Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (27 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

H
e was not the vengeful
sort. Charles disliked resentment. But Miss Terrell needed to be
taught a lesson. She could not indulge her mischief with
impunity.

“
Would you like me to imitate Miss
Fanny Hill?” she asked. She glanced at the crop she had left
behind. “I believe my crop could do for a rod.”

She stepped toward him and reached a hand to his
hardened cock, but he grasped her swift by the back of the neck. He
wound his hand up into her hair and pulled her head back. She
gasped, arching her back.

“
You’ll not dare your impudence
with me again,” he snarled. He had not had his arse whipped since
his first year at the Red Chrysanthemum.

“
I see you are ready to exchange
roles,” she said between short breaths. “I take it my performance
as a mistress meets with your approval. Does it excite you to
submit first?”

What the bloody hell was she on
about?

Ignoring her question, he said, “I
am done with you, Miss Terrell, but first, you will be punished for
your deed.”

He could see a mix of emotions in
her eyes, bright despite the dark color of her irises. Punishment
was what she had claimed she wanted, but she would rue her wishes
when he was done. He dragged her toward the bed by her hair. She
stumbled to keep up and nearly fell to the ground when he stooped
to pick up the cords of rope. She grabbed at his arm to keep him
from pulling too hard upon her hair. If he moved roughly, he was
too incensed to care.

“
But—” she began. “I thought
you—”

“
I did warn you, Miss Terrell. You
should not have ignored me.”

He tossed her, face first, at the bed. Her body
curved over the side. Releasing her hair, he yanked her left hand
behind her and wrapped the rope about the wrist.

“
I did not think you sincere,” she
protested, her voice filled with concern. She struggled against
him, but he kept her pinned to the bed. “I thought you to be
playacting, as I was.”

“
You thought wrong. A grave
mistake I vow you will not repeat when I am done with
you.”

He bound another cord of rope about her other
wrist.

“
I gave you the opportunity of a
safety word,” she accused hotly.

He paused. She was right. In the
moment, he had not paid heed, partly because was too overcome with
his own indignation and because he had been too astounded at what
she was attempting. Grabbing her by the hair once more, he turned
her head and looked into her eyes as much as he could with the
awkward angle.

“
Would you have ceased if I had
uttered one?”

Her lashes lowered, and, after a pause, she
murmured, “Perhaps not at first.”

At least the minx was being honest. He released her
head and went to tie the left rope to the farther bedpost at the
foot of the bed.

“
What does it
matter what I
might
have done?” she challenged. “You wanted my
cunnie.”

He went to secure the end of the other rope to the
bedpost near the head of the bed.

“
I merely gave you what you
desired,” she continued, “though you would not admit to it,
leastways not with words.”

She stared straight at his still hardened cock. He
quickly replaced his fall.

“
And was my mouth, my cunnie, not
every bit as glorious as you imagined they would be?”

Her words chafed because they were
true. Nevertheless, a proper dominant would have ensured he had a
safety word and not run roughshod over his protests. The chit
thought herself high and mighty, but he would give her a proper
set-down. He surveyed her, one arm pulled toward the foot of the
bed, the other to the head of the bed, her delicious rump rounding
the side of the bed.

“
You thought my cunnie unworthy of
your consideration,” she continued, “but now you know mine is as
agreeable as that of any white woman.”

“
Be silent!”

Her talk was making his head throb. And his cock,
too. He strode over to the sideboard. This room did not offer the
array of implements that the room on the second floor did, but he
found a wooden paddle. He preferred it to the crop. He wanted
something that would jolt his arm when he used it.

Walking back toward the bed, he stared at her
derriere. He could see the shape of the two half-spheres through
her thin shift. Though he had exerted little of himself, he began
to breathe heavily. He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them to
his elbows. With his free hand, he pulled up her shift and bared
her arse.

He lost his breath.

The buttocks were so beautifully
formed, the flesh smooth and unblemished. Alexandros of Antioch
could not have sculpted such perfection. Charles remembered well
how the orbs had felt beneath his hand, which itched for a reprise.
But a hand would not be punishment enough for this one.

He examined the paddle. He would
have gone for a thicker one had it been available. Perhaps one with
holes to allow for a faster, harder blow. She had craned her neck
around to see what he held. The corners of her mouth curled a
little, and he wondered that the paddle would be sufficient. He
clasped both hands on the handle and smacked it against her
arse.

The crack of wood to flesh, followed by her cry,
rang in his ears.

The proper dominant in him could not resist
reminding her of her safety word, though, like her, he wondered
that he would desist. This was not about discipline but about
justice and retribution.

“
I presume you do not require a
safety word,” he said while he allowed the sting of the blow to
filter through her flesh.

“
Is that the best you can do?” she
returned.

Her impudence astounded him, but he gave her a
second whack that made her legs buckle. Her arse took on a pinkish
tinge. The sight of it made the blood pump faster through his
veins. This woman had toyed with him, taken advantage of his
circumstances, ignored his protests, and, finally, forced herself
upon him against his will. He brought the paddle down on her
backside several times. When he was done, she would not sit for
days.

Her cries had turned into wails.
She clutched at the rope stretching her arms. Her arse glowed
red.
God help him.
His cock was as hard as flint. He no longer wanted to paddle
her. He wanted to sink his cock into her. What man, when presented
with such lush, round cheeks, would not want to feel them slapping
against him?

Warm from his exertions and his arousal, he wiped
the perspiration from his brow. His heart pounded and his cock
strained against his trousers, but he would not indulge its
cravings. Why was it when he punished her, he felt as if he were
the one being punished?

She had succeeded in proving her
point. Even this, what ought to have been her penance, might be
considered a triumph for her. She had wanted the worst of what he
might do to her. Well, she would have it. Without mercy. He spanked
her with the paddle as hard as he could. Her breath caught in her
throat, and she seemed not to know whether to inhale or exhale. Her
legs had begun to quiver. Her derriere had to smart something
fierce by now. He struck her again. She buried her face into the
bedclothes and mumbled a curse.

“
A perfect submissive would thank
her master,” he said.

“
Forgive me. Thank you,
Master.”

“
You could never be the perfect
submissive, Miss Terrell. You are far too willful and
wayward.”

“
Then teach me.”

An emotion he could not immediately place surged in
him. “I have a student at present, and she is far less unruly.”

“
I can be taught, Master Gallant.
Was my behavior not improved last night?”

“
And you have undone all goodwill
with your deplorable actions tonight.”

He could not see her face, but he knew her to be
thinking. He allowed her the time to consider his statement and for
repentance to blossom.

“
Deplorable?” she said at last.
“By all means, accuse the lowly blackamoor. The wicked Negress
caused your lasciviousness.”

He blinked, hardly able to believe
her words. Where was the contrition? She dared accuse him of
inequity, of eschewing blame for something
she
had done? The chit was
outrageous.

“
You forced yourself upon me,” he
said evenly.

“
You ceased to
protest.”

“
I should never have been placed
in such a position to begin with.”

“
I merely brought to surface
desires you buried beneath prejudice and conceit.”

Her response stunned him. His
dream flashed through his mind. Even if, on a level too deep for
his consciousness to recognize, he had desired to be taken by her,
it was not her prerogative to see it done. And how was she accusing
him of
prejudice
and
conceit
? What prompted these complaints? Had she heard more of his
conversation with Wendlesson than he had previously
thought?

“
You presume too much, Miss
Terrell.”

“
Do I? Then tell me, how is it
your cock cannot stop hardening for me?”

His lips pressed into a firm line,
and he felt his anger rise, for what she said was true. It was the
lot of his sex to be easily aroused, and it vexed him that he
seemed particularly vulnerable to her charms.

“
Is it not now hard?” she
inquired. “Do you not wish to fuck me?”

His cock throbbed. Eying the lips just below her
arse, he thought he saw the glisten of moisture. It made his head
swim. Was it possible the paddling had aroused her? She might have
been wet from before. He recalled how well her cunnie had fit about
his member, how its walls had caressed his length.

She wriggled upon the bed. “I am at your mercy,
Master Gallant. Will you not take me? My cunnie or my arse? Or
both.”

Bloody…hell.
The thought of plunging himself into her rectum was too
much.

“
A man’s cock is conditioned by
primitive nature to respond, but the mind knows better,” he
replied.

“
You’ll not admit your lust,” she
said.

“
I admit my sex to be weak in
carnal matters, but that does not mean we need be governed by our
weakness.”

But she was not listening. “You cannot fool me,
Master Gallant.”

“
We have wishes—”

“
The cock does not
lie.”

“—
and desires apart
from—”

“
I know—”

“—
the venereal—”

“—
you desire
to
fuck me.
”

“
Silence!”

He needed her to stop talking. He could feel her
words in his blood, echoing in his ears, swirling in his groin.

“
Fuck me.”

She would drive him insane. This
was precisely why she could not make a perfect submissive—or a
half-decent one. She was incorrigible. Though the challenge—could
he teach, discipline and inspire her to perfect
submission?—intrigued him.

He shook his head. He should not be entertaining
such thoughts. Tossing aside the paddle, he slid onto the bed
beside her and fisted his hand in her hair. Yanking her head back,
he noticed her eyes glimmered with un-spilled tears, most likely
from the paddling.

“
I have not yet finished with your
punishment.”

“
Then proceed! Only promise to
fuck me when you are done.”

He untied the rope from her left hand and spun her
around beneath him. He grasped her by the neck with one hand. Why
would she not be silent? Never had he given so much of himself to
his emotions, raw and seething. Through his rage, desire continued
to roar. He felt more beast than man.

“
I asked for silence!” he
growled.

Her eyes should have blazed with fright, not
defiance. “Promise to fuck me first.”

Damnation.
What would it take to make her behave? Walloping her backside
was plainly not enough. He reached for her nipple and twisted it
through her shirt. She screamed. He had straddled her hips, and
they bucked against him. The motion fueled his ardor. When at last
he released her, she was mewling. Her eyelashes fluttered. But
still she persisted.

“
Promise,” she murmured, gazing at
him through lowered eyelids.

Damn you
.
He grasped the shirt with the intention of ripping it down the
middle, freeing her nipples for further torment. Her eyes flew
open.

“
Wait!” she cried out. “Let me
keep the shirt upon me.”

He could hardly comprehend her entreaty. She had
made no protest when he had bared her arse and spanked it with a
paddle. She had asked him to fuck her. Why would she now concern
herself with a shirt?

“
You want I should honor your
request when you have denied all of mine?” he returned.

“
You wanted
me
not
to
stop.”