Page 71 of In Service to the Duke

But Blackport should know. He should be able to fix this. Can’t he? Again, he tightens his grip on my hair, making the voices quiet as pain floods my system. It’s the only relief, the only reprieve I have.

“Hurt me,” I beg. “Punish me. Please, make it stop.”

“I hear you, omega,” he whispers, bringing his lips down to mine in a hard crash.

The way he kisses me is violent, messy, and uncomfortable. It’s what I need. It’s what I crave. Reaching lower, he grabs my nipple and squeezes it between his thumb and forefinger. At first, a wave of pleasure arcs through my body like summer lightning, but then it morphs into a sharp pinch.

I cry out and jerk back, desperate to be free from the sensations, but he doesn’t allow me. He’s right there, giving me what my body and mind need. He’s relentless, flooding my system with just enough discomfort to bring me back from the edge, but not enough I demand for it to stop.

His member swells as my pained, erotic cries echo in the room, crashing down around my ears in an unholy cacophony. It stretches me out even more, filling me, opening me up, breaking me in a way I never could have imagined.

Now, I understand why no one talks about this. It’s an intimacy far too consuming to be able to fathom unless it happens. It would be the ruination of so many women. Honestly, if I knew what ecstasy I could find in his touch, I would have even been so inclined as to actually trap him.

No. It’s good I didn’t know. But even if they told me, I would have never believed them. There’s no basis in my brain to accommodate the enormity of the sensations washing over me. Not even the few mildly titillating books I’ve read even hinted at feeling something so divine.

He switches to the other nipple, starting the process all over again. Even as I cry out, tears streaming down my face, he’s right there with me. His words of praise pepper my skin just as potent as kisses. It makes me want to take more, do more, and please him even more.

With a growl, he pulls away and grabs me in his arms. With my face back against his chest, it’s so tempting to taste his skin, to lick the salt from his sweat as it drips down his chiseled chest. But I cannot. To give in, even just a little, it would be my downfall.

His grunts fill my ears as he turns us over, twisting us about in the nest until he resides below me and I sit on top. My thighs spread apart even more, stretching out at the joints until they ache. His hips are massive. He is massive. Every inch of him is far larger than what I imagined.

Somehow, beneath the finery of his clothes, I never quite understood the depth and breadth of this man. Now, as he surrounds me, engulfs me, I know far more intimately his size. I’m tiny compared to him, minuscule, fragile, and completely overwhelmed.

Somehow, I feel cherished and protected. The bunching of his muscles conveys a savage strength his regal demeanor never quite revealed. True, there was a lethality about him, but it was tempered by his clothes and title.

Here and now, as merely a man, he’s glorious. The candlelight flickers over his skin, showing off each and every muscle as he moves me into position. I want to worship him, to drag my tongue over every inch just to fully comprehend how massive, how feral, and how utterly devastating he is.

But such thoughts are irrational. Yet, as he further moves me into position, I cannot help but trail my fingers down his arms, feeling the strength as it flows out of him. It’s an aphrodisiac with no name.

It almost distracts me from the burn blazing through my body as every bit of me screams out in distress. As if he hears my pain, he growls. Not the forceful bite of an Alpha command, but something different, something utterly intoxicating.

The sound rolls through me as he gathers me into his arms, pulling me down against him. From this angle, he somehow stretches me even more. Though a soft squeak of discomfort flies from my lips at the sudden ache, my body somehow accommodates him.

More liquid gathers between us, lubricating his movements as he grips my hips and holds me in place as he juts up in the air. It causes that bulging part of him move, rubbing back and forth against that hidden spot inside which makes me cry out for a completely different reason.

Fire.

It races through my body. An insurmountable heat. I cannot think, I cannot speak, and I cannot breathe. It’s the same as my dreams, only now, I’m very much awake. My body aches and throbs as Blackport stretches me open.

I’m not sure how much I can take. It rides that razor-thin edge of pleasure and pain. Feeling emboldened, I rise, sitting upon him as if astride a horse. Granted with how large the man is, I can’t see it being all that different.

I’m the one who moves this time, rocking back and forth as I seek my pleasure. Looking down, I watch his expression. It’s dark and feral, like a soldier or highwayman set to plunder me. For a fraction of a second, I can understand the draw now.

Not that I agree with Lady Margaret in all her assertions, but there’s still that part of me which wishes he could just steal me away. I long for us to be able to run, to not have any family or duty holding us here. But with him being a duke and with me being a daughter of a pauper put in a bad situation, we have no options.

All I can truly have is him here and now. Setting my nails to his chest, I dig in, drawing pinpricks of blood. I cannot mar him with my teeth, but somehow, this feels like a good alternative. He takes the pain I inflict upon him, growling as he arches up into me.

His hard thrust would have knocked me off if not for the massive bulge keeping me glued around his massive shaft. A slight bite of pain flutters through my body, but it’s edged out by the raw, unadulterated pleasure flowing in to soothe me.

A guttural sound rips from my lips, almost like a growl, but it can’t be. The sound is almost inhuman, and yet, the rawness of my throat tells me otherwise. When I look down again, blood coats his chest, turning his skin a bright vermillion.

This time, he growls right along with me as his eyes flutter close. Pleasure and pain etch deep in the lines of his face, making my insides flip and clench. It should disgust me. All this carnage should make me want to stop. But the savagery only spurs me on. I continue to grind against him, seeking out that illusive pleasure only he can give me.

“That’s it, love,” he groans, digging his fingers into my hips. “Ride me, my little hellcat. Take what you need from me.”

A scream gurgles up my throat as I once more dig my nails into his skin. The slickness of his blood coats my fingertips, mimicking the feel of my arousal sliding between us. It’s too much, too overwhelming.

Leaning back, I allow my neck to stretch out as my head drops. Everything stops as pleasure surges through me. My release splinters my body, shattering me from the inside out. I cry out until I’m hoarse and barely able to make a sound. Still, ecstasy rolls through me.