The Hunted Bride by Jaye Peaches

Author:Jaye Peaches [Peaches, Jaye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2020-07-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

“You survived a week of harnessing, you should be proud of yourself.” He stretched out on the bed with one arm tucked under his head, the other tucked around her shoulders.

Matilda wriggled closer and used the tip of her forefinger to trace the musculature of his lithe frame, noting the puckered white scars and strange claw marks above one nipple. Three deep lacerations scratched into his flesh, so deep they had left a permanent mark.

“A week of profound torment,” she said lazily.

He guffawed. “I kept it slack during the day, and without the phalluses to impede your movements, and you did admit you found the gentle rub between your thighs... What was the word?”

“Torturous? Unbearable?”

“No, no. You said indulgent.”

“Undignified, I think was the actual word.” She had thought of many others, but kept them to herself.

“You tolerated it to such an extent, the mere tightening of the straps brought you whimpering to your knees begging for my cock.”

It had, and the shame of that moment lived on.

“My lord, it was a sufferance I bore for your pleasure,” she said, her finger now moving along the line of each rib.

“If that is the case, then I shall burn it, and—”

She propped herself up one elbow and stared down at him. He was grinning, his eyes sparkling with amusement, his teeth flashing in the light of the solitary candle.

“I don’t believe you would, sir. I think you know it will bring me to my knees at the mere sight of it.”

“Then, we shall keep it for special occasions. Perhaps our wedding night?” He raised his eyebrows.

She lowered herself into the crook of his arm and fell silent. A week of constant arousal, fed by the salacious use of a simple harness, and she had succumbed to its effect on her libido without protest. There had been no guests to the castles to admire her grace and fortitude, and if the servants suspected her dreamlike expression was due to lack of sleep, they were half-correct. The visits to her lord’s bedchamber had crept longer into the night, allowing her, like now, to probe him a little with conversation. Eventually, sleep would mean her departure. He refused to countenance her presence in his bed while he slept, and that was one condition of marriage she would request—they woke together at dawn in the same bed.

Marriage remained a distant goal for Matilda. Gervais was her lover, her teacher, and master, but not her husband. And while she appreciated the tender moments when he spoilt her with affectionate words and caresses, they were infrequent.

Geoffrey’s letters were arriving more often.

Her distant admirer continued to fill his missives with poetry. He was now ambulatory but unable to ride. He wished she was with him, and hoped that ‘upon his recovery, she would renew their courtship and bring to him great hope for the future.’ In her replies, she made no mention of her situation, her location, or why she could not visit him. She referred all of his enquiries to her father.

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