Rocky Mountain Ride (Rocky Mountain Bride Series Book 7) (10 page)

Maybe that someone would be him.

After a quick detour to his room, Sebastian headed for the apothecary, hoping he knew what he was doing.

*

The door to the apothecary was slightly ajar, a sign Lord Chivington was inside. Francesca had waited as long as she could stand it, frustrated and intrigued by his promise of punishment.

When she pushed inside at first, she didn’t see him, and felt a surge of disappointment. How dare he lead her on. She was about to run home for a good cry when the door slammed shut.

She whirled, startling back a few steps.

“Sebastian.”

The flaxen haired lord towered over her, body menacing, blue eyes ice.

“Is that how you address your lord?”

“My lord…I…you startled me.”

“Take off your drawers.” He motioned.

“Wait…”

“Wait?” He raised a brow. “You kept me waiting. I remember making a point to tell you not to keep me waiting too long, or there would be double the consequences.”

Her mouth was dry; she licked her lips to wet them. “What are the consequences?”

“You’ll find out. You’re due for a long session, my lovely.” There was no joking in his tone now. “Now do as I say.”

Heart beating faster, she bent, reached under her skirts and stripped off her drawers, reassuring herself that she was still wearing many layers.

As her skirts fell back into place, the space filled with her heady musk. She almost closed her eyes when she realized what the scent was. Sebastian snapped his fingers for her attention and held out his hand for her undergarments.

To her extreme embarrassment, when he took the white bundle, he brought it to his face and sniffed. Her knees weakened; she tried to lock them, but all her pride crumbled away. She was aroused and he knew it. His smirk told her he knew the balance of power had shifted.

“Kneel,” he said.

She hesitated.

“You want this? We do it my way. Obey me, or leave, but do it now, for I am losing patience.” He pointed to the floor.

Cheeks red with humiliation, she lowered herself before him. The casual degradation made her whole body burn and juices trickle down her thigh.

“Now, pay attention. These are the rules.” He set her drawers aside and paced in front of her, as if he was master of this space, and not her. “I’m going to punish you. At any point you can stand, say ‘We’re done’ and I’ll stop. Understand? But other than that, you will obey me. The longer you hesitate, the worse it’ll be for you.”

On her knees, she couldn’t bear to look at him. In less than a minute, he’d stripped all her dignity. What would become of her if she stayed?

To her surprise, he crouched down in front of her. “Francesca, I’ve been watching you these past few days, and I know you’re under a lot of strain. You need this.” His blue gaze was calm, reassuring, as if he’d stepped out of character to calm her nerves. “This game we play, it’s harmless. You need an outlet. I can provide it.” He bent close to her, enough she could smell the soap he used to shave, see the light freckles on his pale skin. His hand cupped her chin suddenly, as if he had to touch her, and his thumb traced her lips. “What we do here won’t mean anything. Anything that occurs between these walls, is only between us. No one will ever know.”

She nodded, pushing forward to feel his hand on her skin.

“You need someone to take you in hand. I’m happy to oblige. Don’t think; just let go. You trust me, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Remember, at any point you can tell me ‘we’re done’ and we’ll end. Until then, obey and address me as ‘sir.’”

She nodded.

“What’s that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He rose and she felt the power flow into him. He stood taller, stronger, more serious than she’d ever seen him before, as if a woman at his feet brought out his best self. “Now we begin. Rise and lift your skirts and lean over the table.”

*

Sebastian watched his little lady obey his commands. She moved stiffly, as if she was fighting her own limbs. He waited, he could be patient with her, though he couldn’t help her more than he had. She had to decide to submit to him on her own.

Part of him wanted to coddle her, hold her in his arms and tell her it would be all right. But that would offend her. Francesca needed the kiss of the lash, a touch of the belt, and then she would know she was loved.

When she bent over and raised her dress to present herself, he nearly spent himself at the mouthwatering sight. She wore her favorite striped skirt, now bunched around her hips. Her black stockings encased slim brown legs ending in the blissful curve of her bottom. A feast for the eyes, quivering and ready for him to turn it ripe red.

All his.

His sentimental thoughts gave him pause. She wasn’t his. She was a woman he was helping, probably would idealize until she began to bore him, and then he could ride off into the sunset and move on, Francesca a happy memory.

The thought was painful. He’d never considered he’d miss her.

The sound of Francesca’s harsh breathing brought him back. He had to attend to the matter at hand: her pert bottom thrust out.

He listened to the little catches in her breath, the whimpers that escaped, the way her weight shifted. For a minute, he amused himself by catching her off guard; when she shifted right, he smacked her right cheek, then straight on, then caught her sit spots with the flat of his hand, driving her up on her toes. He rained a torrent of blows, sharp and unrelenting, then slowed and smacked her in rhythm—top quadrant right, top left, then bottom right and left.

Her bottom took on a nice pink glow, and he pinched it. She squealed and almost let her skirts fall.

“None of that now.” He took a moment to tuck up her layers and study her. She’d scrunched up her face but hadn’t started to cry. He felt he was going rather easy on her, given the state of his cock and the frustration he had to work out.

“This is for disrespecting me in the market,” he told her, and smacked one sit spot over and over, ten, twenty times, until she was breathing hard, clenching her cheeks and pressing into the table.

“And now the other,” he said cheerfully, and repeated the torture until pleased with the result: two hot spots on her bottom. She’d think twice before sassing him when she was sitting down for dinner.

He wanted her good and warm before he applied the belt.

After a few minutes, he took a break to give her some water.

“Had enough?” he asked, knowing his mocking would make her grit her teeth.

She shook her head, and he went behind her, squeezing her cheeks. He knew the massage would dull the pain. But it would make her drip, and, for a woman like Francesca, fighting for control, her arousal at his hands was punishment in and of itself.

Her sweet musk filled the apothecary.

“A few more minutes should do. Then we move on to stage two.” He almost laughed at her sharp intake of breath.

She didn’t say anything, though. She still had her pride. And he hadn’t brought her to the brink, not by a long shot. The longer he drew the punishment out, though, the less she’d feel it—the pain would float away, leaving her warm and sated and malleable. He couldn’t wait to see her like that again. The last time, she’d cried and confessed her deepest feelings, and let him help her all the way home.

After soothing her bottom, it was time to smack it again, he enjoyed the way the fleshy globes bounced under his palm. She made little noises, but seemed to be taking the pain well, whereas it was pure torture for him. He took out his sexual frustration on her bum, spanking it until it was flushed and warm.

“How does it feel, Francesca?”

“It hurts.”

She wasn’t crying though, not yet.

She would need that release.

He spent a few happy minutes squeezing her bottom, taking the sting away. The massage would torment her more than the harshest beating.

Sure enough, she begged, “please, sir, just get it over with.”

He chuckled. “Stand and go to the corner, nose to the wall, keep your skirts lifted high.”

She made a noise half between protest and a sob, but obeyed. Her eyes glazed over and her internal fight quieted, and he realized that humiliation had sent her closer to the edge.

So of course he heaped it on.

“That’s right, stand in the corner like a naughty little girl, exposed for all to see. If anyone walks in here, they’ll take one look at you and know you’ve gotten what you deserve.”

A few sniffles in the corner tugged on his heartstrings even as they hardened his cock. More than anything he wanted to bring her back, turn her over his knee and spank her red, then push her to the floor and bury himself in her soft wetness until she was crying out for mercy, and more.

“I’m going to finish punishing your lovely little ass. It’s so pretty and pink now, but I’m going to turn it cherry red.”

He sat on the bench. “Over my lap, Francesca.”

She draped her warm body over his knees before he realized his mistake.

His cock pressed into her hip, and every wriggle and shiver would be torture for him. He spent a minute taking out his frustration on her bottom, smacking each cheek until the blush turned a darker pink, dusty color beautiful on her caramel cheeks.

He spanked her again, harder, but it only made his arousal worse, and sent her flying high to a place where pain could not touch her. By the end of the spanking, he was breathing hard, and her bottom was rising to his hand, asking for more.

“Stand up,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Keep your skirts lifted, and lean over the table.”

He caught sight of her flushed face as she obeyed. She looked almost peaceful, as if all her cares had melted away. He, on the other hand, found it hard to keep control. It made him a little angry.

She wouldn’t like what he’d prepared for her next.

“I found this among your husband’s things.” He showed her the long length of leather, a military belt. “Some ladies say the lick of the belt is delicious. I say their master wasn’t using it properly.” Sebastian held the buckle end in one hand and doubled it over before raising it above his head. He snapped it down, cracking it against the table. The pottery on the shelves clattered and Francesca jumped.

He’d bet anything she was sopping wet. His fingers itched to check. Instead, he braced one hand against her neck, pinning her as he spoke. “You’re going to feel this, my darling, and remember it, next time you go to sass me.”

This time as he brought the belt up, he used his left to keep it straight as he lifted it high above his head.

“This is one,” he said and brought it down with a massive crack against her waiting bum. Francesca cried out as a red line jumped out on her bottom. Her hips swayed for a second and he ordered her back in position. Panting, she followed his command. He snapped the belt down again and she cried out.

“You need this. Your life is out of control, and you are buckling under the strain.” He emphasized each point with a slap of the belt. “You’ve been rude long enough. You need release.”

She was crying.

“Now, let’s see.”

He let his fingers go where he’d been longing to place them, at the entrance to her cunt.

She was impossibly wet.

“My goodness. Wetter than a farm drain.”

She whimpered in humiliation, and he cursed himself silently. He’d crossed a line. But he couldn’t help it. He was a slave to her beautiful vulnerable responses, to the tears now sliding down her flushed face.

His fingers toyed with her slippery folds, taking liberties he had not earned.

She quivered on the brink.

“Please.” She breathed, and he felt guilty making her want something he could not give.

He took his hand away and she whimpered.

She would be burning inside and out, overcome with desire.

“You’re going to beg me for mercy?” He thrashed her some more. “You told me yourself you need a strong man, remember? I’m going to take you in hand.” He had to remember this was punishment, not pleasure. Some anger inside him wanted to break her.

“This is your confessional now, Francesca. You grieved your husband and avenged him. Why do you feel guilty?”

He struck her and she cried out.

“Haven’t you done enough? Answer me?”

“No. It’s not enough,” she gasped.

He slapped her ass again. The red skin looked puffy.

“It’s time for forgiveness. After this, you’ll be absolved.” He circled her, noting her tear-streaked face. “Did you honor your husband?”

He lashed her with the belt, lower, on her unmarked legs.

She groaned. “Yes.”

“Did you respect him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you love him?” Sebastian barked, and lashed her when she hesitated. “Well, did you?”

“I don’t know.” She broke down sobbing.

He paused. He’d gone too far.

The spanking opened her up made her vulnerable, more than he expected. But he was a stinking selfish bastard and he wanted to know how she felt about her husband. Because he wanted her all to himself… focused on him. Idiot. Fool. Wanker… weren’t enough names to call himself. She wasn’t a toy he could play with.