To Tame A Countess (Properly Spanked Book 2) Read online

  “I don’t want to.”

  Of course, that didn’t matter. He bent her over himself and pushed her arms up over her head. “Do not move from this position, darling, unless you wish to experience both choices one after the other, and additional consequences too. Keep your palms flat on the bed.”

  She winced as he took out the ginger and disposed of it. Her breath came fast, rasping in her throat. She did feel out of control, and she didn’t like it. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “If you’d made a choice, you’d know. As it is, you’ll have to wait and find out.”

  Oh, he was so maddening. She tried to stand up but he pushed her back down.

  “You’d better stay as you are,” he said.

  He wasn’t sending for ginger, or getting her hair brush, so she knew he planned to take her bottom. He removed his clothing and set it aside for his valet while she shivered and shook against the bed. She eyed his thick member as he kicked off his stockings and went to fetch the oil. My God, he was so large. Even with the oil, he would hurt her.

  “Keep breathing,” he said as he returned with the canister. He opened it and smeared a good amount of it around her spasming bottom hole. It soothed the lingering sting of the ginger but didn’t do much to calm her fear. He pressed a finger inside her, inserted it deep, and then added another. She whimpered at the uncomfortable stretching. Two fingers felt achy and intrusive, and he was larger than two fingers by far.

  “You know, on second thought,” she said, “I… I would rather have the hair brush.”

  He pressed the fingers deeper. “You had your chance to choose, and gave the choice to me, and I’ve decided to bugger you into submission. It’s difficult to be rebellious with a cock buried in your arse. Now relax, for God’s sake. Let go of the covers and put your palms flat on the bed the way I told you.”

  She felt his thighs press against the back of her legs. He unfolded her fists by force and arranged her hands beside her head.

  “I won’t be rebellious anymore, I promise,” she pleaded.

  “No, you won’t be, after this.”

  He eased his fingers inside her again, in and out. She tried to wiggle away but his legs and body held her trapped. “What if you hurt me?” she asked. “Please, I’m so afraid.”

  “It may hurt a bit at first. But just as with the bulb, if you relax and give your body time to adjust, you may come to find the sensation more tolerable. Even pleasurable, if I think you deserve to be rewarded.” He withdrew his fingers and added more oil to her tensing backside. “Let’s see if you can be a good girl rather than a rebellious one, and open up for my cock.”

  Oh my word. There had to be other, more civilized ways of putting down a wife’s rebellion. He might decrease her pin money, or make her go without dinner until she apologized. This was so coarse, so invasive and frightening. She trembled as he pressed the tip of his shaft to her slickened opening and pressed forward a bit.

  She scrunched her eyes closed. It hurt, rather too badly to be borne. Her timid whimper rose to a cry as he persisted. Her entire body tensed.

  He rubbed the small of her back and made a soothing sound. “I know. It aches, doesn’t it? This is the hardest part. Your little ring has to stretch, but you can do it. You only have to relax and let me in. Relax. Relax…” He pressed forward a bit more and she bit down on her lip. Just when she thought she must complain and fight him, he stopped and held very still, and waited that shallow distance inside her.

  “It won’t hurt any worse than this,” he murmured. “It has nothing to do with depth, only the initial entrance, and you’ll soon be used to that. Keep breathing. Palms flat, my love. You’re in fists again.”

  She had gathered the bed linens into clumps. She straightened them out only to have something to distract her as her backside clenched around his thickness. She dreaded how it would feel when he began to move. Would she be able to bear it? How much pain could she tolerate before she broke down and begged for the hair brush?

  But as he inched ever so slowly forward, she realized he was right, that the pain was no worse the deeper he went. If anything, it had eased somewhat.

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  “Is it better now? At least a bit?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “But it still feels…scary.”

  “Sometimes it’s good for naughty wives to feel scared.” He moved inside her a bit more, the smooth, oily lubricant easing the way. How bizarre it felt. A bit like the ebony bulb, or the ginger, but there was so much more firmness and presence. He eased out a little, and then back again, and she thought she had never experienced anything so curious in her life. It didn’t feel pleasurable, exactly, but it felt very…filling. It felt wicked and licentious.

  She wanted more.

  She arched her hips as he moved forward again, slowly sliding within her. “You like that, my little seductress,” he said in a thick voice. He ran his palm up to her nape, holding her down and driving deeper. “I like it too. I like that my naughty wife is submitting to a firm buggering for her own good.”

  When he said things like that, she didn’t know what to think, except that something was wrong with her, because it made her feel hot and lascivious and full of lust. She made a low, begging sound as his hands clamped on her shoulders.

  “Yes, I won’t stop until you’ve had enough,” he said in a tone of assurance. “Until all that rebellion is forgotten.”

  She couldn’t remember anything about rebellion anymore. She tensed her bottom, thinking how warm and strong her husband felt as he invaded her backside. She shouldn’t want this. She didn’t want this, but…she did.

  As she pondered this strange form of “punishment,” he wrapped his hands in her hair and jerked her head back. She gave a little yelp and his grip loosened, but still, his rough action unleashed something inside her, some hot, fast drumbeat of primeval desire.

  “You may pull my hair again if you’d like,” she whispered, too embarrassed to say such a thing aloud.

  He did pull it again, and this time, he leaned down to bite her ear, not hard enough to injure her, but hard enough for it to hurt. She moaned like a wild, trapped creature as he trailed sharp bites down her neck and caressed her in the roughest, most provocative manner. He gripped her pussy and encouraged her when she jerked her sensitive button forward against his palm. When she thought he might make her come then and there, he stopped and played with her nipples, sliding his hands between her breasts and the bed to twist the sensitive points.

  “Oh, my. Warren!” she gasped. It hurt so badly she cringed, but it was the delicious type of hurt he was so good at. Meanwhile, he drove in and out of her bottom, pressing deeper each time so her muscles gripped the rock-solid intrusion. These firm, deep thrusts didn’t hurt in the least, not anymore. In fact, they were coming to feel quite good.

  “Please touch me again,” she begged. “Please touch me there.”

  “Where?” he asked. “Use the word for me.”

  “Touch my pussy, please.” Her entire middle felt hot and heavy, and desperate for more. He slid his hand down between her folds and found her favorite place, and manipulated it as he slid in and out of her.

  “Yes, yes, please,” she blathered over and over. “Yes, yes, yes.” He rode her so firmly that her toes lifted from the floor and her hips bounced against the edge of the bed, but she didn’t care. She was so close to completion. If he’d only keep… touching… her… there….

  She reached her peak with a wailing cry. He turned her face and kissed her as she panted for air, her body wracked by wave after wave of pleasure. Now he was the one reaching for his climax, groaning, straining, driving against her. His body tautened and he went still, buried mercilessly deep. Then he bucked, muttering an oath and lifting her toes quite away from the floor before he sighed and collapsed atop her.

  Josephine sucked in air, lying limp upon the bed. She had gathered up clumps of sheets again, but this time she buried her face in th
em with a feeling of floating. Her body still pulsed around his rigid length. Warren laid his head beside hers and stroked her hair.

  “My good girl,” he said after a while. “My very naughty good girl.”

  She let out a ragged breath. “How can I be good and naughty at once?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Are you in a better temper?”

  She wasn’t sure if she was in a better temper. She was still too shocked by what he’d done—and the fact that she’d very much enjoyed it. She felt exposed and wicked, and yet satisfied. She felt very close to him in an intimate way. “Will you want to do that again?” she asked.

  “Right now?” He laughed and caught her chin when she tried to hide her face. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “It was better than more ginger and the hair brush.”

  His smile tickled her cheek. “Perhaps we’ll save this sort of congress for your most rebellious moments. It seems to have calmed you considerably, as any good buggering should.”

  She wiggled her bottom as he pressed within her. He growled and clapped his hands over her hips.

  “Don’t tempt me to begin again. Be still.” After a moment he withdrew from her slowly, leaving her empty inside. He tossed her up onto the bed and curled around her, cradling her in his embrace. “I’m not sure we can truly call that punishment, although I am feeling better. In fact, I’m feeling quite happy. I barely remember your wrongs from this afternoon.”

  Josephine remembered them, but they probably seemed more appalling to her. She was tormented by all her mistakes, big and small. She wanted to make him happy, she truly did, because she didn’t want to lose him. She was glad he punished her for poor behavior, because it gave her the incentive to behave correctly in future situations. It reminded her that he cared.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I do feel calmer.”

  He rubbed a palm across her bottom and gave her a light, brisk spank. “I’m always happy to help.”

  How light he could be, after reducing her to such depths of emotional darkness. She hardly understood him, except that he loved her and always seemed to know the best things to do. “You’re a very good help to me.” Her voice trembled a little, until she strengthened it. “I know that you care, and that you’re trying to make me better.”

  “Not better. Happier.” He leaned over her, capturing her gaze. “I want you to be happy with yourself. I want you to become that fine, esteemed lady you’ve always wished to be.”

  “Yes, I know. I…I love you.”

  He’d said it to her before, many times, and she’d dutifully said it back, but she’d never really meant the words in her heart and in her soul, not until now.

  He gazed at her with his deep blue eyes. “I love you more than words can say. You know that, don’t you? You’re my beautiful, brave girl.”

  She lay beside him and vowed to live up to that praise, to keep improving herself for his sake, even if the only thing she improved was her self-control. Self-control would help her do and say all the things she had to for propriety’s sake, and that would be enough to help him retain the necessary standing among his peers. He would be happy, and if she was with him, she’d be happy too.

  They roused themselves to wash up and then tumbled back into bed together. The storm had blustered out, leaving behind faint, faraway rumbles. She snuggled into his chest, feeling very safe and very warm.

  “I never knew marriage could be this way,” he said as he held her close. “I never knew I could feel this way about another person.”

  I hope you’ll always feel this way about me, she thought. I’m not sure I could survive it if you stopped loving me.

  The storm outside had gone, but the storm within her raged as violently as ever. That night, she dreamed of dozens of stalking tigers surrounding her, and knew she mustn’t fail her husband—or herself.

  Chapter Sixteen: Self-Control

  By pure force of will, Josephine managed to keep herself out of trouble for the next few weeks. Any spankings she received were of the more playful variety, to keep her focused, and she didn’t mind those very much. Her love for her husband grew, along with a novel sense of contentment in her situation. The season’s whirl became more bearable with Warren’s encouragement, and by mid-summer, the hustle-bustle of parties and merriment tapered off. Soon, the gentry would begin their yearly exodus from London as the season drew to a close.

  In the meantime, society’s families cemented betrothals, threw final balls and dinners, and made their plans for fall and winter visits. Some would attend house parties with friends, while others would retreat to their sprawling manors to hunt, drink, and play cards.

  A few men sought Warren’s permission to offer for Minette, but she would have none of them, and Josephine was secretly glad, because she had come to depend on her vivacious friend’s company, especially as the great Parliament dinner loomed. The most powerful and influential members of the House of Lords closed the season every year with a private dinner party. Invitations were exclusive and hard to come by.

  Of course Warren received one, the insufferable man.

  The day of the dinner dawned sunny and bright. Josephine was obliged to report to her rooms in the afternoon, to dress in her most elegant ivory-and-pearl ensemble, and let the maid do all sorts of decorative curling and arranging of her hair.

  Minette stayed with her as she fretted, and patted her hand. “Don’t be nervous, all right? Yes, it’s a big dinner, and yes, all of Warren’s colleagues will be there with their wives, and yes, everyone will be watching you especially, since you and Warren have recently married—”

  “Minette, you’re not helping.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say that in the end it doesn’t matter, because they all think Warren is the most proper and estimable fellow, and they’ve come to think the same of you. You’ve become so much better at conversation and dancing, and you’re so graceful when you walk, and you have the prettiest figure for gowns, everybody notes it. You know all the different titles and how to address people, and how to ply your fan, and how to toss your head just the right way when you talk.” As she said this, Minette demonstrated with impish detail, perfectly imitating the ton’s most lofty ladies. “So you see, it shall all be fine, and you mustn’t worry about anything. My brother is so proud to have married such a highly regarded woman. He’s been in a tizzy for weeks, just waiting for this dinner to arrive.”

  Josephine rested her head in her hands. She knew her sister-in-law meant to be helpful, but every word made her more anxious about the evening to come.

  Self-control. You’ll only need to use self-control, and be the perfect wife. This would be her chance to win everyone over and fix her place in society as his worthy partner. She only needed to be…perfect.

  “Oh, my word,” she sighed, raising her head. “I think I need more tea.”

  “No, my dear. You’ll bloat beneath your stays.”

  Josephine frowned and sent the tray away with the maid. Her stays already felt tight, perhaps because of nerves, or the extra cakes she ate to forget her woes.

  “There, sister, you look absolutely beautiful,” said Minette, tugging one of Josephine’s curls. “You mustn’t worry. Warren will tell you what to do and who is most important to talk to. They’ll mostly be stuffy old men and haughty ladies, but keep your conversation to homemaking and weather and none of them will take offense. Just smile a lot.” She pinched her cheeks. “Smile. Smile!”

  Josephine smiled into the mirror. She looked rather ill.

  “I wish you would go in my place,” she said. “Everyone loves you. You’ve such a gift at conversation.”

  “Of course I can’t go,” laughed Minette. “Warren wouldn’t take his sister when he has a wife. What gossip it would cause, and Josephine, everyone loves you, too. Don’t you understand that? Everyone finds you fascinating and beautiful.”

  Beautiful? Josephine touched the delicate diamond and pearl necklace Warren had
given her for her birthday the week before. The pale gold filigree was worked to look like ivy, and it caught the light just so whenever she moved. It suited the dress perfectly, and it was beautiful, but she felt like a fake. She had never worn jewelry or fine gowns until she came to England. As much as Warren hoped to improve her, her uncivilized past would never go away. It would always be a secret shame inside her that no jeweled necklace or fancy gown could disguise. She was shoddy and second-rate, like her laughable, run-down “holdings” in Oxfordshire.

  She rubbed her temples and shook her head. She ought not to be in such a mindset, not before this important gathering. Of all the fetes she’d attended at Warren’s behest, this evening’s would have the most direct effect on his political career and aspirations. When she went down the grand staircase to meet him, she rallied her courage and pasted on a smile. It became a genuine smile as her husband pretended to falter in a swoon.

  “You’re too ravishing to be borne,” he said. “You look like a goddess. You’ll outshine the queen.”

  She halted on the last step. “Will the queen be in attendance?”

  “Probably not, but if she was, we’d have to drape a cloth over you or something.”

  “Warren, you’re as silly as Minette sometimes.”

  He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She breathed in the scent of him, masculine and crisp, with a hint of shaving soap. His ornately tied cravat was high and starched, glaringly white against his formal black coat and waistcoat. His blond curls shone in the light, so pretty on Minette, but fully masculine and handsome on him. He looked incredibly dashing.

  From above, Minette clapped her hands. “The two of you are a sight. You must sit for a portrait in those clothes. Promise me! How stunning you both look.”

  They said their goodbyes and climbed into the coach waiting outside the door. All too soon they arrived at the Duke of Lansing’s sprawling mansion a few streets over, where the dinner was to be held. “Every year a different fellow hosts the festivities,” said Warren. “I suppose one year it shall be our turn. No, don’t blanch, my love. It won’t be anytime soon.”