The words seemed to curl around inside her mind, awakening desires that she had not even known she had.

“I—I did,” she confessed.

He pressed slowly inside her, and Catherine’s inner walls pressed against him. She writhed beneath him, wanting more of him and desperately trying to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation of his girth pressing so hard against her.

He did not hurry to fully enter her. Instead, he acted as though he had all the time in the world to complete the act, and slowly, Catherine’s muscles loosened. With slow and steady strokes, he fully sheathed himself in her. Catherine gasped, her thoughts too scattered to even form coherently.

He drew himself out and slid in again. And again. With every thrust, Catherine’s body pushed against him, urging him to go deeper and faster. He grasped the back of the loveseat, one hand stretched on each side of her. She looked over her shoulder, so that she might see him. As if guessing her intentions, he tilted his head, so their eyes met. Catherine bucked like a wild animal, desperate to reach that same pinnacle of feeling once again.

“Oh, please!” she exclaimed.

She could feel that sensation curling within her. It was like a feeling of desperation that swept through her entire being, like a discomfort that she was desperate to soothe, for once she did, it would be wonderful. With every thrust of his manhood, that feeling curled stronger inside her. Soon, she was gasping, and her body shook.

Distractedly, she wondered if anyone had expired while trying to reach this point. Was that why the French called it the petit mort , the little death? She moved as fast as she could, and that feeling grew tighter and tighter inside her.

Then—the wave of pleasure overcame her once again, and she shouted in pleasure. Her body shook, and His Grace pounded into her. Then, he trembled, and warmth spread inside Catherine. She gasped for air—all her muscles becoming lax. He withdrew himself and planted a fierce kiss on her cheek.

To her surprise, he drew her into his arms and swept her off her feet. Catherine scrambled to keep from pitching out of his grasp and onto the floor. “You are spent,” he said. “Let me take you to bed.”

She did not argue. Instead, she let her muscles all go lax and remained docile in his grasp. He carried her effortlessly to her bed and laid her down upon the soft linens, which smelled faintly of English lavender.

“Well done,” he said. “Consider yourself a passable duchess—for the moment.”

Catherine’s breath shuddered, and she pressed her cheek against the pillow. Strangely, she was filled with the sudden desire to sleep. Although she had not noticed any building exhaustion, tiredness had come over her without warning. “I—I thought I was an improper lady,” she rasped.

“An improper lady,” he said, “but you have fulfilled your marital duties. I shall leave you now.”

“Leave me?”

“Yes. Would you like the maids to prepare a bath for you?”

Catherine closed her eyes, trying to understand everything that had just happened. She did not even have the words for it, and if she had, Catherine still suspected that no amount of instruction would have prepared her for this moment. She was suddenly, pleasantly tired and spent.

“I think I wish to rest, Your Grace.”

When her husband did not answer, Catherine peered over her shoulder at him. He considered her for a long moment with his heated eyes. Then, he fastened his trousers once again.

“Of course,” he said. “Send for the maids when you like.”

“Yes.”

“Good night,” the duke said, nodding curtly.

Catherine blinked at him, caught off guard. He seemed to have become a different person in an instant. She did not know him well, but at the realization that he was leaving her, Catherine found herself feeling…strangely forlorn.

She was too proud to ask him to stay.