The flame trembles as air from the other room teases it. Do I dare go in? No one else seems to be here, but that doesn’t matter. This isn’t my home. Closing my eyes, I go through what I know about the house. Based on where the dancing hall was, I should be under the west wing.
Blackport’s study is in the west wing. I’d hazard an educated guess that his bedchambers are as well. Just thinking about his bedchambers sends that frisson of maddening heat up my spine. Why can’t I just stop thinking about him?
Tossing my head back, I shove all thoughts of sapphire eyes and stern lips out of my head as I feel about for the knob. The creak as I open the door is ominous, turning my lustful thoughts back into apprehension. Odd shapes and forms greet the illumination of my flames, but I cannot make sense of any of it.
For a moment, I pause at the threshold, a faint but familiar scent teasing my nose. Pine with that delicious undercurrent of honeysuckle. I should have known this space belonged to him. Granted, as the duke, every space in this estate technically belongs to him.
Stepping further into the room, I bring the lamp closer to what looks like a bed and gasp at the size of it. It’s at least double what’s currently in my room. But then, what need does a governess have for a bed this size? Is this where Blackport sleeps?
I run my fingers along the polished wood, noting the dust collecting with each swipe. Certainly not one to sleep in regularly. Either that, or the maids have become far too lax in their duties. Not that I plan on saying a word and giving my excursions away.
As much as I wanted to drive the need from my body, just his scent brings it back in force. And here, there happens to be a bed where no one will see me or find me. What harm is there in indulging in secret?
Testing the mattress with my hand, I set the lamp down on a nearby stand and sit down. It’s sumptuous but firm. Thankfully, it doesn’t smell damp or rotten, so it’s at least in good repair.
With a sigh, I recline on it, my head filling with that heady scent. Before I can stop myself, I reach down and lift my skirts, revealing my forbidden part to the air. The chill kisses my fevered skin, bringing a shuddery moan to my lips.
Parting my thighs, I allow them to fall on either side, exposing me even more. I drop my fingers down and graze the sensitive flesh, gasping as pleasure flows through my veins. This is what my mother kept from me. This is an exquisite agony long since denied me.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
I freeze, my fingers hovering over that spot Blackport nearly touched earlier today. His voice floods my brain, turning it into mush. It can’t be him. Not here. Not now.
As if I've conjured him, Blackport rises from the shadows, taking my lamp in hand. A gasp catches in my throat as he looms there, larger than life, the lighting underneath his face making him look like the devil incarnate.
I should have known better than to go exploring. It’s not as if I set out to get into trouble. It just somehow keeps happening around him. Blast it all, I wouldn’t doubt he keeps arranging these things to catch me doing something I shouldn’t.
Biting my lower lip, I go to lower my skirts, but he grabs my wrist, preventing me from moving. “I asked you a question, and you better damn well answer.”
The anger in his tone causes me to flinch. I go to jerk my hand away, but he holds fast, tightening his grip. Licking my lips, I try to answer him, but nothing comes out. I don’t even know what to say.
“I- I ache. And I need to relieve it.” It’s the best I can articulate, but I worry it will just make him more upset.
With a dark chuckle, he sets the lamp down and wrenches my hand up, pinning it above my head. The burn in my shoulder is nothing compared to the heat flooding my system as he leans over me, nearly smothering me with his bulk.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice holding not even one ounce of actual pity.
Sliding his free hand up my thigh, he stops about midway up and squeezes the muscle, drawing my attention, momentarily at least, away from the incessant pulsing betwixt my thighs. It takes every ounce of willpower not to buck up against him in silent entreaty to assist me with this novel sensation.
“The wayward governess aches. Do you suppose it has anything to do with the spanking you received from me? Do you really think you should be allowed to relieve such torment when it was your wayward mouth which put you in this predicament in the first place?”
Again, I am at a loss on how to answer him. “Please. I-”
“Oh yes, little omega. You will beg me. By the time I’m through with you, you will beg for relief, and I will decide whether or not you’ve earned it.”
Confusion buzzes in my brain at his words. “I- I don’t understand.”
“Oh, but you will.” He lets go of my hand and takes the lamp with him, walking across the room to what appears to be a fireplace.
As I go to adjust my skirts, he calls out from over his shoulder. “You will not move. Keep your skirts where they are.”
How in the blazes did he do that? From what I can see, he didn’t so much as look at me. Does he already know my mind better than me? It’s so unfair to be at such a disadvantage.
I tremble on the bed as I wrap my arms around myself. It has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the Alpha hunched down as he coaxes the fire to life. To be alone with him thusly is so improper. If anyone saw…
My mother would be happy. That’s for sure. Everything she ever wanted is at my fingertips. All I have to do is cry out and have someone find us in such a state. He would have to marry me for sure.
The only issue with that is I do not wish to be married in such a way. Foolishly, I still cling to the idea that a wedding should occur between two people who agree to it. Not someone trapped into it. Though I do not ascribe to the idea of true love matches, I at least want the relationship to come from a place of mutual understanding instead of loathing.
And so I keep my mouth shut as he stokes the flames, turning the glowing embers into a roaring fire. Once it’s as he wants it, he goes about the room, lighting candles, illuminating the spaces one at a time. As it all comes into view, I stop cold.
This isn’t an ordinary room as I originally thought. Yes, the bed is something I can recognize as being familiar, but even that is a bit strange. Rings line the wood from the base of the pillars up to the top.
I didn’t notice it before in the dim light. Or maybe I just didn’t want to notice. My heart clenches as I look at the walls, noting all the different things hanging down. I have no words for many of them, but a few I recognize.
Crops of all shapes, sizes, and lengths hang down from a tidy row of nails. So many different crops. How many crops does a rider need? Surely just one should be sufficient.
Next to them are what look to be whips. But other than that, I haven’t a clue. He walks over to the wall and runs his fingers over the various objects, touching them as if he’s caressing them. I shouldn’t feel that niggle of jealousy, but it burns through me, pushing aside all rational thought.
If only he’d caress me in such a way. He’s touched my face a few times in this manner, and it never failed to make my heart race and my palms dampen. Not to mention other areas far lower coming to life at just one gentle touch.
Blackport grabs a few of the crops, along with one of the things I’m unable to identify. It has a thick handle with lots of strings hanging down, short and stumpy, like a broom that fits in the palm of his hand. My pulse quickens as he makes his way over, his steps lazy as he takes his time, drawing out my agony.
He lays the implements across my abdomen with a smirk. “Hold on to these. I would much rather have you be useful than just lying there.”
With a frown, I gather them into my arms and run my fingers across the odd surfaces, watching as he goes over to the other wall. This time, he examines various hanks of rope. Though I’m not sure what exactly he’s looking for, he weighs each lump in his hand before running his thumb over them.
Again, my insides clench as I study him, gazing at the strength in his arms as he analyzes them. There’s a hidden knowledge there which has me in awe. When he finds the one he wants, he uncoils it, staring me down as he tests its strength.
“Move to the center of the bed.” His voice is sharp, crisp, and brooks no argument.
I don’t dare disobey. It’s not for fear of repercussions, but because I so desperately want to know what all of this means. There’s a promise in his voice, and hopefully, if I’m obedient for him, I’ll understand soon enough.
After draping the rope over the footboard, he undoes his jacket. His movements are slow and precise. With each button that passes through its hole, my body throbs, the ache becoming sharp between my thighs.
By this point, I don’t care that I’m so exposed to him. I just want the discomfort to go away. Squirming, I grip the crops tighter, not wishing to disobey his commands and touch myself again.
He stands before me in just his shirt and cravat. When he goes to undo the scrap of fabric, my body vibrates as my core clenches. That can only mean one thing. He’s planning on taking me in hand again.
It shouldn’t cause me such immense joy to know he’s going to cause me discomfort. Perhaps I really should go to Bedlam if this is how I’m deriving my pleasure. But as these thoughts swirl in my head, Blackport scents the air, his eyes darkening as if he understands the tenor of my thoughts.
“You seem to have a lot on your mind. Care to share with me?” He seems genuinely curious, and that does more for me than the carefree smirk tilting up his lips.
“I am just confused. That is all.”
With a jerk, he tugs the cravat off and lays it on top of the footboard along with the rope. Perhaps I’ve misunderstood everything, and he’s not planning on gagging me again after all. That, or he wants to hear how insane I am first so he can have me cast aside.
“I am sure you are. Not many girls find themselves down here in my pleasure dungeon. No innocent ones, at least.”
“Pleasure dungeon? You mean to say happiness can be found here? But it looks so… so…”
“Torturous?” He supplies, a light chuckle on his lips. “An apt description. But I can assure you, even if you were to find these items in the London Tower, the purpose I use them for is vastly different.”
“And what use do you have if not to torture me?” A niggle of unease slides through my veins, gluing me to the spot.
Not once in all of this did I ever think anything ill of Blackport. Yes, he could be quite disagreeable, but my mind never turned toward torture. Does he mean to do away with me in a far more permanent manner?
He leans over and grazes my ankle with his fingers. On instinct, I jerk back, my need for self-preservation outweighing logical thought. With a heavy sigh, he grabs my limb and wrenches forward before grabbing a bit of rope.
“I can smell your fear. Trust me. The type of torture I have planned is not what your mind is concocting. Nothing I do will harm you. Of that, you can be certain.”
“And if I say no?” My lips tremble as the softly spoken query flits into the air.
“Well, my dear governess,” he grumbles, tightening the rope around my ankle before sliding the strands through a ring. “I would say we are far past that. Refuse me all you wish, but you’ve entered my sacred space without permission. You’ve thrown yourself into my bed, and now I will have my retribution.”
He tugs on the ankle, making sure it can’t move before going to the other. Sliding it over, he spreads me apart, leaving everything bare to his gaze. Fear zips down my spine, jolting my mind into gear. Striking out with my foot, I do my best to kick him off, but he’s far too strong.
As if my struggles are inconsequential, no more than a mere bug attempting to bite him, he grabs my ankle and holds firm. Desperate, I take the crops and throw them at him one by one. He ducks to the side, and they clatter to the floor.
The roar erupting from his throat is loud and ferocious. It pins me to the bed just as effectively as if his bulk holds me there. I cannot move, cannot speak, and cannot breathe. Ice and heat flow over my body, rippling over me like waves crashing over my head, threatening to drown me.
I’ve heard tales of an Alpha’s roar, but seeing as my father was a beta, I’ve never experienced it. For the first time, I feel small and inconsequential. I am nothing and no one. Heat rakes down my back like fiery nails scoring my skin.
Though I long to cry out, my voice continues to elude me. Eventually, the incessant noise stops, allowing me to suck in a large gulp of air. In my delirium, he grabs my ankle again and straps it down, rendering my legs useless… not that they were all that effective beforehand.
Grabbing the cravat, he storms over, his massive frame looming over me. Again, I bite down on my lips, not wishing to be impotent again. Instead of prying my mouth open as I expected, he grabs my wrists and ties them together, using the cravat to bind them.
With a strong jerk, he forces them high above my head, looping the fabric onto a hook. Yet one more thing I didn’t notice until this moment. Soft whimpers claw at my throat as I twist about, finding myself helpless and at his mercy.
“I’ll scream,” I manage to croak.
“You may do so at your leisure,” he growls. “Scream for me, little governess.”