Page 29 of Desire and Discipline

Diana

Flowers were part of courtship.

Though it took the housekeeper explaining the meaning behind the bouquets that arrived daily for Diana to understand the full messages the Marquess—Oliver, as he now insisted she call him—was sending her.

Devotion

Admiration.

Love.

Carriage rides and promenades were part of courtship. They’d gone out every day for a week, always under the guise of exercise or looking for information. Both goals were met, but that was not the sum of the outing. London had been rocked by the news of the dukes, yet life went on.

The colors of mourning were everywhere as funerals were arranged, but there were still other colors as well and not just in her bouquets.

As she was out with a marquess, Diana wore more muted tones so as not to draw attention to herself, but being beside Oliver always did.

If anything, the ton was even more starved for gossip and distraction in the face of so many unexpected deaths in so short a time.

So far, there was no hint of it being anything but an accident.

Despite Oliver’s obvious frustration with the lack of information, his impatience with waiting for Anthony and Evie to return, and his daily meetings with the Crown, he carved out time for Diana each day.

Every night after dinner, he walked her to her room, where he’d steal a kiss… then leave her there.

Which was far more frustrating than if he’d tried to seduce her again.

Point of fact—she was beginning to want him to try to seduce her again. She was not entirely sure how to go about seducing him, or she would have already done so, but she was beginning to think she would need to make an attempt. The last time had just… happened.

She’d begun fantasizing about punishing him for his manipulations the morning he’d faked his heart issue.

Other times, she fantasized about having him focused on her pleasure again rather than her on his pain.

She’d wake up from heated dreams, aching to the point where her hand slid down to relieve herself. But it was not the same.

Exactly ten days after the Society of Sin masquerade, Diana decided she’d had enough.

When Oliver walked her to her room and leaned in for the kiss, she reached up to grab hold of the lapels of his jacket…

and did not let go when he started to pull away.

There was only a moment of hesitation, then suddenly, he was kissing her back so hungrily, so feverishly, he pressed her up against her door.

Diana gasped as liquid heat poured through her when his tongue delved between her lips.

She kissed him back, deepening the kiss, clutching at his jacket as his hard cock dug into her stomach.

He lifted his head just enough to end the kiss, though his body remained against hers.

“Inside,” he said roughly, reaching for the door handle. It swung open. Only then did he hesitate. “If that is what you want.”

“It is.” She did not let go of his jacket as she stepped back, pulling him into the room with her. The door slammed shut behind him.

Then his mouth was on hers again, and they were devouring each other as they moved toward the bed.

He groaned as she moved her lips down to his chest, nipping at his skin.

She wondered if his nipples were as sensitive as hers and set to find out.

From his groans when she ran her tongue over the small bud, then dragged her teeth across that same path, she surmised they must at least feel close.

This time, when they made it onto the bed, she rolled so he was on top of her. She wanted to know how it was different.

Less control on her part but also more freedom on his. He took his time, playing with her breasts, licking and suckling, the tip of his cock rubbing along the seam of her cunt while he pleasured them both until Diana could not take it anymore.

“Enough… I need you. Now.”

She cried out as he thrust inside her, her body quivering as he filled the empty ache.

Finally. Moving hard and fast, he focused his entire being on her pleasure, driving her higher and higher.

Her muscles clamped around him, liquid heat pouring through her as he moved.

With her legs wrapped around him, her heels digging into his flexing buttocks, she could control his movements somewhat.

“More,” she demanded as her pleasure rose higher, cresting. “Harder!”

He groaned, dropping his head down, thrusting harder and faster at her direction.

The growing ecstasy swirled and exploded within her, and she cried out as she shattered under the sensual assault.

Each stroke of his cock sent her on a new wave of rapture, her muscles squeezing his cock but unable to stop its movements.

The friction was an overload of intense sensation, glutting her senses until she screamed his name.

Only then did he slam home within her, groaning as he reached his own completion. Rocking against her, he sent her on another paroxysm of pleasure.

Oliver

The night Diana pulled him into her room changed everything.

For one, it was the last night she spent in her room. That was the beginning of her sleeping in his room, as was due his marchioness. However, he had not brought up the subject again yet, deeming it best to ease her into it. It was not as if she was unaware of his intentions.

And he was courting her. As advised. Since it seemed to be working, he was happy to continue down that path.

However, the third night in his room led to an unexpected place—arms above his head, braced against the bedpost, with his feet about shoulder-width apart, while Diana tormented him with a crop.

She had not forgotten about how he’d tried to trap her into marriage with him.

“Ow!” Bloody hell, that particular stinging thwap had hit very far up his thigh, too close to his balls, which tried to self-protectively retract as much as they could.

He pressed his forehead to the wooden post he was leaning against, breathing hard as he fought the urge to reach down and protect his tender sack.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Diana said with false sympathy. The leather flap on the end of the crop tapped against his knee before she slid it up the thigh she’d just smacked, past the stinging spot where the blow had landed to rub against the sensitive skin between his sack and his anus.

Oliver groaned again, going up on his toes as his confused dick tried to decide whether it wanted to shrink or expand.

“Did that hurt?”

“You know it did,” he growled back. Then bit his lip because the crop disappeared again… when it returned, it landed on his other thigh in almost exactly the same spot.

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about trying to manipulate me.”

“Seems to be working out for me so far.”

Dammit. Sometimes, he needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

He was utterly brilliant when it came to keeping secrets for the Crown or others.

Not a single syllable he did not want to reveal ever passed his lips.

However, put a woman with a crop in front of him, and apparently, every filthy thought, every witticism that passed through his head, came tumbling out.

When it came to a woman in the bedroom, he had no sense of self-preservation.

The crop did not return immediately. For a moment, he worried he’d gone too far and that she was going to retreat again. Instead…

“Turn around.” The crisp order made him relax, then tense again at the ramifications.

Presenting his buttocks and shoulders for punishment was one thing—all his most tender bits were on his front side. The side she now wanted presented to her.

He just had to play the dangerous game.

But he also trusted her.

Dropping his arms, he turned around, a little smile playing on her lips. Wearing nothing but a thin chemise that hid very little of her delectable body, her hair down in waves to her waist, she looked like a seductive goddess at whose altar he was all too ready to worship.

Immediately, his cock decided it did not want to shrink, and the little bit of softness that had crept in disappeared as he hardened all over again. She was playing havoc with his senses.

“Lean back against the post and grab it with your hands,” she instructed, that little smile turning utterly wicked.

Bollocks.

He was in trouble. Not just physically, either. She was so bloody perfect, everything he would have dreamed of if he’d dared dream of finding a second wife. His heart was on the line again, and he was not sure how to handle it.

All he could do was show her that he trusted her, court her, and hope that she came to the same conclusion.

That they could be happy together. That they belonged together.

That she should be his wife.

Leaning back against the post thrust his lower body—and his erection—forward slightly.

Reaching up to hold on to it left his upper body open and vulnerable to whatever she wanted to do to him.

Stepping forward, the crop swung upward, making him flinch, even though she slowed the movement as the tip actually reached him.

The leather stroked against his skin rather than stinging, but it took a moment for him to realize that it did not hurt. Despite the way his balls wanted to shrivel, his cock was harder than ever, pulsing its need to be inside her. To pleasure her. To give her whatever she wanted.

Unfortunately for his cock, what she wanted right now was to torture him.

The leather slid against his skin, lifting his balls. He sucked in a breath, holding it until the crop moved away—upward to stroke against his cock. The appendage quivered with glee at finally receiving attention.

The crop lifted and smacked against the side of it, making him groan, caught between pleasure and pain.

The sting was sharp, yet it felt good against his tightly stretched skin.

His dick was happy for whatever stimulation it could get right now but confused as to whether it was being punished or pleasured.