His Desirable Debutante

“Relax, darling” Pierce said. “Even in this light, I can see your imagination running wild. Despite the many titles and sins attributed to me, rapist is not one of them.”

She fell back against the bed relieved but confused.

“But have no doubt, before the week is out, you’ll beg me to consummate the marriage.”

A gasp rose is her chest. “Never, you swine. You forced me into this marriage, but I will never allow you in my bed.” She held back miserable tears as she wished in vain for a father who’d cared enough to protect her from villains and not one who’d jumped at the chance to marry her off to a lofty title, despite his reputation. If only her mother were alive, this never would have happened.

Pierce lowered himself till he sat next to her, his hip to her abdomen. His finger traced a line up and down her bare upper arm, and she shivered at his nearness. “Sweet Helene. First, you know you had other options. For all you professed your innocence and desire to marry one of those boring Ton fools, you wanted me. Don’t bother to deny it, your body betrays you.” With a flick, he swiped at her pebbled nipples eliciting a noise from her that fell somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“Second, you are in my bed, which is where you will stay until I decide otherwise. And you have nothing to fear. Nothing will be done to you that you won’t be begging for, I promise you.”

With that, her arse of a husband placed a gentle kiss on her lips, rose and exited the room, but not before he had loosened her ropes and opened the curtains to allow the setting sun to pour in.

“Good riddance,” she muttered at his departing back, then took stock of her surroundings, ignoring her still-tingling lips from Brandford’s kiss. She shifted till her back was raised against the pillows. Masculine hues dotted both the bed, curtains and rug. Very few personal items lay on the two pieces of glossy, wooden furniture. Nothing to give her more clues into her husband’s mental state.

A glance down had her gasping from shock. This nightrail had most definitely not been included among her personal trunks. Her breasts spilled out from the wispy lace on top and the thin satin below was sheer enough to highlight the curls shielding her virginity. Yet every rustle and movement of her body caused the lace to abrade and tease her breasts. Tied up as she was, her body was completely on display for anyone who wandered into the room.

A rumble emanating from her belly reminded her that it had been hours if not days since she’d eaten a real meal. Knowledge of her upcoming marriage had diminished her appetite, but now she found herself ravenous. As if on cue, the door opened and Pierce strode back in, followed by a young, handsome footman, who balanced a tray heaped with food in his muscular arms.

“Set it down on the bed next to her,” Pierce directed. “I will feed my bride myself.”

The red-cheeked, flushing footman obeyed but did not take his gaze off Helene.

Helene stared at the young man wondering what Pierce’s game was, but her husband’s expression revealed none of his motives. What kind of monster would allow his near-naked wife to be seen by servants? Sadly, she wanted to feel humiliated, but in truth, she was flattered and titillated by the visual attentions paid her by her husband and the young footman. She shifted subtly and brushed her hardened nipples against the lace of her gown.

The footman’s cheeks flamed hotter and an obvious bulge began to distend from his trousers. Helene caught sight and forced herself to close her eyes, feeling every inch like a whore, because, instead of being ashamed, she was aroused and wanted to touch that footman. A litany of names ran through her mind and she called herself every one, beginning with Eve and ending with trollop.

“Go.” Pierce said to the footman, and then sat down on the bed beside her. “Don’t feign virginal modesty, my little beauty. I saw you looking at Roberts like you wanted to spread your legs for him and let him stick his cock into your tight creamy passage.”

She gasped at his crude language, but to her everlasting shame, felt dampness in said passage. Still, she held on to a semblance of modesty. “Please,” she begged, “don’t. I am a virgin.”

He let out a mocking laugh and raised an eyebrow. “A virgin?”

She nodded furiously. “It’s true. All the rumors about me were false. I am innocent.” She couldn’t quite meet his eye on the word innocent.

His shock and doubt were understandable. After all, a true innocent would never have done what she had; touching herself in that bathtub, giving in to her unnatural urges. But he didn’t know what she’d done and had simply made assumptions based unfairly on whispers and innuendo circling the Ton.

All those long-suppressed urges flooded back into her limp body with Pierce’s large body so close to hers. For the first time, she felt grateful her hands were bound, for if they were not, they might have moved of their own volition to the junction of her legs and rubbed till she gained release from this building pressure. But she couldn’t. That way led to ruin and was unnatural, or so she’d been told by the vicious laughter of the other debutante who’d caught her in the bath at the house party three years ago.

Pierce continued to watch her with curiosity etched on his face. “There’s one way to discover if you’re speaking the truth, but I don’t think you’re ready yet, much as I want you. If you are a virgin, this changes my plans somewhat. Slows the pacing down.” He bit his lip in thought.

“What plans?” Helene asked, unable to maintain stoicism.

“An education. A slow initiation into sexual pleasure unlike my own abrupt freefall into decadence.” For a moment, his mind wandered to a place distant from this room, and then with a low chuckle he refocused on her. “For now, though, some food. Since your hands are tied, I will have the honor of feeding my bride.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he spooned a small helping of poached salmon glazed with the most delicate yet delicious of sauces. She chewed, keenly aware of his heated stare on her lips. A slight drizzle of sauce glistened on the corner of her mouth, and he leaned closer till their faces were mere inches from each other. His masculine scent mingled with the delicate fish sauce adding a spiciness she’d not tasted before.

He leaned in as if to lick the errant drop of sauce away, but at the last moment swept it up with a broad index finger then touched the finger to her parted lips. A deep smile of satisfaction covered his mouth when her tongue darted out to lick the drop on his finger.

She couldn’t believe she was so daring, but inside his candlelit bedroom it was like all the rules had disappeared. Society as a whole was gone, and the world was just Pierce and Helena. They continued in that vein for some minutes with Pierce carefully feeding her, but allowing measured drops of food to fall on her mouth, her chin, and finally, her bosom.

He spared a rapid glance down at her pale, smooth skin marred only by a glistening drop of sauce. Much as he wanted to bend his head and apply his tongue to the task of removing it, he forced his gaze back up to return Helene’s wide-eyed stare. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts had revealed how affected she was by his treatment. Poor little virgin. When she’d laid claim to innocence, he’d had one tiny doubting moment, but he firmly believed her now. Only a true innocent would be so affected by the simple act of feeding her.

Not that he could claim to be unaffected himself. He was hard as stone and had been since entering the room and viewing his wife laid out like a feast for his dining pleasure. Her dusky nipples peeked out of the lacy gown he’d dressed her in and if he added some more candles, he knew he’d be able to see the dark shadow of hair at her sweet cunt.

Though that path was barred to him. Not until she begged and he knew she wanted it as much as he did. His wife should be a willing participant, the opposite of his first bedroom experience. But he was a long way from that scared little boy in the whore’s boudoir, and with a return to concentration, Pierce swiped the last drop off the rise of her breast taking care to brush the hardened, sensitive nub.

With a hidden smile he lifted the tray off the bed and bid her adieu. “Good night, sweet Helene. I’ll send someone along for the tray shortly.” And without a backward look for his wife, he left, wondering how long he’d manage to stay away.

How dare he? Helene kicked aside the blankets in a fit of fury, pretending it was her husband’s solid body instead. How could he leave her like this? Bound and aching. She couldn’t possibly be expected to sleep like this.

“Bastard!” Her yell at the closed door did little to vent her frustration.

“Well,” an older, sensible-looking woman huffed as she swung through the doorway. “Oh. Oh, my.” She bustled over to the bed clucking her commiseration. “So it’s true then? He’s gone and married. And it’s no wonder you’re shouting up a storm, tied up the way you are. It’s been more than twenty years since I swatted his bottom, but if that’s what it takes to make him treat his wife with the respect she deserves, I’ll do it.”