Page 32 of Surrender Your Grace
“Yours or mine?”
“Both,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.
“Fine with me—Andrew,” she whispered, rising on her toes.
Their lips met in a fiery kiss, the rustling leaves above them whispering their approval.
“I doubt I shall ever forgive you for this,” she lied when he let her up for air.
“Hush. You’re barely pink,” he replied as he lifted her off her feet. “That was a mere trifling of a spanking, not an execution.”
She gulped, fighting the charm of his handsome face and teasing grin. “If that’s your idea of trifling, I don’t want to imagine severe. Any more would kill me.”
“Now you’re being dramatic. No one’s ever died of a minor spanking.”
He wasn’t wrong. The sting had faded, and his fingers—now roaming under her skirt, caressing her bottom and trailing lower—felt rather nice. Still, she had to ask.
“Will you do this every time I misbehave or ignore your rules?”
“Probably, since you clearly enjoy it.”
She jerked back and exclaimed, “I did not!”
“Do you think I couldn’t tell?” he gently scolded. “When I tell you repeatedly to do something and you don’t comply, you can expect more of what you just experienced. Continued disobedience may require upping the ante a bit until you see the wisdom of my ways.”
She frowned at the unfamiliar word. “What does ante mean?”
He patted her bottom.“Follow my rules, and you’ll never need to know.”
“Andrew!”
He grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Heedless of their surroundings, he laid her on the thick grass, hiked up her skirts, and spread her thighs. Her wetness eased his entry, and he sank into her fully.
Yes, she’d enjoyed the chase—and the spanking—but she wasn’t ready to confess those wicked truths. Not yet. Not until she understood them herself.
Andrew thrust deep, stealing her breath.
Cici dug her heels into his backside, urging him faster.
He complied—eagerly
She sank her fingers into his hair, holding his mouth to hers.
Their joining was urgent, intense, and unrestrained. Soon, their cries echoed through the trees.
Chapter 9
Two days before their return to London, three weeks after their wedding night—the one that truly mattered—Cici watched the bustling household staff from the parlor doorway. Maids bustled about, while footmen hauled their empty trunks up the stairs to be packed. Organized chaos reigned, but the well-trained staff had done it so often, they didn’t need her input. She was only underfoot. Perhaps a ride would be refreshing.
Arms encircled her waist, her husband’s baritone humming in her ear. “Let’s escape the chaos and steal one last ride.”
She turned with a smile. “Did you read my mind?”
He winked. “If only.”
Confident in her reply, he had the horses ready and waiting out front.
