Becoming Lady Thomas (Becoming Her Book 1) (8 page)

I WAKE WITH A START in a dark room. A heavy arm lies draped across my bare belly, and I momentarily panic.

What have I done?

The night before is hazy in my mind, but I’m sure we didn’t make love. My body, however, is sore from the orgasms he gave to me—especially the one from his mouth. My flesh begins to burn from the embarrassment of my memory.

At the time, there were no bounds to my lack of modesty. Now, as I reflect back, I feel ashamed at how easily I gave myself to him. I remember pushing his face against my center, needing more from him but unable to find the words. He gripped my hips, though, and dived deeper, somehow understanding my needs.

I have to get away from his intoxicating scent—his muscled, naked body—and clear my head. All of my plans to seduce him dissipated and I allowed him to seduce me instead. This man is much more versed in sexuality than I am, and I feel as though he has the upper hand. As if he knows my thoughts, his hand slips over my breast and he pulls me closer.

It saddens me that I was so easily able to walk away from William and right into the arms of Jasper. Yet he feels sort of perfect pressed against my back. I have the urge to close my eyes and snuggle closer to him. Everything about him seems right. Different. Something I want more of.

But the guilt consumes me.

William is most likely pining away for me. Grief stricken as he wonders where it is Jasper has taken me. All the while, I keep offering myself like some sort of cheap prostitute.

A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek.

What do I do?

I need to get away from this man who smells sinfully delicious and clouds my every thought. Maybe after a night in the other room, away from him, I might be able to clear my head. Deciding that that’s my best option, I begin a slow creep away from him. I’ve almost made my escape from the giant bed when an arm hooks my waist and tugs me back down.

“Where do you think you’re stealing off to in the middle of the night?” he growls against my hair.

My heart thuds loudly in my chest as I scramble for an excuse. Finally, I just tell him the truth. “I need to think. Alone.”

His palm slides over my bare breast and he thumbs my nipple. “You’ll never be alone again. You’re mine, Elisabeth.”

A shiver courses through me—partly because of the way his hot breath tickles my ear and partly due to the meaning of his words. It only serves to remind me that I’m an unwilling participant in this sham of an arranged relationship. I’ll always be some prize in his eyes—some payment for a debt. The thought sickens me.

“What if I run away?” I murmur. The idea has been one I’ve toyed with. William and I could travel to some lesser known town and build a new life there.

My plans for escape are halted when his hand trails along my chest and circles around my neck. Then his thumb strokes the way my blood pulses erratically through the artery there. I gasp in shock when he squeezes just tight enough to let me know the strength in his hand.

“I’ll catch you,” he answers gruffly. “And if I have to use resources to find you, I’ll expect some sort of repayment.”

I gulp and slip a hand around his wrist. His grip is firm and unyielding. “What sort of repayment?”

He sweeps his lips across mine before he answers. “Well, considering I know for a fact you’re penniless, it would come in the form of a punishment.”

My eyes widen in the dark. His silhouette is visible, and he reminds me of some evil demon from Father’s Bible.

“Punishment?”

He squeezes my neck again—just slightly, not enough to take my breath away. My heart pounds rapidly in my chest as I wonder what form of punishment he means. When my sisters and I were growing up, Father didn’t punish us. We were good girls and never needed anything other than a stern word. The prospect of a physical punishment terrifies me.

I’m still considering his words when he releases my neck and rolls me over onto my belly.

“I could”—he pauses for effect—“spank you.”

I gasp when his strong hand palms my bottom. “Spank? Like a naughty child?”

He chuckles in the deep voice of his that warms my insides and runs his thumb along my crack. My body betrays me because I moisten at his touch. Heat floods my cheeks in horror that he might discover that his threats are turning me on.

“Honeysuckle, if you run away from me, I will find you. And I will spank you.”

Swallowing down my fear, I squirm to get away from him, but he holds me firmly in place with his hand.

“Are you attempting to run away from me even before the threat leaves my tongue?” he spits out in anger.

I pause at his words. His voice leaves no room for argument, yet a part of me wonders. If I crawled out of this bed, would he actually strike me? Worse yet, would I enjoy it?

The way my pelvis aches has me thinking I would.

Needing to get away from him, I tug away from him once more. “This is insane. I’m a grown woman—”

Slap!

Fire stings my arse at being spanked. He actually spanked me!

“What have you done?” I demand in shock.

As the sting subsides, my desire to attempt to escape his clutches grows stronger. But as I move again, my poor bottom meets the same fate.

Slap!

“You blithering arse of a man!” I screech.

I feel as though I should be crying at the force with which he whipped me, but instead, my nerve endings blaze with something altogether different.

Curiosity.

I want to know why my nipples have pebbled at his abuse.

Why my body is once again wet and lubricated.

I need to know why it is I’m secretly wishing he’d slap me again.

“Honeysuckle?”

“What?” I snap.

“You liked it, didn’t you?”

“No,” I lie. “You horrible man. I did not like it.”

His thumb slides along my crack, past the unmentionable area, and breaches the opening that is, in fact, dripping with need. I gasp at the intrusion—both hating and loving its presence.

“I bet I could make you come all over my thumb simply by spanking that sweet bottom of yours,” he growls.

Before I can argue that I would never get off by such an atrocity, he slaps my bottom again. My inner walls reflexively clench around his thumb and I see stars in the dark room.

“Th-that—what are you doing to me?” I stammer out.

Instead of answering, he swats me again, this time taking a moment to massage the tingling flesh after. His thumb remains unmoving, and I wonder if it’s because I have it in a vise grip. My muscles are tight, attempting to ready myself for the next swat I’m unwillingly looking forward to.

“Elisabeth, I’m punishing you.”

My mouth parts and I go mad with sick thoughts. What sort of person gets off on this sort of thing? Clearly, I do, because with the next swat, I come apart.

Hard.

Stars of every color burst into the darkness as my entire body shudders wildly out of control. Every muscle in my body screams as I tense up in an effort to hold on to the orgasm. His thumb becomes incredibly lubricated as I lose myself to the utter senselessness of what he just did to me.

I liked it.

No, I loved it.

I’m a horrible person.

When his thumb pops out of my body, I cry out from the loss of it. He runs his palm up my back, his thumb dragging a trail of wetness behind. My body becomes languid and I begin to drift off. When he lies down beside me and pulls me against his body once again, I don’t fight it.

I give in to it.

I enjoy the warmth his body blankets mine with.

I revel in the erratic pounding of his heart, which matches mine in rhythm, against my back.

I wonder if I might actually like the new person I’ve become in his presence.

Not Lissa.

Not the boring middle sister with the plain appearance against that of her gorgeous sisters.

Not the put-off fiancée for four long years.

No, right now, I am loving this new me.

Elisabeth.

Soon to be Lady Thomas.

Honeysuckle.

The very naughty woman who’s naked in bed beside this very naughty man.

“Miss Merriweather?” a voice questions, waking me from my slumber.

It is morning, and I meet the kind eyes of the housekeeper, Gretchen, as she peers in through the cracked door. My flesh is still naked, and I’m horrified that she’s seeing me in this state. Heat floods my cheeks as I yank the blanket over me. With a brief glance of the bed, I notice that Jasper is no longer with me.

“Yes?” I squeak out finally.

“Breakfast is ready. Lord Thomas had a business meeting this morning and is tied up in his study. His instructions were to make sure you were properly fed,” she explains as she pushes through the door holding a tray.

I smile because the smell of cooked meats and eggs wafts over to me, which causes my belly to grumble. “Thank you, Gretchen.”

She settles the tray beside me on the bed. “I see that you’ve taken to Lord Thomas quite easily,” she chuckles boldly.

Snapping my head over to her, I stare at her with my mouth open in shock. “I, uh, I don’t really have a choice.”

The woman is older, and with her kind eyes, easy smile, and greying hair that’s been pulled back into a neat bun, she reminds me of my grandmother on my mother’s side. Aside from her bold words, I like her.

“Sugar,” she smiles and pats my shoulder, “you have a choice and you made it. In my honest opinion, I think it’s the right choice. He’s a good man, and I’ve never seen him act this way around any woman. You’re special to him.”

I chew on my lip before speaking. “He acts differently?”

Her brows furrow together. “Normally, he’s so poised and serious. Lord Thomas is a focused businessman driven by money and power. Everything he does is an effort to further grow his estate and legacy. And while he’s always paid us well and treated us as if we were family, he still guards his heart. But with you, he’s different. His eyes shine with happiness. The dear boy is completely smitten with you.”

I smirk because, for once, I feel as if I have the upper hand when it comes to him and me. She’s provided me with valuable information—I’m more than a pawn in his little game. I’m something he truly wants and enjoys.

As I begin eating, she chatters on about the estate and places she thinks I might enjoy, like the garden and the library. But when she mentions that I mustn’t enter the east wing, my curiosity is piqued.

“Child, I just told you not to worry about it,” she scolds as I finish up my food.

I frown at her. “Why can’t you just tell me? You’re my only friend.”

My words play on her heartstrings like I hoped they would, because her features soften. She quickly glances over at the door before taking a resolved breath.

“His study is in that wing,” she whispers. “But he also has a meeting room where he conducts his business. Lord Thomas has a dangerous profession. Most days, I worry about his safety. Fortunately, most men are terrified of him—he can be quite the intimidator when necessary. Young women don’t have a place in that wing, and it will serve you well to remember that.”

I nod in agreement at her as she collects the tray. “I think I may find a novel to get lost in over in the library later,” I lie.

She beams at me on her way out. “It’s absolutely stunning in there.”

I smile back as she leaves me be. The clattering of the tray slowly fades with each step as she returns them to the kitchen. Once I’m sure she’s gone, I fly out of the bed. There’s no way I’m going to wear the dress I wore last night to go on my spying mission. So I decide to throw on Jasper’s button-up shirt over my naked flesh. Since he’s so much taller than I, the shirt nearly reaches my knees. It smells like him, and I fight the urge to inhale the masculine scent.

After slipping out of his bedroom, which just so happens to be near the east wing, I pad quietly down the hallways until I hear muffled masculine voices behind a doorway. The cool, measured, deep voice that talks over one voice until it is silenced must be Jasper’s. Even though I can’t hear the words, they are powerful—so him. The conversations are hushed until one of the men begins shouting. I press my ear against the cool mahogany to see if I can make out the words.