The
Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne
Erotic Romance, Regency Historical, Light
BDSM, Rubenesque Heroine.
.
Catriona, Lady Blayne is recovering from a
most delicate situation. Driven to the brink of madness by love for her late
husband, a young man too ill to meet the demands of the marriage bed, she
teeters on the brink of scandal. Now she must face the carnal temptation
personified by her husband’s cousin and heir, James, the new Lord Blayne.
His sensual appeal, contrasted with his
iron will and stern self-mastery fascinates her. She can’t help but ask: what
if sensual indulgence is the only way out of her darkness? However, she is not
free to explore the idea. There are those who seek to control the young widow,
keeping her imprisoned through emotional manipulation and physical coercion.
With her growing restlessness, the very people she loves and trusts the most
are becoming an increasing danger to her sanity and safety.
James is determined to protect Catriona—but
he will not soften to her again. She rejected him once and James can’t risk
losing his heart a second time. As heir to the Blayne baronetcy, he must marry
a woman socially and politically appropriate. Such a scandalously
self-indulgent lady as Catriona won’t do. Yet the pretty girl he once knew has
grown into a beautiful, curvaceous woman that is every man’s dream.
Especially his.
Reader Advisory: Contains graphic sexual
description, consensual light BDSM elements, frank sexual language and period
appropriate sexual slang, some brief discussion between the hero and heroine
about abuse which took place in the backstory. For adults 18+ only.
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Excerpt:
She
had escaped her captors. Those who watched her.
Now Sunny stood by James’ bed, listening to the distant chime of the clock in the vestibule.
Now Sunny stood by James’ bed, listening to the distant chime of the clock in the vestibule.
One
single chime.
Soft
snores issued from between his parted, sensual lips. Despite the late hour, he
still wore a shirt and trousers. His collar lay open.
She
picked up the hem of her nightdress and pulled it up, over her head, then
tossed it aside. Cool air made gooseflesh erupt all over her. Tightened her
nipples. She shivered then noticed a bottle on the night table. She picked it
up and sniffed it. Whisky.
She hated whisky. But her mouth and throat were so hellishly dry. She put the bottle to her lips and took a tenative swig, coughing and sputtering then shuddering as the burn of liquor spread through her. The fire was thrilling. Stimulating. Forbidden to her. She took another drink. And another. When the bottle was drained, she replaced it on the night table. The bottle teetered and she caught it. The chamber seemed to tilt and turn.
She
closed her eyes and licked her lips, waiting for the giddiness to ease. But it
wasn’t passing too quickly, so she sat on his bed. Though the bed rocked, he
made no sign that he’d noticed.
She
considered the way he lay in the bed, as though he had flung himself there. She
frowned. What cause had he to drink himself to sleep? Was he troubled by
something?
What
could possibly affect a Rock of Gibraltar that much?
He
groaned softly in his sleep.
She
smoothed the hair off his forehead, lingering a moment over the surprisingly
silky texture of the inky black strands.
She
slid her hand down the crisp linen shirt, down to the bare, hard flatness of
his abdomen.
Once
again, James moaned in his sleep. Sunny lay beside him and leaned close to his
face. He snored softly between slightly parted lips and the scent of whisky and
musky male sweat overwhelmed her.
She
placed her mouth on his. His lips were soft yet firm. She pressed her lips to
his more passionately. The lack of response sent a wave of frustration through
her. She slid her hand down the cool linen of his shirt, down to where the
shirt ended. The warmth of his flesh, the hardness of his muscled stomach, the
line of coarse hair, it all set her pulses pounding.
She
slid her hand further down, down, down, edging beneath the waistband of his
trousers, searching until her fingers met the coarser, prickling hair and then
the smooth warmth of his cock.
She
caught her breath.
His
erection swelled against her hand, making things very confined beneath his
fall.
He
groaned.
She
did her best to stroke him in the limited space.
He
groaned louder, harsher, rolling towards her. He grasped her hair, and the
brush of his fingers sent tingling chills down the back of her neck. His hold
tightened and he held her head in his grip.
Dull
pain spread over her scalp and gooseflesh erupted along her nape, down her
back. The sensation made her nipples harden and ache. She arched her back,
pressing against his chest. The crisp linen of his shirt abraded her tight
peaks. He pressed his lips to hers more firmly, definitely changing the balance
of power between them.
She
was no longer kissing him; he was kissing her.
Intense,
delicious pressure.
He
slid his hands down her back.
His
touch sent waves of shivering pleasure through her. She writhed and the crisp
linen of his shirt stimulated her nipples, sending sparks of fire shooting down
deep into her belly. He slid his hands down to cup her buttocks, holding her
writhing body still. Pressing her to his erection.
He
was huge and so hard.
“Wench,”
he muttered.
Did
he think she was a tavern wench? Is that what pleased him?
He
thrust his hips, grinding his throbbing heat against her aching nub. She was
growing wetter and wetter, dampening the skin between her thighs.
He
kissed her more intensely, the taste of whisky and carnal fire on his tongue as
he stroked it against hers, sweeps of wet, sensual velvet. The stubble on his
cheek scraped hers. She thrust her tongue back against his. He gripped her hair
harder and deepened the kiss, in his ardor sucking away her breath.
She
put her hands to his chest and pushed.
He
lifted his mouth.
“James…,”
she said breathlessly. Inside she was tingling, her blood thrumming. She gulped
for air, still tasting the exquisite, fiery elixir of his kiss and wanting
more. His whole body went stiff.
“Sunny?”
His voice rang with disbelief.
He
pulled away.
“No,
no…” She grasped his shoulders and tugged with all her might to bring him back.
He
propelled her from his body and spun her to face away from him so fast that her
stomach lurched and the chamber seemed to spin. She gasped, trying to catch her
breath, to regain her bearings. His cock pressed against the softness of her
buttocks, rock hard and pulsing heat. She arched backwards, pressing herself
against that glorious erection.
He
shoved her further away from him…
His
hands were like bands of iron, holding her wrists.
She
tried to turn in his arms but he held her fast.
“Hold…still.”
His words came between heavy pants.
She
struggled all the harder but, truth told, she relished in his restraint.
It
made her feel safe.
Odd,
the restraints Dr. Meeker used when administering treatments never made her
feel safe. They were a torment to her.
Confusion
made her feel dizzy once more, and dry-mouthed fear tingled to life within her.
The urge to flee sent her into an erratic beat and she wrenched her arms,
trying now with desperation to free herself. She kicked backwards and shrieked
a curse at him.
He
seemed to freeze for a moment. Had she shocked him?
She
kicked and pulled harder. One of her wrists came free, her arm flying free. She
turned, halfway, and on instinct, let her hand continue flying. It made sharp
stinging contact with his chest where his shirt gaped open.
His
grip tightened on her remaining arm. Fear-fueled rage energized her. She
reached for his face, clawing him.
His
curse burnt her ears.
Something
made contact with her buttock. The sound echoed sharply in the room. Shock hit
her, made her freeze. In the next moment, a fiery sting spread over her bottom.
Rage
overtook her fear, so strong, she screamed with it and kicked her legs and beat
at his chest with her fists.
She
cursed him roundly, demanding that he let her leave. Now.
He
laid several more spanks on her posterior. Several very sharp spanks. Stinging
pain spread over her buttocks.
She
whimpered, stunned into stillness for the moment.
Still
holding one wrist, he rolled her onto her back and flung a leg over hers,
locking her into place.
She
tried to resist him again but she was growing tired, her struggling becoming
more like flailing.
And
the maddening thing was, he simply watched her.
Watched
her fight, watched her grow weaker.
Eventually,
she went limp in his arms. Exhausted.
“What
the devil, Sunny?”
“Let
me go!”
“You
want to go?” he asked, as though she hadn’t just spoken clear English.
“Yes,
you-you-you…coxcomb!”
He
regarded her seriously. “I don’t think I should let you go. At least not quite
yet.”
She
swallowed hard, trying to think of what to do or say.
“What
are you about here, Sunny?”
He
spoke in that same calm, serious tone he always did. Yet, now there was a hard
edge beneath the calm.
Her
mouth went even drier and she swallowed once more, delaying her response. Her
racing heart was slowing.
Well,
what the devil had just happened? Dizziness overcame her as she frowned,
confused.
She’d
come here to do what?
Seduce
him.
Right.
She
hadn’t expected his resistance. She certainly hadn’t expected his aggressive
response. She had become frightened.
No,
she had become frightened of her feelings toward him.
Just
as when she’d been a girl. She ought not to have run away from him that night
in the garden, so long ago. She ought to have allowed James to seduce her. They
would have had to get married then, wouldn’t they? It wouldn’t have been her
fault?
No,
Freddy needed me.
And
you let him down.
She
frowned. That was the past and the past was set in stone. All her sins and
failures were set in stone.
But
the lesson is don’t be a ninny! Don’t run, seduce him!
How
did women tempt gentlemen? Surely gentlemen had more refined tastes than
commoners did.
Certainly
kissing him and thrusting her hand down his trews and stroking his manly parts
hadn’t worked. Yes, it had given him an erection—and what an erection! But it
hadn’t placed her any closer to attaining her goal, either.
What
else should she do? How did one seduce a Rock of Gibraltar?
“You’re
drunk,” he said.
“No,
no, I am not.”
“Just
how much did you have to drink?”
Again,
she heard the incredulousness in his voice.
She
reached up with her free hand, intending to stroke the side of his face. To
make an appeal.
He
seized her wrist. “There’ll be no more of that.”
Hurt
blossomed in her chest. Did he not trust her? “No, do no’ deny me. Take me.
Make me yours.”
He
was giving her the oddest look. “I think you said you’d like me to take
you?” His frown deepened. “Bed you?”
She
nodded avidly. “Yes, yes…oh, please, yes.”
He
stared at her. Oh, his expression! As though she’d suddenly sprouted horns. Did
she repulse him that much?
She
wriggled against the coverlet, the contact making her aware of the lingering
sting on her buttocks.
He
had actually spanked her!
Why
had he been so intent on detaining her if he hadn’t wanted what she had offered
him?
He
laughed softly
.
“You
think it is amusing?” she asked. Shame burnt into her.
He
brushed the hair off the side of her neck then and traced a fingertip along the
cord down to her collarbone. “I didn’t think I needed to lock my door against
you, Sunny.”
How
cruel and mocking he was! She had never known this cruel side to him.
He
leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck. The soft-firm touch of his
mouth sent shivers through her. Making her nipples tighten.
Making
her more confused than ever.
“You
don’t really want this,” he said.
His
assured tone puzzled her. Hadn’t she come here naked to his bed? What man would
ask himself aught beyond that? “I do, I do,” she said.
“Much
as I’d love to oblige you, my lady, you’re too foxed to know what you are
doing.” He kissed her nape again, this time opening his mouth. Heated breath
blew on her flesh, and then the slight bite of teeth.
Wild
shivers of pleasure chased down to her belly, tightening her nipples all the
more and sending gooseflesh all over her body.
Despite
the kindness in his voice, he had been teasing her. Mocking her. How foolish of
her to have come here.
To
have thought he might still want her.
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