My Lady Captive
By Shirl Anders
Smashwords Edition, My Lady Captive, published by Shirl Anders/ Allure Books
at Smashwords
Copyrighted©2001 by Shirl Anders.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Blurb: m/f, HEA. This is the third erotic romance adventure in the continuing six book Regency series, the Archangels. Lord Wyndham Hawkenge dares to save the young widow, Orelan, from the hedonistic grasp of Alexei Tropov. Wyndham and Orelan, both become snared in the carnal halls of Valcourt, players in Alexei's sexual games as Wyndham tries to find a way to free the young widow he once dared to kiss, but now commands so much more from. HEA.
My Lady Captive
By Shirl Anders
Chapter One
“Here–here, Drummond. Congratulations, your wife must be pleased,” Wyndham the Baron of Hawkenge toasted to those gentlemen, gathered in the intimate and comfortable study of the new father Drummond, who was the Duke of Kittridge.
“My wife Gabriella wears her heart in her eyes gentlemen,” Drummond said, responding to the toast with a sip of Scottish whiskey. “For her to have been denounced in public as barren and now this. Well, I must say that even I am pleased.”
Wyndham tilted his head to hear Lord Harrison rasping a saturnine reply. “You simply revel in the fact that it proves to everyone you are still a stallion at the age of fifty-one.”
The group of five gentlemen, each of them former spies for her Queen’s own, all chuckled as they sipped their whiskey.
“I believe that each one of us comprising the Archangels, should be officially declared, by us of course, as the little chit's godfathers,” Lord Radford drawled, tilting his dark head raffishly, so that the gaslight chandelier caught the satin of his black eye patch in a piratical manner.
“You presume the gender already?” Drummond asked with a drawl, flicking his cigar into the crystal bowl beside his hand.
“I for one, will be down on my knees praying that the wee bairn is a lass and not an ugly brute such as yourself,” Brynmore, their Scottish Archangel jested.
“Here-here,” Saxonhurst pronounced, turning Wyndham’s gaze to the last of their cloak-and-dagger group, as Saxonhurst finished his toast. “Here is to a girl child as lovely as Drummond’s wife Gabriella already is.”
Wyndham watched Drummond pursing his lips, then he smiled slowly. “Just to set all the accounts correctly, before we attend to the business I have brought you here for, my wife Gabriella has pronounced that each one of you is to be declared an uncle and nothing less.”
“Of course,” Harrison rasped with a serpentine twinkle in his sharp black eyes. “I would expect nothing less from the oh-so lovely lady.”
Wyndham eased his injured leg more firmly upon the stool in front of him, hiding the grimace of pain the move cost him, behind a weary, but unstrained look. It did no good to bemoan the consistent presence of pain. Just as he had been wounded in the battle at Waterloo, Brynmore had lost the hearing in his right ear to cannonade, and Wyndham knew that burst eardrum afflicted the man.
Then there were of course Saxonhurst, Radford, and Harrison who had all suffered injuries on a last, badly botched spying venture, while he and Brynmore had been sent to Waterloo. All of them had lost something trying to defeat Napoleon, even their leader Drummond, unscathed physically, had lost a reason for his place in society, when they had returned to England. That was until Drummond had reunited with Gabriella this last year. Wyndham thought they were all a bit like that though, lost . . . at odd ends. War did that to a man, reshaped his priorities, or more, his values.
“Now, gentlemen, to the reason for your presence,” Drummond said, leaning back in his chair to eye them all speculatively within a razor-sharp quality he had. “First the background.”
It was beginning to sound like an assignment just as in the old spying days, Wyndham thought, as he leaned forward and listened to Drummond continue.
“This meeting pertains to the young widow Orèlan Becou, stepdaughter to the late French Ambassador to Spain. As we all know, Napoleon had Orèlan’s stepfather Ambassador Becou and his wife killed for treasonous acts, before the end of the Spanish War. Furthermore, each of you is well aware of what Orèlan did, after her stepfather’s death, to help Wyndham recover important international dispatches, at great risk to herself, from the Russian, Alexei Tropov.”
Wyndham tensed, watching as Drummond paused to take a puff of his cigar. Orèlan, his mind raggedly echoed, as Drummond continued. “That same Alexei, gentlemen, who is now Count Tropov and setup as royalty in St. Petersburg, is now in possession of one Orèlan Becou at his impregnable estate of Valcourt.”
“Valcourt!” Wyndham snapped. “That is nothing but a depraved miniature Russian Court, Alexei has set up with himself as the head despot.”
“Really, Wyndham,” Radford drawled. “What a thing to say about your very good friend, Alexei.”
“We were never friends,” Wyndham snapped. “Only what pretense forced me to be.” Christ, he gave away too much with his venom, Wyndham realized, moving automatically to sidetrack the slip, yet still certain that Drummond’s keen mind would not so easily be diverted, as he finished wearily. “Damnation, Orèlan cannot be much more than twenty-one. How could she be a widow already?”
“Truth be told-,” Radford drawled. “Mademoiselle Becou was a ripe peach ready to be plucked, when we knew her at sixteen.”
Wyndham rubbed his injured leg with a nervous tight gesture, willing his features to remain dispassionate at the heated reprimand he would have liked to have thrown out. The one and only time he had met Orèlan, she had delivered those dispatches as her father would have wished, at great risk to herself. And he . . . he had kissed her. A mere girl of sixteen . . . so beautiful, and he'd simply seen her and taken from her. Lord, but he disliked himself for that. He disliked himself for his desperate need to feel alive at the time, in the face of all the death and subterfuge that surrounded him, making him wonder who he really was. However, he had frightened her. She had been too young for his blatant lust then. Now she was a woman.
“Wyndham, we will need you to go into Valcourt and bring Mademoiselle Becou out. By any means necessary,” Drummond said with an unscrupulous look. “I thought perhaps you might insist upon the assignment,” he finished.
“I do,” Wyndham answered tightly.
“It is the least we owe the young woman and especially her stepfather,” Harrison rasped.
“Who will back Wyndham up?” Saxonhurst asked.
“No one,” Wyndham replied tersely. “No one can enter Valcourt, but myself, or it will never work.”
“Really . . . ,” Radford began with a sarcastic sound.
“I said no one,” Wyndham responded, sharply interrupting him.
“Bluidy hell, man, you’ll at least be needing an escape route. Once you get the lass on the outside,” Brynmore said.
At this statement, Wyndham nodded, soberly. ‘That I will accept.”
“How long has she been there?” Saxonhurst asked, with his soulful brown eyes full of meaning.
Wyndham tensed as Drummond answered.
“Thankfully only one week, before we became apprised of the situation. It seems Orèlan was in Paris trying to see about recovering her stepfather’s estate, when Alexei arrived. The next anyone knew, she was placed with Alexei under suspicious circumstances when he returned to St. Petersburg.”
“He knows,” Wyndham stated grimly.
“It would appear that Tropov could be seeking revenge for those dispatches of her stepfather’s that she managed to lift from his residence in San Lupè,” Harrison rasped. “We understand his government was very displeased to lose them and he tottered on the assassination lists, until he managed to reestablish himself brilliantly in Vienna, at the treaty negotiations.”
“The man got them back Yugoslavia, did he not?” Brynmore asked.
“He did indeed, and now it is as Wyndham states, he is a minor Russian despot in St. Petersburg. A hedonistic one, I am given to understand,” Drummond replied.
Yes, Wyndham thought grimly, he knew Alexei’s depravities too well and one week was too damn long for any young woman to be in Tropov’s company. But Alexei would play with Orèlan in the beginning . . . he always played first. Wyndham could only hope that Alexei had not changed that much.
Chapter Two
When Wyndham caught his first sight of Orèlan in the white and gold marbled front salon at Valcourt, he was momentarily rocked back on his heels by the vision of her exotic beauty. Nevertheless, he allowed none of his intense feelings to show other than an involuntary tick on the left side of his firmly placed jaw. The presence of that tick was forced, because a swarthy Arabic man, at the beset of Alexei Tropov, was lewdly groping the lovely Orèlan.
That Arab had one diaphanous sleeve of Orèlan’s plum-colored gown shoved down to her elbow, as he burrowed his ugly mustached face into the supple pillows of her bosom, while he forcefully held her against the wall. Orèlan struggled helplessly beneath him, but the Arab had her wrists clamped behind her back as Alexei watched, from a haute but relaxed pose, sitting in a gilded chair, laughing as he quipped. “Struggle, my beautiful puta, that will only cost our most esteemed Sultan more rubles to bed you, if I allow him.”
The sound that escaped Wyndham’s throat was a low human snarling. He ignored the jarring pain in his right leg and stalked forward, surprising everyone, when he seemed to come out of nowhere to grab the Arab from behind and literally shove him across the room. His voice, when he spoke was a low dangerous hiss. “I have come to claim my marker, Alexei. This woman is mine!”
The Arab hit the far wall as Wyndham quickly grasped Orèlan by her slender bare shoulders. He tried to gentle his hands as he pulled her forward, whispering intently beneath his breath into her startled face. “Kiss me now, you spit fire, as you would no other.”
“Wyndham!” she cried out, with a desperate and emotion filled voice as she flung herself the rest of the distance to him, just as his mouth came down roughly over her mouth.
“Bravo!” Alexei sneered behind them.
Wyndham ignored Alexei as he took his brazen kissing of Orèlan’s lush lips and propositioned it into bedroom passion. Bending her flowing body over his arm as she clutched his shoulders and opened her honeyed mouth to his advancing tongue.
She was more the woman now, in the six years since he had seen her last. Tall, opulently curved at bosom, belly, and hips. But her mouth was the same. It had always been a sensual wish. Any man who looked upon her pouted lips could do nothing less than desire to ravish their erotic plumpness. She mewled, a soft ardent sound in the back of her throat. Thrilling. It was surrender, pleasure, and desire mixed as he twisted his larger tongue around the dainty petal of her tongue, while his free hand curled into the thickness of her black-sable hair. He was lost again . . . that quickly, even when he knew that he needed his wits about him.
“If you were to insure that she pays completely for her misdeeds to me, I would consider it, my most deviant friend,” Alexei’s disembodied voice sounded through the flames of Wyndham’s passion.
Wyndham tore his lips from Orèlan, and rasped defiantly, “I will . . . you know I will.” He held Orèlan securely with one arm about her waist as she crumpled to his chest, where he could feel her heartbeat fluttering against his.
“Da, I have enough on you to make certain of it, I am sure,” Alexei answered with an aristocratic sneer thinning his lupine mouth and shading his crystal blue eyes. “Enough to own you, Khrisinan,” he finished, preening his thin blond mustache with one tapered finger.
“Nevertheless, Alexei,” Wyndham replied evenly, contrary to the heat of his blood. “You owe me first.”
“That I do,” Alexei agreed, crossing one leg casually over the other. He wore a Russian Premier’s dark green uniform with a dozen medals on the right shoulder. His sandy head turned sharply toward the Arab stumbling upright. “Now what am I to do with him?”
Wyndham knew that he'd won the first battle in what would be an all out nasty war as he tightened his arm around Orèlan and began to move. “That, my esteemed friend, is your problem. I am taking my woman to my suite.”
He and Orèlan had barely made it through the entryway when Alexei called out. “Why, Khrisinan? Why this particular woman?”
Wyndham turned slowly, looking back at Alexei as Orèlan clutched his jacket lapels. He did not look down at her small head beneath his chin, but he could feel her trembling. “She spurned me once,” he hissed roughly.
Orèlan gasped at his words and Alexei laughed, a slashing evil sound. Wyndham ignored Orèlan’s expression as he pulled her from the room and up the marbled staircase to the floor that held the bedroom suites. Once in the hallway though, leading to his suite, his leg gave out under the determination he'd been holding it to, trying to make it appear normal. He had known any sign of hidden weakness during the first round with Alexei would have been fatal. There was time enough for Alexei to discover the injury. He limped suddenly and heavily, grumbling beneath his breath he expelled, “This will not be easy.”
“You hate me!” Orèlan gasped, breathless at being forced to keep up with him until now.
Wyndham ignored the question completely and the newest brace of fears showing in Orèlan’s incredible golden-amber eyes as he stopped before a footman stationed in the hallway. Still holding firmly onto Orèlan’s slender arm, he addressed the footman. “See that Mademoiselle Becou’s entire belongings are brought to my suite as soon as possible.”
“No!” Orèlan exclaimed, trying to pull her arm free from his relentless grasp. “I will not be made your-your-.”
“Whore,” Wyndham supplied gratingly, as he pulled Orèlan away from the footman, while she sputtered wordless sounds in her apparent indignation. Which ultimately suited him completely, because he needed her distraction to get her into his room and into his bed as quickly as possible. The next round was certain to begin shortly. In this, he would never give Orèlan leeway. Never, until they were well away from Valcourt . . . and then-.
“I will not do this! You-you, barbaro!” Orèlan cried, as he literally twirled her into his suite, slamming the door shut behind them. His hands became filled with plum-colored silk and supple woman as he lifted Orèlan easily into his arms and limped to the bed, while she pounded his shoulders ineffectually. “Wyndham, after all I do for you! How! How could you do this to me?” she cried.
She was spirited and feisty, true to her half Latin, half French heritage. However, he continued to ignore her outrage as he dumped her onto the bed in a pool of purple silk and heaving creamy-white bosoms. He was extremely perturbed, because he'd just realized in the gambit that he played, that he was going to need Orèlan’s partial cooperation. Christ, it was emasculating when a man could no longer dominate on top of a good screwing, because his knee would no longer hold him up.
“If you wish to return to Alexei or to the Arab’s immediate attentions, Spitfire . . .” Wyndham bowed arrogantly as he shrugged out of his shirt. “Be my guest.”
“You–you wouldn’t!” she stuttered helplessly as the apricot glow of her beautiful complexion paled. Christ, she was voluptuous in her femininity. The silk she wore did nothing to hide her splendid curves, her womanly delicate bone structure, all of which was an exquisite backdrop to her glorious head of waist-length chocolate colored black hair.
“Become my whore or theirs,” he stated grimly. “It is the only choice you have, Spitfire . . . the only one you have had ever since you became Alexei’s possession.”
“Oh! I never would have believed this of you-u . . . Oh-Oh! What are you doing, Wyndha-!”
Orèlan squealed, but the bed quilts from where he had unceremoniously flipped her onto her stomach moments ago muffled the sound. “I take that as a yes,” he responded tightly as he planted his good knee into the small of Orèlan’s slender spine, while his fingers promptly worked to undo the hooks down the back of her gown. He quickly assessed that cooperation on Orèlan’s part appeared to be out of the question. He would have to improvise. Alexei was not taking his woman. His? Damn.
“Oh, you-you beast!” Orèlan shrieked, as she tried to buck her backside upward and kick her calves at the same time. Only succeeding in helping him to remove her gown and camisole, down over said . . . oh hell . . . luscious ass!
“I never should have stolen those dispatches for you, Inglès! Oh!”
Wyndham felt the sweep of rage and terror combined, leaving him senseless for a terrible moment as his broad hand grasped the graceful column of Orèlan’s tender throat, from where he'd twisted her harshly onto her back. Not quite realizing his own strength, he leaned his chest forward over her plump bare breasts, until his face was inches from where he held her. She clutched the column of his wrist as he fingers flexed over her throat, barely allowing her to breathe. “Never!” he hissed viciously. “Say that in Valcourt again!”
“But-but,” she panted, while her gold eyes glazed with emotion.
Damnation, she was going to fight him. Wyndham’s hand tightened more around Orèlan’s throat, making her whimper, probably leaving bruises. Why did she have to be so damn passionate? So passionate that her emotion overlooked the dangers completely and became tied in justice and reason.
He had her naked. Except for her stockings, garters, and green velvet slippers. Completely stripped bare, down to the black-mahogany curls adorning the mysteries and the fertile pull of her sex. His nostrils flared with the knowledge. His muscles tensed, like a male scenting its mate. He could have wished . . . He dropped his head believing that he could have wished to court this woman in another time and place, a woman exactly like this, in some fanciful notion that never existed for him, but instead he . . .
“Damn,” he cursed roughly as his fingers collared Orèlan’s throat and he did what was necessary to save them. Especially her. “You will obey me, Spitfire!” he finished with a lethal hiss.
Chapter Three
Orèlan understood that she had never experienced such an expanse of raw emotion before! Would Wyndham kill her? . . . would he rape her? . . . would he save her? She wanted to cry out in anguish, and as was always her means, she wanted to spit out words and bravado in defiance at Wyndham, to hide her complete terror.
Not of Wyndham though, she suddenly realized. Strangely, never fear of him, even though he held her as though he would strangle her in any moment of his choosing. But she was not afraid of him . . . of Alexei, of being captured at Valcourt, yes. But not of Wyndham, even though she understood what he meant to do to her. How he meant to take her. However, it was better to happen with her golden puma, Wyndham. He was a fierce predatory mountain lion. Golden and sleek with steely pronounced muscle, yet most important, he had caring for her. He would take her . . . he would mate her, but once he possessed her and even before, he would rage his power and strength against any odds to protect her from the darkly evil Alexei.
Yes, deep inside she knew all of these things. But still, the lighter tracings of her personality, the ones closer to the surface and more engaged in the moment, these fought with her fear and did not allow her claiming to be easy or complete. It was the foolish woman inside of her. It was the one that desired Wyndham so strongly. The one that had claimed Wyndham at first sight so many years before.
“You, barbaro Ingels, you will never have me!” she cried, twisting beneath Wyndham, fighting his dominance, engaging his mastery with all her feminine power.
He rumbled once, deep inside his chest. It was a growling answer to her challenge as his purply blue eyes arced sapphire fire, and his face planed along rugged masculine bone.
“You will beg to please me, Spitfire,” he hissed sharply. “Beg me!”
Orèlan fought Wyndham frantically as he pulled her upright. She tried to bite and scratch him as he easily . . . too easily shifted their positions and propelled her belly and hips face down over his sinewy thighs. Then, he caught her wrists together behind her back. She screeched and tried to buck off his thighs as he lifted one iron-muscled leg and caught the back of her struggling knees, holding her in place with her bottom bared and helpless to his view.
“What are you doing?” she cried in frustration and anxious confusion. She did not understand this . . . what he might do and she was completely unprepared for . . .
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Wyndham was spanking her! Orèlan choked on her cry, and on the burn of humiliation that caught in her throat as Wyndham’s abusing hand came down across her naked bottom harder than before. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
“Dios!” she yelped, and she squirmed uselessly as tears burned her eyes and Wyndham slapped her struggling buttocks again. This was a spanking! But it was also a thrashing. It hurt so badly!
Wack! Wack!
“No-nooo!” she gasped with a careening sound. Oh dios, her bottom stung! If Wyndham continued to spank her much more . . . “Oh! Ohhh!”
Slap! Slap! Slap!
“N-ple-ease!” she sobbed.
Smack! Smack!
“S-stop! Stop-p!” she cried in garbled sobs, tensing for the next slap of fire across her burning buttocks!
“Oh, this is superb, Khrisinan,” Alexei’s voice sneered. “Simply superb.”
Wyndham tensed, cursing under his breath. He'd known that he had little time, however he'd thought that he could gain Orèlan’s compliance before Alexei showed up. This was not good. However, he thought perhaps if he acted quickly, he could keep Alexei from bringing out a whip or some other equally deviant punishing instrument, now that the seed had been planted in Alexei’s lewd and fertile mind.
Wyndham let loose of Orèlan’s wrists and grasped her upper arms, turning her and roughly pulling her upright, to face him. “Beg me for leniency. Grovel!” he hissed through his teeth so that only Orèlan would hear, before he loudly snapped, “Wench! You will obey me!”
“Yes-yes!” Orèlan cried, raising her arms across her naked breasts and pressing her lower body into his side, to shield her nakedness. “Anything, Wyndham. P-Please, do not punish me anymore!”
Wyndham drew his arm around the supple indentation of Orèlan’s back, holding her trembling nakedness to him as tightly as he dared, while he turned his face to Alexei adopting a masculine sneer of triumphant. “Satisfied?”
“Oh, my handsome-handsome Khrisinan,” Alexei purred, while Wyndham watched Alexei’s heated ice-blue colored eyes devouring the lines of his bared chest. It left him with a sick crawling feeling running up his spine, as Alexei gazed at him. “You think to save your woman from me, but will you be able to save yourself?” Alexei finished in a husky murmur.
Wyndham wanted to kill Alexei more savagely in that moment than any of the countless times he had wished the same thing before. Its presence strained his brawn to tautness as a fierce tremor curled inside him. His control was snapping as his mind relentlessly taunted him. How easy it would be. How easy. So easily, he could snap Alexei’s neck, by the mere surprise of an attempt, an attempt that Alexei would not be expecting. But it was that certainty, of how Alexei simply stood in front of him, unconcerned with his own safety, because Alexei knew he held the upper hand.
Wyndham knew if he were to kill Alexei at this moment . . . during any moment inside Valcourt, that neither he nor Orèlan would make it out of the palace alive. He knew that Alexei had assassins hidden, and because of their history together, Alexei likely had two for this suite alone. Trained killers watching every move he was making behind hidden panels in the room. Guarding Alexei. Heightening Alexei’s sport, they were voyeur guards to whatever sadistic pleasure Alexei could come up with. It would be that way throughout Valcourt. It had been that way in San Lupe. He often wondered who might have watched him in Spain, because he also knew that Alexei had become rich by charging money to nobles to watch. He knew this because Alexei had told him, he told him on the night Alexei had . . .
“Wyndham?” Orèlan whispered with fear edging her voice. The anguished sound snapped him from being a killer to survivor, in an instant. He stroked Orèlan’s bare waist reassuringly, in a place that Alexei could not see as she clung to his side with her face turned into his cheek.
“I will be here for exactly one week, Alexei, and that is all the time you will have to try and exact your price!” he challenged angrily.
“Ah, Khrisinan, if only you would become willing. Our destiny together would be inspired. You yielded once . . .”
“Enough!” Wyndham snapped, furious, while his hold on Orèlan became harsh with tension. Then, his cheeks flushed hotly, before he could contain it, in a visual display of his ragged emotions. “One week, Alexei!” he finished through his clenched teeth.
“Ah,” Alexei sighed dramatically, while his thin fingers stroked the top of the chair he stood beside, in a momentarily effeminate gesture. “If you insist, my oh-so big and virile Puskinta. Nonetheless, you understand my house rules. They cannot change. Everything has its price and if you please me . . .” Alexei shrugged his rangy shoulders, once more adopting his elegant military officer’s poise.
“How much?” Wyndham hissed.
“Mm, you know, Khrisinan . . . ,” Alexei hedged, coming partially around the chair to sit with his booted heels crossed negligently. “If you were to continue to punish, our lovely puta here, I am quite certain that my mood would improve. So much so, that our negotiations would assuredly turn more favorable.”
Wyndham barely held himself from leaping up and laying his bare hands to Alexei’s throat. Nonetheless, he was distracted from his fury at that exact moment by Orèlan’s sudden struggles as she tried to get away from him. “Do you want to get us both killed instantly?” he hissed beneath his breath, as he tossed Orèlan onto her back, onto the bed beside him.
“Make this a good showing!” Orèlan hissed under her breath, right before she slapped his cheek, hard!
“Bravo, puta,” Alexei drawled behind them.
Orèlan could not believe how quick and powerful her golden puma was with his purply sapphire eyes snapping retribution and other mysterious and heightened emotions. He had her captured to his will in moments! Thank dios, Wyndham managed to wrap most of her body in the bed linen, so only her naked bottom was exposed, as he forced her belly down over his thighs, while he sat bare-chested on the edge of the bed. Her head dangled and her long black hair pooled on the carpet below as she grasped Wyndham’s strong calf for precarious support, while she bucked her hips, trying to wrestle off his lap.
Alexei wanted a good show and she was going to give it to him, she thought frantically, because she knew it was going to hurt . . . and the embarrassment was already overwhelming. She cringed at the thought about what view Alexei must have of her. There were parts of her body so helplessly exposed in the position she was bent into. He could see her sex, from behind. Oh, dios. The embarrassment was a living breathing creature inside her, it was so acute. Then, as she struggled over the powerful muscles of Wyndham’s thighs, she became aware of another rigid muscle. Her Wyndham was engorged! He was enjoying what he was doing.
“Oh, you beast!” she squealed as she struggled with heightened anger, just before Wyndham’s first biting slap stung her defenseless bare bottom.
Whack!
Orèlan sucked in a hot breath, choking on her squeal of pain. Wyndham’s hand was so broad across her tender buttocks. Wack! Wack! Wack!
“Ow! Dios!”
“Use my belt, Khrisinan,” Alexei purred.
“No-no!” she cried. “Please, Wyndham, no!” she begged even as she felt him lean forward to obliviously grasped Alexei’s belt. She tried to use one hand to cover the vulnerability of her bare buttocks. “Noo, please!” she pleaded.
“Damnation,” Wyndham cursed under his breath as he grasped both of Orèlan’s wrists in one hand, pulling them easily to the side as he slapped the doubled over leather belt in his hand across her already rosette ass cheeks. Thwack!
“Oww!” Orèlan screeched.
Wyndham watched Orèlan’s plush butt redden with a welt. Damnation, he was furious!
“More,” Alexei demanded, with excitement coloring his voice.
Wyndham’s fingers tightened around the ends of the belt as Orèlan begged him helplessly not to whip her again. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
“Owww! Owww! Dios!” she squealed with choking sobs as her rounded buttocks jerked spasmodically, and three more welts lined the lustful crease of her stunning ass.
“Enough!” he snarled as he threw the belt at Alexei, before he tossed a sobbing Orèlan off his thighs onto the bed. “The price?” he demanded with a heaving chest as he stood, facing Alexei.
Alexei’s face was tinted with lust as he stood also, flexing the belt between his thin hands. “I begin to believe that you do intend for this, faithless puta. to pay, Khrisinan.” Alexei paused, and then he began to replace his belt slowly around his slender waist. “So for you, I will exact nothing that you would not already be willing to give me. But for her release, I demand six actions of my own choosing . . . then we shall see.”
Wyndham felt his gaze simmering as he stepped forward, dangerously tense. “Six and you will be paid!” he snapped. “And no other men or women, but me,” he finished angrily.
“You drive the most difficult bargains, Khrisinan,” Alexei murmured, sauntering closer. Too close. “But-,” Alexei continued, raising one hand, while asserting a challenge through his light blue eyes, which were icy with arousal. “I shall accept,” Alexei finished, placing his palm, which trembled, onto Wyndham's bare left biceps.
Wyndham furiously jerked away from the touch, and then he strode to the bed. “Leave then, I wish to fuck my woman!”
Alexei’s laughter was offensive. “I am sure, our little puta, will enjoy that.” Then, Alexei strode to the door, opening it. “Just be sure that she does not enjoy it too much, Khrisinan.”
Wyndham stood by the bed watching the door close, and he was certain he heard Alexei say, “I will be watching.” Or was it only his imagination?
Chapter Four
Orèlan felt the mattress moving precariously beneath her with Wyndham’s weight as he got onto the bed. In which position he came, she did not know as she scrambled upward to escape, only to find her shoulders caught by his large insistent hands. This left them kneeling, with heaving chests, facing each other as she tried to get away, but he held her powerless. The bed linen, which was wrapped crazily over her breasts, began to slip toward her waist. She attempted to grab it.
“Leave it,” Wyndham growled, shaking her, until the bed linen fell to her knees. “What are you going to do to keep me from whipping you again?” he asked harshly.
Instinctively, Orèlan snatched her hands over her sore buttocks with a protective gesture, which arched her bare breasts impudently forward . . . toward Wyndham. She watched his smoldering black-sapphire eyes lower to gaze at her naked breasts, brazenly thrust outward, seemingly as an offering to him. Yet, she would not remove her hands from her trembling bottom, she thought raggedly, with tears stinging her eyes.
“What?” he demanded again harshly.
She whimpered a small sound as he shook her and she admitted some defeat, which made her shiver, while several hot tears scorched her cheeks. “Anything,” she hissed scornfully.