Page 39 of Surrender Your Grace (Impromptu Brides #1)

He took the birch and gave it a few experimental flicks. When it whistled through the air, she swallowed hard— uh-oh echoing loudly in her head.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“No. I want you.”

“You’ll have me. After.” His grin deepened. “You’re bold tonight.”

“Bold enough to deserve options?”

“Bold enough to earn both.”

“Well,” she huffed, wrinkling her nose. “That didn’t go as I expected.”

He grunted softly, as though amused and holding back laughter. “That’s because I’m in charge of this punishment. But in the interest of knowledge, you can tell me which you regret more, afterward.”

“How reassuring,” she muttered.

He tugged her over his lap. Her hair fell in a curtain, fingertips grazing the thick rug as he lifted the hem of her shift to her waist. His hand smoothed over her bare skin—warm, slow, teasing.

Then the tawse cracked down.

The sting was immediate and scalding. Five measured strokes followed, precise and searing. Her breath hitched, and her legs kicked. The latter uselessly with his arm around her waist holding her in place.

Then the tawse hit the floor with a thud, and his hand soothed over her blazing skin.

“What’s your verdict?”

“I’m vacillating between beastly and horrid.”

He chuckled. “When I was fourteen, my father gave me twenty with a heavier version. I’d taken his new phaeton for a joyride through Hyde Park.”

“You didn’t!”

“Oh, I did. I took my meals standing and walked everywhere for a week. For bringing it back with a dent and several scratches, I deserved it.”

“I hate to admit it, but I’m with your father on this one.”

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Punishment for disobedience. A familiar concept, no?”

“I see the irony. I’m not screaming the house down, am I?”

He introduced his palm—quick but noteworthy. Twice. “Mind your tone.”

“Sorry,” she replied only slight less sarcastic.

“Mmm,” was his only reply to that. “Let’s see how you fare with the birch. Six strokes. For comparison.”

“Must we?”

“You prefer more with the tawse?”

“No!” she yelped. “Birch. Please.”

“As you wish.”

He switched implements. The birch landed lightly, feathering over her skin. It wasn’t bad at all—until the itch and sting bloomed. Sharp. Maddening.

“Andrew!” she gasped. “The itch is unbearable.”

The birch joined the tawse on the floor then his nails skimmed her bottom, scratching lightly.

“Better?”

“Yes,” she lied, afraid he’d keep scratching.

He patted one prickling cheek. “Punishment complete. Final verdict?”

“Your palm.”

“That wasn’t part of our comparison.”

“No, but hopefully, it will be, should you feel the need to spank me in the future.”

“Knowing you,” he said, lifting her into his arms, “I surely will.”

He carried her to the bed and opened the drawer beside it, retrieving a small jar.

“What’s that?”

“Cooling balm.” He pushed her knees to her chest and smoothed the ointment over her hot, still slightly itchy skin.

Relief occurred instantly, and she relaxed under his hand.

“You knew the birch was worse.”

“I did. But you seemed determined to find out.”

As his touch strayed to un-spanked places, she sighed. “My incorrigible duke.”

“Incorrigibly yours,” he countered, as his fingers glided between her thighs. “And now to address this moisture…”

Two fingers slid inside her, and her breath caught.

“You’re drenched, sweeting. Your protests were highly unconvincing.”

She hid her face with a groan. “What kind of lady becomes aroused when her husband disciplines her?”

“My kind,” he whispered, drawing her hands away to meet his gaze. “The kind who responds to every form of loving I give her. No shame, sweet pea.”

Then he parted her thighs wider, and his mouth replaced his fingers—hot, thorough, voracious, and over too quickly. He had more planned, however, and her cries echoed off the walls as he rose above her and filled her in one slow, perfect thrust.

“You fit me like a glove,” he groaned. “A warm, wet, silken glove.”

He stilled, buried deep, breathing her in.

“Are we finished?” she rasped, hoping he’d say no.

His head came up, his grin wicked as he pumped his hips. “Do I feel finished?”

“No. You feel wonderful.”

The teasing gave way to fervent passion. His thrusts were deep and sure, her fingers biting into his shoulders, legs locked around his waist. The tension inside built fast.

“Andrew. I can’t wait!”

“Don’t,” he growled. “Come and take me with you.”

She cried out as bliss crashed over her like a wave. He followed, shuddering in her arms and groaning into her neck as he spilled deep inside her.

They lay tangled, skin to skin, breath mingling, until their pulses slowed.

Then he rolled, bringing her atop him. Her flushed cheek rested against his chest.

“Blood and thunder,” he muttered into her hair. “With you, I have no control. We’ll have to practice more—build endurance.”

“For which part?” she murmured, pulling for the ending over the beginning. Though one led to the other and the bliss that followed.

“All of it,” he declared, with a lingering kiss on her lips.

Sitting up halfway, jostling though not releasing her, he reached for the covers at the foot of the bed. A messy curl fell across her face. She reached up to smooth her tangled hair.

“I must look a fright.”

With both of them covered, he caught her hands. “Don’t,” he ordered softly. “I like the well-chastened, well-loved look.”

When he lay back, arms around her, eyes closed, she didn’t follow him into sleep. Not yet.

“I’m all for more practice,” she said slyly. “But you fatigue so easily. The price of marrying a man ten years my senior, I suppose.”

His hands slid to her bottom, giving a warning squeeze before pulling her up his body. “Are you calling me old? I’m not yet thirty?”

In a teasing mood, Cici shrugged. “What am I to think? A little exertion and you’re practically snoring.”

“Cheeky minx,” he growled, giving her bottom a swat.

She shrieked, more startled than anything. It turned into a moan when he parted her thighs and slid into her once again.

“Let’s see how energetic you are after doing all the work. Ride me.”

She rose, hands braced on his chest, hair spilling around her shoulders. Her body moved with abandon, her breasts swaying, his mouth trailing heat across every inch of skin. He let her lead, but not for long. Gripping her waist, he drove into her with a young, virile man’s vigor.

Later, when they collapsed onto the pillows, she flung an arm over her eyes. “I surrender,” she gasped.

He chuckled. “Not bad for an old man, eh?”

“I’d say exceptional. But I was a virgin bride. My standards might be low.”

“You question my performance after two climaxes?” he challenged with mock outrage.

She giggled under her arm. It turned to shrieks of laughter when he tickled her ribs.

“Stop! I yield!” she cried. “You are young and virile, the Casanova of London, the Don Juan of our time!”

He didn’t let up.

“Please, Andrew,” she gasped. “I’ll wet the bed.”

That stopped him.

Nestled against his chest, tracing lazy circles across his stomach, she whispered, “You weren’t angry.”

“No,” he said softly. “I wanted to steal your thoughts from her. You carried enough today.”

“It worked.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Although… If you defy me again, don’t think there won’t be consequences.”

She looked up, eyes glittering. “Promise?”

He smiled, pure sin. “Eager for more?”

She curled into him. “Greedy when it ends like this.”

They lay quietly, heartbeats steady. Her head rose and fell with his breath.

“It’s over,” she whispered. “She’s out of my life, and I feel…”

“Relieved?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Not when your mind is restless. What do you feel, sweet pea?”

“Heartbroken. Somewhere deep down, I’ll miss the version of my sister who used to braid my hair and sneak tarts with me.”

“That girl left long ago. Now you have something better. Stronger.”

She smiled faintly. “You.”

He pulled her close. “Us.”