Page 22 of His Scottish Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“ N o?” Sampson echoed, staring at her.

Catherine saw the precise moment understanding dawned in Sampson’s eyes. The initial flash of anger in his gaze softened, replaced by a flicker of something sharper, more knowing.

He recognized the deliberate defiance in her refusal, the stubborn set of her jaw that went beyond mere determination to finish the task she had started. He saw that a part of her was pushing back, testing the boundaries he had just laid down.

A slow, almost predatory smile touched his lips, a stark contrast to his earlier fury. He straightened, his tall frame looming over her, and she felt a nervous flutter in her stomach that had little to do with fear.

“So,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “You wish to disobey me, even after my warning?”

Catherine held his gaze, her defiance unwavering, though a thrill of anticipation, unexpected and slightly scandalous, coursed through her veins.

“The ball is tomorrow, Sampson. It is important.”

He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, the touch surprisingly gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. “And my command means nothing?”

“I-I did not say that!”

“Then what are you saying? Because I feel as though you are intent on undermining my authority today,” he stated blankly.

“I was only…” Catherine swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. “I only meant to tell you that I believe I can finish the preparations and still rest before tomorrow.”

His hand dropped from her jaw, and for a fleeting moment, Catherine thought he would relent. But then his expression hardened, and he turned away, his movements swift and decisive. He strode to the door and locked it with a sharp click that echoed in the suddenly silent room.

Catherine’s heart began to race, echoing in her ears. The air in the room felt thick, charged with electric energy. She watched him turn back, his eyes dark and clouded with purpose.

“If you will not obey willingly,” he said, his voice a low growl, “then I will have to ensure that you understand the consequences.”

He moved towards her, and she found herself instinctively backing away, a strange mix of apprehension and desire swirling within her. He caught her easily, his hands firm on her waist, pulling her close until her body brushed against his.

“Turn around, Catherine,” he commanded as he leaned back, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Her breath hitched. A part of her wanted to give in to him, ached to bend to his will immediately.

But still, she had one last fight in her, and there was a desperate desire to push back.

So she looked him in the eye, inhaled deeply, and spoke, her voice quiet and nearly inaudible.

“Or what, husband?”

Sampson stared at her for a moment. Then, suddenly, his hands were on her again, and he flipped her onto her stomach. Catherine gasped, her palms flat on the bedcovers as she tried to look over her shoulder at him, freezing when he ordered, “Stay still and look ahead.”

She ceased her movements immediately, knowing that she had lost every defiant play she might have had and that it was much better for her to obey him now.

Her heart was beating harder and louder now, and just as she wondered if he could hear it, he tugged the skirts of her dress up and pulled down her drawers, causing her eyes to widen.

She now had an idea of what was coming. A blush heated her cheeks, a sensation that spread quickly through her body. Slowly, she curled her fingers into the covers, holding onto them for dear life.

She heard the soft rustle of fabric as he removed his coat, the silence in the room amplifying the sound. A moment later, she felt the sharp sting of his hand against her backside. It wasn’t a gentle tap; it was firm, deliberate, and surprisingly effective.

Catherine gasped, a sound that was part surprise, part something else entirely. Another sharp swat followed, and this time, a small whimper escaped her lips. Her cheeks were burning now, and a strange heat was pooling low in her belly.

He delivered several more firm swats, each one sending a jolt of unexpected sensation through her. Her grip on the covers tightened, and she found herself focusing on the feel of his hand, the slight rasp of his palm against her bare skin. It was… humiliating, yes, but there was also an undeniable thrill, a forbidden pleasure in the sensation.

Her mind was spinning with confusion and need, the latter growing rapidly and evident in the dampness she could feel between her legs.

“Sampson—”

Another firm smack landed on the curve of her buttock, making her arch her back as she whimpered.

“You do not get to speak to me. Not without permission. Not until I am sure you have learned your lesson,” he told her curtly as his hands rubbed soothing circles on her skin. “You are doing so well. Just a bit more,” he whispered.

Catherine pressed her forehead into the sheets and squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for the next spank. It was odd, how instead of dread, anticipation flowed in her veins. And when she finally received what she was waiting for, it made her shudder with satisfaction.

When he finally stopped, she lay there, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, her body humming with a strange energy. She didn’t dare turn around, her embarrassment warring with the confusing arousal that had taken root.

“Do you understand now, Catherine?” Sampson’s voice was low, close to her ear. “When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed.”

She nodded mutely, unable to find her voice, the sensations still swirling within her.

He turned her to face him, his gaze intense as it searched hers. Catherine knew he could see the lingering flush on her cheeks, the slight tremor in her hands. He knew he had elicited a reaction, one that went beyond mere obedience.

Without a word, he reached out a hand, his fingers gently tracing the seam of her lips. Catherine’s breath hitched again, her earlier defiance replaced by a nervous anticipation. He lowered his head, his kiss slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the earlier sharpness of his touch.

The kiss deepened, and Catherine found herself melting into him, her earlier embarrassment forgotten in the sudden wave of desire. His hands moved from her face to the curve of her neck, then lower, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone.

He lifted her into his arms and pulled her higher onto the bed. Catherine clung to him, her body alive with a mixture of lingering shock and a burgeoning desire that she could no longer deny.

He laid her gently on the soft mattress, following her down, his gaze never leaving hers as he dove in for another kiss, their tongues melding together in a slow, sensual battle.

He began to unlace her dress, his fingers surprisingly deft, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger.

“You’ve been so good for me, darling. Perhaps you ought to be rewarded,” he murmured, without taking his eyes off her.

Catherine watched him, her desire mirroring his, hoping he recognized the silent invitation in her gaze for what it was.

Soon, they were both undressed, their bodies pressed together, the heat of their skin a tangible connection in the dimly lit room. Sampson’s touch was no longer punitive but tender, exploring the curves and contours of her body, igniting a fire within her that burned hotter with each passing moment.

“We will be doing something different today,” he whispered to her between kisses, nosing along her jaw. “Do you think you can handle it?”

Catherine nodded, gasping when his hand slid up the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair before he tugged.

“Words, darling,” he prompted, biting her lower lip hard enough for it to sting. “I need your words. Tell me that you want this.”

“I want you,” she told him quietly, her eyes searching his as a haze of yearning settled over her. “I want you, however you want me.”

Sampson grinned and dipped his head so he could kiss her again. “Good. Very good, darling.”

He moved slowly then, positioning them intimately, their bodies intertwined in a way that left Catherine breathless as she sat on his chest.

Her cheeks burned as she stared down at his erect manhood. Confused, she tried to look back at him, startled when he pushed her down by the shoulders and his other hand tilted her hips up.

Then, he licked her folds, and it was all she could do not to crumble on top of him.

“S-Sampson?—”

“My pleasure is your responsibility as well. You must ensure that I feel good, without getting distracted by my ministrations,” he told her, all the while thrusting a finger in and out of her.

Catherine tried to steady her breathing, did her best to understand what he was saying as she returned her gaze to his stiff length.

“B-But how do I?—?”

“Whatever you want. Whatever feels right,” he urged gently, his tone a stark contrast to the way he pushed her down again, lapping at her wetness.

She tried to focus on the task at hand, on the feel of his hardness in the palm of her hands as she stroked him once, twice. Then, as his tongue circled her bud, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would taste. After a moment of uncertainty, she flicked her tongue against the tip, shuddering as he moaned against her sex.

“Good,” he told her. “Keep going. Do more.”

She licked the tip again, going further down his length with every swipe of her tongue. He moaned, the vibrations stirring more heat within her. Catherine soon found herself consumed by the taste of him and the urgent need to please him.

The sensations were so intense and overwhelming at times, and she found herself lost in the moment, her earlier defiance completely forgotten in the throes of passion.

The encounter was both demanding and deeply satisfying, a release of the taut attraction that had been building between them. Catherine, feeling ambitious, thought of trying to take him into her mouth, mimicking the sucking motion on her bud.

He shuddered beneath her fingertips, and she pulled back, her jaw aching from how big he was, but satisfied he was just as affected as she was. It felt good to know she was pleasuring him, momentarily feeling dazed and overwhelmed as his tongue slid between her folds, going as far as it could.

She couldn’t help but grind her sex against his mouth, needing more.

Catherine didn’t even notice she had been moaning for more, her skin slick with sweat as breathless demands left her lips, until he said, “It seems you have forgotten about me, dear wife. That’s not fair, not to mention a violation of the rules.”

“S-Sorry,” she stuttered, refocusing her attention on him.

She used her hands to stroke him for a moment, her saliva providing lubrication, and she took him into her mouth, the tangy, almost bitter taste of him making her moan. She could smell him more intensely here, a heavier concentration of his manliness.

Her jaw began to ache again, but she wanted to make him feel good, wanted to prove to him that she could take care of him as he took care of her. So she went a tad deeper for a moment and swiped her tongue against the base of his erection.

“Ah, Catherine,” he groaned, his hand squeezing her bottom.

She could feel her release edging closer. Sampson was close too, if the way he was throbbing in her hands was any indication. Her jaw felt too heavy so she finished him off with her hands, startled when some of his seed landed on her face, his groans intermingling with hers as he sent her careening into pleasure’s arms.

When it was over, and they had caught their breath, Sampson pulled Catherine into his arms. She moved obediently, utterly exhausted but strangely content.

Sampson, his earlier sternness completely gone, gently stroked her hair, his gaze tender as he wiped her face and pressed kisses to her cheek.

“Very good, Duchess. Well done, darling,” he told her, pressing his lips to her temple.

He then insisted on feeding her from the tray that had been left earlier, his concern for her well-being paramount. Catherine, too tired to argue, ate the offered morsels, savoring the unexpected tenderness of his care.

Soon, sleep claimed her, her body heavy and sated in the comfort of his arms.

The next morning, Catherine awoke to the warm weight of Sampson’s arm around her. He was still asleep, his breathing deep and even. She stirred slightly, attempting to slip out of bed, but his grip tightened.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

Catherine settled back down silently, her head resting on his chest. The events of the previous night felt both surreal and intensely real. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the memory of her deliberate defiance and the unexpected turn their interaction had taken.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Sampson’s eyes fluttered open. He looked down at her, a soft smile gracing his lips.

“Good morning, wife,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her temple.

“G-Good morning,” she stuttered nervously.

“Catherine,” he said, his voice gentle. “Why were you running yourself ragged for this ball?”

She hesitated for a moment, her anxieties feeling foolish in the light of day. “I… I was scared of failing,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of disappointing everyone. You, my family… the guests.”

She worried about being an embarrassment, about her lack of experience in navigating the intricacies of the ton.

“I feared my mistakes would reflect poorly on you and my family,” she added, her gaze dropping.

Sampson cupped her chin, gently tilting her face up to meet his eyes.

“Catherine,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “You do not need to fear disappointing me. You are enough exactly as you are, without going to such lengths to ‘fix’ something that isn’t broken.”

He traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb. “You will never disappoint me, Catherine. And if anyone ever tries to make you feel less than you are or bad about yourself…” A dangerous glint entered his blue eyes. “They will quickly learn why some people call me a devil.”

He spent the rest of the morning pampering her, insisting that she remain in bed. He fed her breakfast, his touch tender, his conversation light and reassuring.

The anxieties that had plagued Catherine began to recede, replaced by a growing sense of security and warmth that spread through her at his unexpected care.

Flashes of the night before lingered in her mind. The ball was still hours away, but at that moment, nestled in Sampson’s arms, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known was possible.