Page 5 of The Ward
That was how I knew.
That, and the throbbing cock pressed against my arse.
I dropped my gaze toA Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts.“This son I’m to bear…”
His breath was warm in my ear as both hands moved back to my breasts. “Does not have to be fathered by Ferdinand, my dear.”
With those words, he thrust forward once more, leaving me without doubt what he meant, and my knees weakened enough to fall back against him.
I would be a Duchess.
I would bear the next Duke of Ardgave. I would have wealth and influence beyond imagining.
And Lord Simon…Lord Simon and I would raise my son inhisimage, not Ferdinand’s. My son would be as fine a man as Lord Simon…because Lord Simon would create him.
”Yes,” I breathed, and his chuckle ruffled my hair.
“Good girl.”
I wanted to please him. I wanted to hear his praise.
“Wh-what should I do?”
With a hum of approval, he ran his hands down my arms again, capturing my wrists. He moved my hands to the desk, flattening them on either side of the openHarlot’s Guidebook. My head tipped forward so I was staring down at the illustration on page twelve: the woman on her knees between the man’s legs, her head bobbing as she took his member deep into her mouth.The Supplicant Swan.
My eyes focused on the man’s…cock. That’s what Lord Simon had called it. As I studied it, wondering what it would feel like,tastelike, I felt his hands on my ankles. My silk stockings did nothing to block his warmth as his palms slid up my calves, over my knees…
He was pushing my skirts up, and instinctively I spread my legs and pushed my hips back, so I was bent further over the desk.
His little chuckle of approval made my heart soar.
“Have you ever touched yourself, Cecelia?” His hands reached my arse, and I felt him arranging my gown over my hips. The air was chilled against the skin of my thighs, but that wasn’t why Iwas shivering. “Do you ever reach below your skirts and feel your cunny?”
I nearly moaned with need, and Ididthrust my arse back, trying to catch his touch again. “I—yes, my lord.”
“Here?” His hand dragged across my rear end, still covered in the cotton of my bloomers. “No, not there…” He reached between my legs and cupped my mound. “Here. You touch yourself here, don’t you? You’re so wet already, what a good girl.”
My eyes closed in bliss as his thumb slid along my wet lips and his fingers cupped the bud of my pleasure.
“You feel that, Cecelia?” His callused thumb slid into my channel. “You’re wet forme.”
“Yes,” I moaned. “Always for you, my lord.” I realized that now; it had always been him.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and then he was there, pressed against my back as he bent over me. “I’m going to take you now. You’re going to belong to me.”
“Yes,” I moaned, my core—mycunny—quivering with need.
Another chuckle, then I felt him adjust himself. His hand disappeared, and I felt a moment’s disappointment…but then something thicker, harder, poised at my entrance.
“I will go slowly,” he murmured in my ear. “It is your responsibility to communicate what you’re feeling, Cecelia.”
I watched my hands curl into fists, supporting me on the desk, but every inch of me was focused on his cock, about to spearme. I likely made a noise of agreement, but he growled under his breath.
“I need the words, Cecelia.”
“Y-yes, my lord,” I stammered. “I feel…so ready.”
“Good girl.” And with that, he pushed forward.
