Free Training Lady Townsend by Annabel Joseph

Warren.
    Lord Townsend lit a few more candles as she climbed into the bed. The sheets had been changed, the bloody evidence of their marriage’s consummation whisked away by a blushing maid as Clement clucked in a soft, pleased voice about honor and becoming a woman.
    There was nothing pleasing about it, although Aurelia tried hard not to do anything tonight that Lord Townsend might interpret as “resisting.” He wanted to spank her again. She understood that, even if she couldn’t understand the reason. She didn’t want to give him any excuse to fulfill his wish.
    She stared at the delicate floral pattern on the bed linens as her husband disrobed. What she’d seen of him the night before had thoroughly terrified her. He was made so differently from her. Well, of course he was, but he was even different from other men. He was larger, more physical somehow. She’d felt the hard muscles of his thighs last night as he’d laid her over them. She’d experienced the strength of his arms as he spanked her, and when he’d pushed her back on the bed and...mounted her... Well, then she’d felt an entire array of sensations that set her on edge. She had felt weak and fragile, and overtaken.
    Her breath came shorter as he climbed onto the bed beside her. She stared at his face because it was easier than looking at the rest of his body. She felt his hard maleness poke her belly as he nudged her back on the pillows.
    “There now, my little mouse,” he said. “It won’t hurt as much tonight, I promise.”
    She blinked up at him. “Please don’t call me a mouse.”
    “What shall I call you then?” He dipped his head, pressing his warm lips to her trembling ones. “Something more scandalous? More erotic?”
    The way he kissed her...it scrambled her brain. “You may call me Lady Townsend,” she whispered.
    “I don’t think so, little Aurelia.” He said her name in a low, breathless rasp. When she turned her face away, he grasped her chin and brought it back again. “I’ll call you
ma petite chatte
instead. Do you speak French, my little pussy?”
    She startled as his fingers parted the lips of her sex. “I—I don’t think I speak the same kind of French you do.”
    “Undoubtedly.”
    “And French nicknames seem a bit scandalous.”
    “How difficult you are to please. I might call you anything and you’d find fault with it.” He slid his fingers to a hidden, sensitive place between her legs, a button of flesh that warmed in a very pleasant way and made her jerk against him. He smiled and stroked her again, and again. “My little grasshopper. There.”
    Her eyes widened. “Grasshopper?”
    “Yes, because you’re jumpy, and because you chirp when I touch you. A disapproving type of chirp, and very soft, but there you go.”
    Aurelia didn’t think she chirped, but it was possible. The more he fondled her, the less her utterances remained in her control.
    “I don’t know if I like being called a type of insect,” she said, shifting to give him better access to that marvelous bit of flesh.
    He chuckled and delved his fingers downward, into the shameful, hot wetness that had developed there. She tried not to resist but he was handling her so freely. “Please...that hurts,” she lied.
    “It doesn’t. It feels wonderful, and your body wants more. Let me bring you pleasure, Aurelia.”
    He did find the most effective places to touch her. The tips of her breasts, the curve of her neck, and that aching, hot place between her legs. She stared up into his dark eyes, thinking that he smelled very good, like cinnamon and sandalwood, and other things she didn’t recognize. An unfamiliar tingling crept up to her breasts and down between her thighs. It wasn’t a civilized feeling, but something very uncontrolled and disturbing. The more he touched her, the more the feeling grew. She grasped his arms, struggling to maintain her composure.
    “It would be okay for you to...to do things quickly,” she said. “You