The Borrowed Bride

Matthew detected a touch of mirth in her tone. “I like to say what I’m thinking. In here,” he poked his finger into her cunny, “is your cunt. They say it’s a vagina. I call it the quim or cunny. What you call it is up to you.”

“An educated man, I see,” she sneered.

“More than you, it seems.” He snorted. “As for this bud.” He chuckled; the little thing was swollen and visible. “This is what makes you want my cock in your arse. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it calling to you.”

He tickled it and she moaned loudly. “So, pretty thing, Miss Dara. What’s the name of your husband?”

“I shall not say!”

“More spanking, then. Let’s be getting on with it. I’ve got a cow to milk.” He resumed his position to one side and raised his hand higher. “A few more of these, then my belt.”

This time as he swiped his hand back and forth, she cried. The pitiful mewls wrenched at his heart. He bit down on his lip, refusing to let her weaken his resolve to have the truth out of her. The belt would surely do it, and if not that, a good poke up the arse would free her tongue. Not that he had the mind to harm her or do her injury. He knew how to use the belt so that the welts would not bruise heavily, and he had the patience to ease his way into her bottom. If he did it well, she’d invite him in of her own accord next time. If there was a next time. He dearly hoped she was not married and was telling the truth, but he suspected she was lying.

“Stop, I beg you,” she sobbed. “I am married, yes, I am. For these three weeks and I have left him, but only while he travels. I mean to go back, I do... I have to go back.”

He rested his hand on her roasted arse. The heat throbbed. Poor lass, he had to wallop her hard to get her to speak the truth. “You stole from him?”

“No!”

“I’ll get the belt.”

She twisted around and he saw her tears. They dripped off the end of her nose and chin. She was red-eyed and snivelling. He started; he’d done that to her, made her cry her eyes out. The belt would surely make her faint. She might be feisty, but she wasn’t a farmer’s wife. She was a lady, and he’d forgotten what young ladies were like beneath their arrogance and fancy ways.

“Please. The gems are mine. He gave them to me as a present, to make a necklace, but I took them to sell so that I could live on them until he came back from his travels.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

What she said sounded plausible. “Stand up.”

She wobbled slightly and held onto the table.

“Why hasn’t your husband bedded you?”

“I don’t know.” She blinked and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. “I waited and waited for him. Wore my lacy bridal shift, which my ma gave me as a gift. But he said he doesn’t want me with child.”

Matthew growled to himself. “You can bed a lass without making her with child. We did so last night. I spilt elsewhere. How can he not fancy you? You’re beautiful.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

“I reckon he’s thick in the head. Old, is he? Too old to get it up, I suppose. Poor you. Well, I took what was his, and I don’t regret it, nor should you. I’ll take you back—”

“He’s not there, though. He’s not back until the end of the summer.” She lowered her head and examined a knot of oak in the table.

She was a porcelain creature, milky white, except for her plum arse, and beyond gorgeous. What if she did stay... no, it was not right to take another man’s wife.

“Tell me his name, luv,” he said softly.

“He’s... he’s Lord Coleman of Willowby Hall.”

Matthew took a step back from her and clenched his fist. The anger was intense. Him, he almost said out loud. Him who was not fit to marry anyone, never mind Dara. He couldn’t blame her for running off. She would be miserable at Willowby Hall surrounded by uncaring servants.

She was an innocent, which was why she was chosen. Educated by nuns, she’d told him, and quite possibly, but not any longer. Dara had found Matthew, and he had an idea how she should spend the next few months. He couldn’t suggest it outright, and since he wasn’t being entirely honest with her about his past, then it best come out of her mouth. He would have to change his tactics. The belt was no longer the best route forward. He couldn’t risk scaring her off. If he managed to pull this off, he would not only have the company of a fine lady to enjoy, but he would also be sticking his finger up at his lordship. The hard part would be keeping a promise he’d made.

* * *

“Lass, come sit on my stool.” He took the rocking chair for himself.

She gingerly lowered her scorched bottom on the hard stool. The coolness was a blessing even if it hurt to rest on it. She had borne the spanking well, she thought, until he accused her of stealing once again and mentioned the belt. She was more afraid of that thick leather strap than the threat of his cock in her bottom hole.

“Lord Coleman, I know. He’s my neighbour. I know he likes to travel. He’l