His Christmas Countess

‘Um...I was hoping it was something you wouldn’t see in broad daylight,’ Kate confessed.

Grant weighed the box on the upturned palm of one hand and looked at the shop stamp on the lid. ‘Ah, the cost of this, I imagine, is in inverse proportion to the amount of fabric it contains.’

‘It was a trifle expensive. I was hoping it might be the sort of thing that would get me chased around the bedchamber.’

‘But not spanked?’ Grant had a speculative gleam in his eye. ‘Try it on for me, and we’ll see.’

‘At four o’clock in the afternoon?’ Her pulse was racing along with her imagination.

‘I really cannot persuade you out of the idea that there are respectable times and places for lovemaking, can I?’ Grant piled the parcels on the bed on to the floor, then sat down and pulled off his boots.

‘I can be persuaded.’ Kate picked up the box and whisked into the dressing room. ‘Close your eyes.’

He was quite correct about the cost. If looked at dispassionately, the negligee consisted of nothing but floating panels of pale blue silk gauze, a large number of silver ribbons and dark blue silk flowers appliquéd in various strategic positions. Crushed up it would fit in a soup bowl and, as a garment, it was utterly impractical for anything except tormenting one’s husband. She had thought it delicious the moment she saw it.

When she looked around the edge of the door Grant was leaning against a bedpost, arms crossed, eyes closed. He was wearing nothing but a severe expression. Once, Kate would have been alarmed, now she could read him well enough to know she was being teased, especially as there was nothing to disguise the fact that he was finding this arousing.

She tiptoed up, swirled round so her gossamer skirts whispered across his legs and ran to the other side of the bed. Grant’s reflexes were fast and he was on her heels, reaching for her as she scrambled across the bed, silk panels flying. Kate made it to the other side just as Grant somersaulted across the bed and landed on his feet in front of her.

‘That is the most outrageously provoking garment I have even seen.’ He was breathing far harder than the amount of activity justified.

‘And you have seen many?’

Kate could have sworn he had actually growled, although as she found herself seized, upended and face down over Grant’s knees, she could not be certain.

‘Now, then, let’s check the workmanship.’ One large hand at the small of her back was more than enough to hold her down, even if she had wanted to struggle, which she did not. A wriggle or two, though...

There was a flurry of fabric, a whisper of silk, and then there was nothing over her buttocks but air. ‘Quite impractical,’ Grant observed. ‘I cannot imagine how this would keep you warm on a chilly evening.’ There was a tantalising pause, then one palm moved slowly over her right buttock. ‘This would, though.’

It was only a light smack, more noise than anything. Kate squeaked, then gasped as he did the same to the other buttock.

‘Warmer? Certainly pinker.’

What was warm was the thrust of his erection against her stomach. Kate decided she liked this game. ‘Beast! Savage!’ She wriggled against him and was rewarded by a flurry of light open-handed slaps. She realised the wicked sensation of being powerless while Grant did what he liked was making her excited, breathless and very, very needy. ‘Grant?’

‘Hmm?’ She felt the pressure of his lips on one sensitive buttock. ‘Shall I stop? Perhaps you are right and this isn’t the thing to be doing in the afternoon. We could get dressed and discuss the Parliamentary report in the Times.’

‘You haven’t checked the design of the front of the negligee. What if they stinted on ribbons?’

‘What an appalling thought. I would have to wrap you in a cloak and take you straight back to the shop to demand a refund.’ He turned her so she was sitting on his thighs and tipped up her chin. ‘A very becoming shade of rose. Are you flushed because you enjoyed being spanked, or at the thought of being carried through the streets in nothing but this flimsy thing and a cloak?’

‘Both,’ she admitted as he began to untie the ribbons, counting as he went.

‘...nine, ten...’ His voice was not quite steady as he gave up on the little bows and lifted her, then brought her down so she was straddling him as he sat. ‘I need to see it in motion,’ he said, his voice husky as he lowered her with aching slowness until he was sheathed inside her. ‘Like that.’ She held him, burrowed close against him so the friction of the fine gauze fretted her nipples, and his, and felt the control he had been tantalising her with snap. ‘Kate.’ He broke in six powerful strokes, took her with him into the whirlwind and then stayed, deep inside her, his arms around her, his forehead on her shoulder.