Claiming His Wife (27 page)

Possessive need swamped him as he
began to thrust into her ass, squeezing her breasts tightly.
 The wet slap of his balls against her pussy made both of them
moan.  She was saying something softly, so softly he couldn't
hear it, and he leaned closer, causing his body to press more
tightly against her roasted bottom and the heat seemed to coat his
stomach.

"Oh please... oh please... oh
please..."

Masculine triumph surged.  She
was caught, somewhere between begging him to stop and crying out
for more, totally ensnared by the sensations coursing through her.
 He'd pushed her beyond her thinking reactions and into a
state where things like embarrassment and shame meant nothing.
 All that mattered was the pleasure and the pain, and her body
was confusing them. 

Wesley practically roared his triumph
as he began fucking her hard, using her breasts for leverage, and
wallowing in her shrieks of pained pleasure as he fucked her ass.
 Pinching her nipples, he could feel her tight hole contract
around him, increasing the friction burn for both of them as he
plundered her depths.  

When she screamed again, he knew that
she was climaxing, her pussy spasming and creaming itself even
though it was empty.  The grip on his cock tightened nearly to
the point of pain as she bucked and clenched.  Pinching her
nipples hard, he thrust in completely, grinding himself against her
rump and awakening the stinging welts that the birch had left
behind.

Cynthia was lost in a maelstrom of
pain and pleasure, she couldn't tell where one ended and the other
began... darkness, scattered with blazing sparks, covered her
vision.  Heat spurted, filling her, her ass clenching around
steel and protesting the thick, hard length that pierced it, even
as it spurred her ecstasy to greater heights.  It was heaven
and hell, warring in her body, and she'd never felt anything so
intense. 

******

Gently covering his bride up, Wesley
stroked her damp hair back from her temples.  He couldn't have
asked for a better stag night, despite the panic he'd felt earlier
when he'd gone looking for Cynthia.  Frustrating baggage.
 There'd been a moment of lesser panic as well, when he'd
unsheathed from her ass and she hadn't moved.  For a moment he
thought he'd been too rough, but when he pulled her up to look at
him, the dreamy smile on her lips had quieted all his
qualms.

His bride had barely been lucid, she'd
been limp in his arms, and unable to walk, but she'd been
smiling.

It had been monumentally
satisfying to carry her to her room, a soft, submissive bundle of
chastised beauty.  Of course, it would be even more satisfying
after tonight, when he'd be able to carry her to
his
 room.  He
was sure there would be many occasions for that.  With the
exception of the night she'd tried to sneak into his bed, he'd
decided that the bedroom would be for pleasure, the study for
punishment. 

Not that he would ignore his darker
and more perverted tendencies in the privacy of their bedroom, but
he wouldn't punish her for naughtiness there either.
 

Leaning down, he kissed her soft lips
and she murmured in her sleep, that dreamy smile making him feel
almost tender, despite how frustratingly out of bounds she'd been
earlier.  

"Sleep well, darling.  Tomorrow
you're mine."

Chapter 11

The wedding ceremony was
beautiful.  The groom was handsome.  The bride was
stunning.  The vows surprisingly sincere, causing many a woman
in the audience to frown and many a man to sigh with regret, as
another hardened rake had evidently fallen victim to love - and to
such a buxom beauty!  The men were especially displeased that
they hadn't even had a chance to approach such a sweet armful
before the Earl of Spencer had snatched her up.  Those that
had been lucky enough to meet her before, cursed the Earl for both
his good fortune and the possessiveness that they'd already had the
dubious privilege of experiencing when they’d flirted with her
after he’d met her.  Several of the young ladies, mostly in
their second or third seasons, sighed in envy at the romanticism of
it all, hoping that they would be as fortunate to find such
handsome, doting husbands.

Throughout all of it, Eleanor was
miserable.

Well, perhaps miserable wasn't the
right word.  Murderous might be more apt.

Seated between the
Countess and her own parents in the front pew, she glared at her
husband throughout the entire ceremony.  He was splendid
looking, so tall and dark, and with a rakish smirk decorating his
lips.  She could hear the sighs of the women behind her as
they admired the looks of the men who were standing up for Wesley.
 If only those women knew that one of the men was the very
devil incarnate.

After taking her home last night,
Edwin had punished her with pleasure.  More specifically,
withheld pleasure.  He'd kissed and caressed and stroked her
until she was wild with need, and then he'd pumped his seed all
over her breasts and belly, without allowing her to climax.
 Holding her tightly in his arms, he'd kept her from touching
herself and relieving the ache that had taken hold.

The worst part was, she could tell
that he wasn't even truly upset with her.  In fact, he'd
seemed rather proud that she hadn't gone wandering off with Cynthia
and Grace.  Defying him had been fun, but the punishment she'd
received had not been the one she'd expected.  

Of course she'd known she
wouldn't get away with withholding information from him, but she'd
thought that she'd at least receive ecstasy at the end of it, as
she so often did.  Although, even if she'd known what his
devious mind would come up with, she still wouldn't have told him
where Grace and Cynthia had gone.  Part of her was relieved
that Irene had caved, so that she hadn't had to.  Knowing that
Grace and Cynthia hadn't been up to anything harmful had given her
the chance to pit her will against Edwin's again.

She would hate for him to think that
she was becoming too meek.  It wasn't in her nature, so any
time she could find some small way to test his will (and his
patience), she happily took it up.  Last night had proven to
be such a moment.  Eleanor had exulted in her rebellion, in
proving to herself and him that being in love, being disciplined by
her husband, hadn't changed who she was at her
core. 

But then the bastard had gone and
turned it all around on her.

Even now, glaring at him, she couldn't
help but want him.  The entire ceremony she could barely
concentrate on the words, or on the way Cynthia kept shifting
uncomfortably, or Grace as she peeked at Alex from across the dais.
 Eleanor was too busy thinking about all the naughty,
decadent, perverse things she wanted to do with her
husband.

A spanking would have been better than
this.

Actually, if she was being honest,
she'd been looking forward to a bit of discipline.  It wasn't
until she hadn't gotten it that she realized how much her body
craved her husband's firm hand and the hot sting of a spanking.
 There was truly something wrong with her.  

******

Cynthia might have
imagined it, but she would swear that Wesley’s eyes gleamed even
brighter as she promised to love, honor and obey him. Vowing to
obey him felt right, even as she knew that she would break the vow
many times throughout their life. She wanted to obey, she really
did, but it was just so very difficult. But she would obey as best
she could, and she’d probably do better at it when she had a sore
bottom than when she didn’t. Still, she did love him. She had no
idea what “honoring” him meant, but she’d just vowed to do that
too.

The fierce way he spoke his own vows
made her heart dance inside of her chest. He was looking at her
with a possessiveness that she’d seen Edwin looking at Eleanor
with, and Hugh looking at Irene, and even Alex looking at Grace. It
was a heady experience, being at the center of all that attention –
not just the congregation’s, but his as well.

Putting the ring on
Cynthia’s finger was the highlight of the ceremony for Wesley.
Finally,
finally
,
she was marked as his. The gleaming gold band wasn’t a shield
against other men, he knew that, but it still made him feel
incredibly, smugly triumphant to see it on her hand. A physical
indication that she was his and no one else’s, for the rest of
their life.

If another man even thought of
touching her, Wesley now had all the reason he needed to blow the
bugger’s head off.

******

"I now pronounce you, man and wife.
 You may kiss the bride."

The pastor was grinning as
he said the words, but his expression quickly turned to shock as
Wesley behaved in his usual irreverent manner.  Edwin, Hugh
and Alex all chortled with amusement as Wesley reached out and
grabbed his bride by her hips, drawing her into him and bending her
back for a completely improper and passionate kiss.  Even more
improperly, Cynthia flung her arms around his neck and was
obviously kissing him back with enthusiasm.  The sounds behind
Eleanor, from the
ton
 at large, ranged from gasps of shock or disapproval to
cheers from a few of the men - quickly quieted as they were whacked
with fans from the ladies seated nearest them.  

Eleanor covered her mouth, pretending
to cough to cover her own laughter.  Beside her, the Countess
shook her head, but Eleanor could see the sparkle in her eyes and
the amused twitch of her lips as she watched her son finish the
kiss and bring Cynthia upright again.

The shameless little hussy
was pink-cheeked with excitement, not with embarrassment, as Wesley
wrapped her hand around his arm and they began to walk back down
the aisle.  Eleanor couldn't help but grin at her.  She
was going to set the
ton
 on its ears and Eleanor was
looking forward to it.  Already Cynthia had created a bit of a
scandal by having Grace as one of her bridesmaids.  If only
Eleanor's morning nausea was less severe, she would have been
standing up there as well. 

As the wedding party followed the
bride and groom down the aisle, the entire audience was treated to
watching Lord Brooke extending his arm in an exaggerated offer to
his wife.  But that wasn't the biggest surprise - the whole
room seemed to take an indrawn breath when she actually accepted
it!  Rumors had been going around since their arrival together
in Bath, especially after the dance the other night, but this
seemed even more indicative of their general state of
affairs.

Eleanor rolled her eyes.  Such
small scenes would be dissected to tiny bits by the gossips, and
then it was likely their entire demeanor towards Grace would
change.  Everyone would assume that the couple was reconciling
to create an heir, and now that Grace was doing her duty, the
scandal would die down again as long as she didn't take another
lover until after said heir was produced.  She saw more than
one woman looking at the couple with blatant consternation on their
faces.

Probably the ones that had
hoped Lord Brooke would divorce his wife and remarry. Or women who
had hoped to become his lover. Many of them were the same women who
flirted with Edwin, only to be brutally rebuffed. It took
considerable effort for Eleanor not to smirk at any of them as she
passed, arm in arm with the Countess.  

******

The receiving line at the
wedding brunch was boring Cynthia to tears, right up until she saw
two of her favorite people in the world.  She fairly launched
herself at them, tears of joy sparkling in her eyes.

"Matthew!  Vincent!  What
are you doing here?!"

Behind her, Wesley had to
still his sudden and violent desire to punch his own brothers in
the face.  Fortunately for both of them, they responded to his
new bride's enthusiastic greeting with laughter and brotherly hugs,
giving no indication that they regarded Cynthia as anything other
than a little sister.  Which made Wesley wonder about the
state of their eyesight.  Matthew might be a bit young to
appreciate Cynthia's charms, which were evident even in the
innocent and modest white dress she was wearing, but Vincent was
old enough to know what a treasure she was.  

Vincent laughed and kissed
her forehead.  "My gawd, Cyn, I almost didn't recognize you...
you look like a real lady now."  A statement which she
immediately contradicted by sticking her tongue out at him, which
made him laugh again.  He had the same hazel eyes and brown
hair as all the Spencer men, but his hair was fashionably styled as
was his clothing.  Matthew, of course, was wearing his
uniform, and was eyeing some of the other young ladies who were
fluttering and fanning themselves over the dashing young officer.
 "What happened to all the mud?"

To Wesley's surprise, Cynthia blushed,
but then turned up her nose at him in an admirable imitation of the
Countess.  "A gentleman doesn't remind a lady of her past
indiscretions."

"Too right, my dear," the
Countess - now the Dowager-Countess since Cynthia had just become
the Countess - said, coming up behind Cynthia and giving her sons a
pleased smiled.  "I'm so glad you two made it in time,
although you should have come and sat with me."