Page 41 of Wicked Games

I started to cry as I felt Richard pull the handle almost completely free of my body only to violently thrust it back in deep. Over and over again.

“Who are you?”

“Lizzie,” I answered without thinking.

He thrust with the handle even harder.

“Who are you?”

“Elizabeth!”

“Who?”

“Lady Elizabeth.”

“Who?” he ground out.

“Your ward.”

“That’s right. You’re mine.”

As waves of pain racked my body, he then did the unthinkable. He began to again stroke my clit. Slowly and methodically he matched the swirling rhythm of his thumb with the vicious pumps of the riding crop handle.

My body began to respond to the sick and twisted mix of pleasurable pain.

Since he had only used my own arousal to initially lubricate the handle, it began to get dry, only increasing my pain as the leather scraped against my delicate insides.

The uptick in pain pushed me over the edge. My body bent in half as I started to come. I leaned forward, purposefully tightening the cravat around my own throat. The handle pressed in deep. My breath stolen. My eyes rolled back as white stars burst behind my lids. The threat of death blending with pain and arousal threw me completely over the edge. Despite the binds around my neck, I screamed and screamed my hated release with the last vestiges of breath left in my body.

Then there was only darkness.

CHAPTER 14

LIZZIE

Warm moist air kissed my cheek. The echo of a bird chirping somewhere nearby was bringing me back to the present. Inhaling the lush perfume of orchids, I finally opened my eyes. I stared above into bright light dotted with green. After a moment, things came more into focus and I realized I was staring up at a large palm frond with streams of sunlight gleaming through the glass dome ceiling of the conservatory.

With a start I sat up, my hand flying to my chest. Looking down, I could see my bodice was perfectly buttoned, my skirts back in place. Resting near the sofa where I lay was the up-righted easel with all my watercolors placed neatly back. Next to it the little table with all my brushes and pencils arranged in neat little rows.

The entire scene looked like something out of a Victorian painting probably called something like “Lady and Leisure” or “Afternoon Nap.” As far as anyone knew, I had simply fallen asleep after a lazy morning spent drawing. I scanned the area about me looking for any telltale sign of Richard’s presence. A discarded cravat. The scuff from a boot. The lingering scent of his cologne.

There was nothing.

Perhaps I had imagined our encounter? I almost would have had to. There was no way I’d participated in something so twisted and violent. My cheeks burned at the memory of what must have been an elicit dream. Just the thought of his pushing the handle of his riding crop deep into my ass while I choked myself out had me trembling despite the warmth of the room.

Out of everything that I was experiencing and all my doubts over what was real and what wasn’t, please, please let that be the memory that was actually truly a fantasy. I don’t think I could have borne the humiliation if it were true.

As I swung my legs off the sofa, I felt a sharp soreness between my legs.

No!

I covered my face with my hands. Even if my mind wasn’t certain, my body knew the truth. Once more it had betrayed me at the hands of Richard.

Using the armrest for support, I gingerly rose. Everything felt sore and bruised. I thought of the laudanum Parker had left on my bedside table that first night, with the ominous warning that I might need it to cope with my circumstances. I had resisted its allure till now, but perhaps I could just return to my room and take a few drops of the bitter tincture and let it carry me off on an opiate haze for a few hours? At least it would quiet my mind, which hurt almost as much as my body as I tried to reason through the madness I found myself in.

Perhaps I should take a lesson from Alice in Alice in Wonderland and drink from a bottle? It was fitting since I certainly felt as though I had tumbled down a rabbit hole onto the table of a mad tea party.

Walking slowly, I tried to remember the way back to my rooms. Unfortunately, I got lost and had to ask a footman. I wanted to say that he looked like one of the actors who played a footman in the play but now I saw how crazy I sounded, even in my own head.

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