Page 7 of How to Lose a Dowry in Three Bucks (A Few Good Bucks #3)

The next morning, after they’d shared a somewhat tense breakfast, Matt showed Sophia to his exercise room.

She’d considered his proposal all night, having wrestled long into the wee hours with the implications of being photographed while ravished by a group of men, and woke up resolved: she needed those men.

Some part of her — one part in particular, if she was honest — wanted those men and their commanding attention.

He’d been hard at work late into the night to prepare the room. It smelled strongly of lemon polish; he’d substituted a chaise longue and low table from his bedroom for his usual training sandbags, covering the implements with a cloth.

Matt began removing his coat and waistcoat, causing Sophia to exclaim.

“What are you doing?” she asked, fear in her eyes.

He’d have to handle her gently; on some level, she wanted this training and ruination, but years of being instilled with ladylike decorum would make her resistant to her genuine desires.

“As your trainer, I expect to work hard,” he said, slowing his movements. “I expect that you’ll end up quite…glistening as well.”

“I suppose it is hard work.”

“Very hard,” he said, resisting the urge to squeeze the part of him that was growing very hard indeed thanks to her presence.

“Well, needs must,” she said, struggling to get out of her dress.

“What are you—”

“Could you assist me with the buttons?” she asked him, turning to give him her back.

Matthew stood, unable to move at first, as this lass waited for his help to get her clothes off. He’d meant to get down to his shirtsleeves and roll them up so she might get a look at his muscular forearms; he never imagined that she’d strip down alongside him.

In truth, she’d need to remove her clothes to accomplish her ruination, but he’d expected that she’d fight it every step of the way despite her natural curiosity. Miss Stafford offered genuine surprises.

When she was down to her chemise, Sophia turned to Matt expectantly.

He struggled to keep his eyes up, really tried to be a gentleman, but the hint of a nipple at the bottom of his vision pulled his gaze down.

The sudden intake of air pushed his belly forward. She’d been hiding the most lush breasts under all of that fabric, tipped with nipples that gathered into piercing little points that he longed to taste. He needed a moment to collect himself.

“You should warm the body first,” he said gruffly. “Laps, five of them, around the perimeter.”

Sophia cast him a glance and then walked around the room.

“At a run!” he shouted after her.

She picked up the pace and soon she was prancing like a coquette, her heavy breasts bouncing. Matt groaned and sank onto the chaise. He’d done this to himself. There was no other way to describe it.

At the end of the five laps, she stood in front of him, breathing more heavily than before but not so hard as Matt when confronted with glistening skin and the hint of a bush behind that chemise.

He stood in a rush, sending the furniture skittering over the floor slightly. “Take a seat,” he bit out while rolling a covered chalkboard over to where she sat.

From the front of the board he pulled off the sheet that had covered the illustrations he’d sketched last night; one wouldn’t want to scandalize the maids when they came in to clean.

“For your complete ruination, we’ll need to train three holes,” he said, tapping the chalk near the mouth, cunny, and arse of the stick figure.

In the middle of the night, pedagogical zeal had swept him away, and he considered it a most illustrative diagram; but now, in the light of day and viewed through Miss Stafford’s eyes, he worried it was too rudimentary to be instructive.

She nodded, squinting at the board.

“And we’ll prepare you to receive in these places,” he said, suddenly uncertain of himself. “To take…”

“Manhoods,” she supplied.

“Cocks.”

Sophia nodded bravely, determination written on her face. My, she was a brave, game girl.

“Can I see one?” she asked hopefully. “Up close?”

Matt coughed and wondered what he’d done to deserve to shoulder such a burden as arranging Miss Stafford’s ruination.

“I don’t think I’m the best example,” he said, angling his hips away from her. “Let’s focus on the hole aspect.”

“The hole aspect,” she repeated seriously, as if memorizing the content of the lecture.

Matt moved to the table he’d prepared the night before and swept the tablecloth cover off it with a flourish. “To ease the first use of said holes, we’ll train you with a variety of implements.”

Sophia’s eyes roved over the table of plugs and dilators of all sizes, then took in the jug of oil and stack of toweling.

“I suppose we should,” said Matthew, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the scope of work ahead of them, “start with a plug in your arse.”

Miss Stafford nodded studiously, but remained seated.

“Well, up you go,” he said, waving his hand to show she should move.

“I don’t know how to arrange myself,” she confessed.

Of course. This was no trained courtesan; this was a virginal spinster who needed instruction in her own ruination. Matt wanted to kick himself; he was making a hash of things.

“Kneel on that chaise, bum in the air, hands on the seat,” he said, moving to show the hands and knees position.

She scrambled, and soon he was behind that little arse, eyes on the hem of her chemise. He grabbed it and pulled the thin fabric up to her waist.

Beneath, she was bare. He groaned.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, looking behind her.

He regarded that little hole and her furred cunny lips and found he could only grunt in response. No, nothing was fine. Everything was terrible. He had a ripe, virginal miss bent over in his own home, tempting him until he feared blood might run out of his ears!

Matt oiled the smallest plug while muttering to himself. “I’m going to train your arse first. Something small. You wish to proceed?”

“Yes,” she said in a tiny voice that became a gasp when he smoothly pressed the flared plug into the ring of her arse.

“We’ll have to work up from there, but I don’t want to start you larger,” he said. “Now lie on your back and let me see your cunny.”

She shuffled around uncomplainingly until she reclined with her chemise once again modestly lowered.

“Is that how a woman needing utter ruin behaves?” he asked imperiously, looking down at her clenched thighs.

Matthew regretted his harsh words when she carefully spread her trembling legs and lifted her shift, regarding him with cautious eyes. He needed to make this right.

“Lovely,” he said, sinking onto the chaise next to her and stroking up her inner thigh.

Sophia looked like she might expire in fright.

And who would blame her, a gently bred girl trained to fear men, forced to prepare her body for hard use so she might achieve some measure of independence and safety?

He must give her one last shock, make one more attempt to scare her from this chosen path, or he’d always suspect himself a scoundrel.

“Are you ready to get that cunt stretched so you can get fucked by a group of men?”

He was certainly going to hell. But damn, was the trip enjoyable.