Free book JdM6x1406931-20978754 by Emily Tilton Page B

thought she was supposed to: modestly and yielding just a little—not the way her body really wanted, giving everything to him and crying out for more.
    “There now,” he said, drawing his head back. “Was that so bad?”
    She had done it—he had not sensed that it was so far from bad that in her heart of hearts she wished that he would lie atop her again and fuck her until she screamed that she could not bear any more of the pleasure of his yard inside her cunny.
    “No, Angus, it was not,” she said, softly.
    “All right, then. Are you ready to learn more about the ways of pleasing me?”
    She nodded obediently, though she was mystified as to what he meant. Had he not already enjoyed her utterly?
    “There is a thing that a wife must learn to do for her husband,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes to show that she should heed him, “that will seem to you very strange and even shameful. It is nevertheless a pleasure I will often require of you, Elisabeth, and when I tell you that it is time for you to do it, you will obey me. Do you understand?”
    Elisabeth could feel that she had begun to develop real skill in dissembling how greatly her new husband’s masterful ways moved her. She made her face a kind of mummer’s mask of innocent trepidation at the thought that husbands imposed such duties, while her loins were afire beneath the plaid and the wetness had begun to flow anew just at the idea that she would be forced to do something shameful that would please Angus.
    “What is it, Angus?” she whispered.
    He did not answer, but instead got out of bed as Elisabeth watched in confusion. He unbelted his dark red and green plaid and shrugged it from his shoulders. Then he laid it before him on the swept dirt floor of the croft-house.
    “Come kneel here, Elisabeth,” he said. “In front of me.”
    Oh, no. She still had no idea what he would do to her once she had knelt before him, but the very thought of being naked, upon her knees, while he was in his long shirt, took hold of her mind. The war inside her flared into battle.
    “Oh, Angus,” she said. “I won’t. The Lady of Urquhart does not kneel before anyone but the king.”
    She saw wrath darken his brow. “Would you like a chance to think of that again, wife?” he said. “I have told you that this is a duty I shall require. Recall, Elisabeth, in the barn, how I told you that you must learn to serve me in my bed?”
    She pretended that she thought he was jesting. “Oh, but that is the floor, husband! Not your bed!”
    His quickness again astonished her as he reached out and ripped the plaid off her naked body and tossed it aside. Then he reached out, and with dread, but also with that strange thrill she could not push away, she watched him take the strap—two layers of dark brown leather stitched together and bound to a wooden handle—from its hook next to the bed. He held it in his right hand and slapped its length across his left palm, twice. Then he said, “On your knees before me, Elisabeth. This moment.”
    Making her eyes look as frightened as she could, Elisabeth obeyed him, scrambling from the bed to kneel before him upon his plaid.
    “Much better, Elisabeth,” Angus said, softly. “Am I not your king, now, as much as the one in Edinburgh?”
    She looked up into his eyes and whispered, “Yes, sire.”
    With his left hand, then, he lifted his shirt to his waist, and she saw his yard in the light streaming from the eastern window for the first time. It made her think of a sword and of a pestle, the way it hung straight out from him, swollen so that the skin along the shaft seemed to bulge with veins. The sight stirred her beyond anything she might, she thought, ever express, and it stirred her so shamefully that she wished never to be made to try to express it. I shall never be truly tamed , she thought, for he can never make me tell him what the mere sight of his manhood does to me .
    “Suck my yard, Elisabeth,” Angus said