Claiming His Wife Page 15

  Her hand swung up to cover her mouth as her mind whirled with terrible visions, and suddenly Hugh was standing before her, pulling her into the safe, warm circle of his arms and murmuring soothingly. "Relax sweetheart, I'm sure they're fine. They didn’t have very far to go between the houses. Alex and Wesley will find them, and woe betide anyone who sought to molest them. I just wanted to point out the dangers, not distress you so."

  He actually sounded rather contrite, and she frowned, realizing that he had exaggerated the danger just a bit. Although he’d still made some good points.

  "I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight, if we don't find out what happened to them," she muttered, smacking his chest lightly. Her heart still felt like it was in her throat as her mind raced with all the things that could go wrong, when two ladies stepped out into the night on their own. Of course, they weren’t in London, and Bath was much safer.

  "I'm sure I can help you to sleep, wife," Hugh said, and for just a moment she saw the anticipatory glint of passion in his blues eyes. Just as quickly, it faded, to be replaced by a stern look that he pinned her with. Worries about Grace and Cynthia moved to the back of her mind, as worry for her own person rose up to take precedence. "After we finish your spanking."

  Hearing that she was receiving a spanking, instead of a harsher punishment, should have been a relief, but it was hard to feel relieved when she knew how much a spanking from Hugh could hurt. A lesser punishment was still bloody painful, as Eleanor would say. Of course she would choose a spanking over a birching or a belting, but Irene would rather not have any punishment at all. But she knew she deserved it.

  She didn't regret her actions, or trying to give Grace and Cynthia more time, but she'd known when she made that choice that she would face the consequences later.

  Releasing her from his arms, Hugh walked over to the bed and sat down, patting his lap. "Come here, Irene."

  Sometimes she wished that he would just drag her. It would be so much easier than having to willingly walk to her own punishment. There was a sharp fluttering in her stomach that increased the closer that she came to him. Stifling a little moan, she lay herself over his lap, her legs hanging down on one side, her upper body across the bed.

  The feel of her skirts sliding up her legs, and then Hugh's warm hand on her thigh and bottom, made her shiver. His finger traced little patterns on the creamy flesh of her buttocks, as if inspecting the area that he was about to redden.

  "Do you understand why you're being punished, Irene?"

  "Yes," she said, her voice tight. She could already feel the tears rising in the back of her eyes, even though he hadn't even started yet. The anticipation was wringing her nerves. At this moment, she wished that he would just get on with it, but she knew that once he started, she would wish that he'd kept stalling. "Because I didn't tell you where Grace and Cynthia had gone."

  "I commend loyalty to your friends, but your loyalty must, first and foremost, be to me," he said, still stroking her bottom. His palm felt hot against her skin and she squirmed a bit again. This part felt good, which was only going to make the actual spanking feel even worse by comparison. "I will not tolerate lying to me, not directly and not by omission."

  "I'm sorry, Hugh," she said, miserably. She really was too. If she had to do it all over again... well, she wasn't sure what she would do, but she did feel guilty that she had made it seem like she valued her friends over her husband. Not to mention guilty for putting Cynthia and Grace at risk. This was her penance, and she would take it, because she knew she deserved it. "I don't like lying to you."

  "I know, sweetheart," he said, his voice softening a bit. "You're normally a very good girl, but that's why I have to put my foot down when you do step out of line." His voice had hardened again by the end of his sentence, and his hand lifted from her bottom and came down with a sharp slap.

  Irene jerked, mostly in surprise, and then clutched at the covers as his hand began to come down in earnest, smacking her bottom over and over again.

  SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

  The fire built up quickly as his hand peppered her bottom, covering every inch of creamy skin in a bright pink. At first it was easy for Hugh to tell where to land his palm: anywhere that her skin was still white. Once the first blush rose in her cheeks, he had to be a little more focused to make sure he didn't hit the same spots over and over again. He wanted each layer of the spanking to be even, although it did wear his hand out more.

  His wife began to pant and then moan as she squirmed on his lap, her soft belly rubbing against the hard ridge of his cock. As her buttocks began to turn a darker pink, her soft cries became more distressed, the sound going straight to his groin as her skin began to feel hot beneath his hand. Holding her firmly in place, he ignored her squirming as she began to plead with him.

  "Hugh, I'm sorry, I am, I'm sooooooooorry, I won't do it again, I promise!"

  Knowing better than to listen to the words, which were properly contrite but also really just part of trying to get out of her punishment, Hugh kept smacking his hand down on the jiggling flesh of her bottom. Each blow had a ripple effect through the rest of her pink skin that tantalized him, making his balls tighten as he yearned to plow into his wife. Even better, as her legs began to kick, he caught flashes of her pussy with its frame of soft red curls, glistening slightly.

  As usual, Irene had become aroused while she was being punished.

  She didn't enjoy the discipline, just as he would prefer that he not have to discipline her, but both of them had physical reactions to it that they couldn't deny. It was pure torture for Hugh to have to hold back, waiting to take his pleasure, because his wife had to be soundly spanked before either of them could enjoy themselves. Although, Irene's pleasure was almost a punishment in and of itself, because he knew that she was embarrassed by her reaction to being spanked. Especially since the first time he had done it, she had considered it abuse.

  "Huuuugh, pleaaaaaaase, I've learned my lesson! Please, please, please!"

  Her buttocks had turned a nice rosy red now, hot to the touch and probably quite painful. In some ways, his wife was lucky that she was the one to speak up and tell them where Grace and Cynthia were. If she hadn't, Hugh probably would have gotten her hairbrush at this point and laid its hard surface down atop her already burning cheeks.

  But he had decided that she had done the right thing in the end. He gave her one last resounding smack right in the center of her arse, and then began rubbing the abused flesh. She choked and made little sobbing noises, relaxing in relief as she realized her punishment was over.

  "I'm stopping now because you were good in the end," he told her sternly. "That's your reward, otherwise this would have been much worse."

  Irene nodded her head to show her understanding, because her throat was too choked up from tears. This hadn't been a particularly hard spanking, truthfully, even though she had wailed and carried on in an embarrassing manner. Of course it had hurt, it was supposed to, but she knew that it could have been so much worse. Unfortunately she'd discovered that her bottom could take quite a bit more punishment than she would have ever thought possible. It always hurt so much more than it looked like it would.

  Lifting her up from his lap, Hugh stood her up and pulled off her dress and chemise. Irene moaned a bit as his hands and fingers caressed her breasts, pinching her already erect nipples. It felt like her face flamed as bright as her bottom when his fingers slipped between her legs, coming away covered in her cream. The smirking, rakish grin on her husband’s face at the proof of her body's incomprehensible reaction only made her blush harder.

  When he tossed her onto the bed, on her back, she squealed and immediately tried to roll over as her bottom flared with pain at the contact.

  "Oh no, wife," Hugh said firmly, reaching out and rolling her back as he finished shucking off his own clothing. His cock was rigidly hard, standing out in front of him. "I want you on your back with your legs spread."

  The aggressive,
almost crude words made Irene shiver. She was enamored of Hugh as a gentleman, but when he became demanding and coarse in bed, she almost liked that even more. The fiery pain in her bottom made her moan as it came back in contact with the bed, her weight pressing down on it. Planting her feet on the bed, she kept her thighs spread wide, blushing at the open and vulnerable picture she must make, but doing it anyway to keep as much space between the bed and her bottom as possible.

  Hugh chuckled as he climbed between her legs, the head of his cock rubbing against her slick pussy lips as he hovered over her. "You can give me that appalled look all you want, sweetheart, I can see how aroused you are. Your pretty pussy is nearly as pink as your arse."

  Even as he caught her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, Irene whined in embarrassment that he'd pointed out her shameful reaction. She whined again, the sound muffled by his lips, as his body weight came down on her, pressing her into the bed. There was no way her legs could hold up both of them, and the pleasure of his body against hers mingled with the flaring sparks in her poor bottom. Writhing against him, trying to escape the fiery burn, her nipples and body rubbed against his hard muscles and wiry hair, further stimulating her senses. She could feel his cock bobbing between her thighs, the tip coated in her juices.

  With his own groan, Hugh thrust his hips forward, impaling her on his shaft. She gasped, opening her mouth even further, and he took full advantage, his tongue sliding in deep just like his cock. Irene clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging in, as she was driven into the mattress by his hard thrust, her bottom bouncing painfully against the bed.

  Almost immediately, Hugh started moving, hard and fast, slapping her pussy with his body and making her bottom bounce and rub against the mattress. Irene cried out at the painfully pleasurable sensations, her body confused as to what it was feeling as his cock massaged her insides and her sore buttocks were further abused. One of Hugh's hands slid down to grip a red cheek, fingers digging in and making her mewl as she squirmed beneath him, her pussy clenching in lustful passion as he rode her hard.

  Their lovemaking was always passionate, but Hugh was rougher with her, harder on her, after a spanking, as if punishing her woke some kind of animalistic urge inside of him. Irene was caught in the waves of his desire, almost as though she was being dragged into his ardor along with him. All she could do was cling to him as they came together, hanging on to him for the duration and hoping not to get left behind.

  Her body was clamoring for more even as she shrieked with pain and pleasure. The same part of her that loved the discipline reveled in being ravished and dominated by her husband, her own urges making her hotter and wetter as he pounded between her thighs. She gave herself over to the sensation, letting him take complete control of her body, accepting both the ecstasy and the exquisite burn.

  Hugh could feel her softening beneath him, her pussy clutching at him as he lost himself in her sweet heaven. The slight pain from her nails digging into his shoulders gave way to a masculine pride at how she clutched at him, writhed for him, cried out for him. The wet slickness of her body coated his cock, making it easy for him to pump in and out of her. The soft, breathy noises she made whenever her bottom was pressed against the bed - half enjoyment and half distress - sent shudders of pleasure down his spine.

  "Cum for me, sweetheart," he growled in her ear, his raspy, heated voice making her insides clench and dance. "I want to feel your pussy milking me while I fill you with my seed."

  His dirty, salacious words, combined with all that incredibly sensation, finally sent Irene careening over the edge of pleasure. She opened her mouth to answer him and ended up screaming his name instead as she clawed at his chest. The pleasure surged, lifting her high, and then dropping her into a free fall of ecstasy. It was stars and light and surging warmth all around her and inside of her. Hot liquid splashed her insides and she clenched, her pussy squeezing and milking Hugh's cock of his seed, just like he'd wanted her to.

  The connection between them felt so incredibly deep, so completely encompassing, that both of them were breathless as Hugh's body partially collapsed on top of hers. Still joined intimately, they breathed deeply, inhaling each other's scents, nuzzling and holding each other as closely as they could. Irene's eyelids fluttered as she felt contentment and exhaustion sliding through her.

  As the pleasure high began to wear off, she was more and more aware of the throbbing pain in her bottom. She whimpered, shifting beneath their combined weights, and Hugh immediately knew what was wrong. Holding her tightly, so that she moved with him, he rolled on to his back so that she lay atop him.

  His softened cock slid reluctantly from the warm haven of her body as he reached down to gently caress her ass. The soft cheeks were still emanating heat, and he was sure they retained their bright pink color even if he couldn't currently see it. Irene made a soft little noise as he stroked the sore flesh, wriggling to find a more comfortable position, since he seemed determined to keep her sprawled across his body.

  "Go to sleep, sweetheart," he murmured, one hand still cupping her bottom as the other drifted up to brush the hair off of her neck.

  "But what about Cynthia and Grace?" Irene asked softly, her voice sultry with sleepiness. "I need to know what happened to them."

  "We'll see them tomorrow at the wedding," he said, letting a hint of authority trickle into his voice. He didn't doubt that Wesley and Alex had the situation well in hand, otherwise he would have heard from them by now if they'd needed assistance.

  A small smile went across his face as he stroked his sleepy wife, his own contentment making him smug. He didn't doubt that all of their women would be sitting very uncomfortably at the wedding tomorrow.

  ******

  Getting back into the house that Alex had rented proved much easier than leaving the Countess' home unnoticed. On the way out, Grace and Cynthia had hid several times from maids and servants. They'd slipped out a side door that Cynthia said she had used on occasion to sneak out, both of them giggling with relief when they weren't stopped. Neither of them had seen the eyes that followed them out the door, watching with disapproval. For the first block, as they hurried down the street, Grace kept looking over her shoulder, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as if in warning, but no one called after them.

  The darkened streets had made her heart beat faster - or maybe it was just because she was finally going to achieve her goal. Most of the house was quiet and dark, and she was relieved, because that meant Alex had certainly gone out with the other men. His study was at the front of the house, and she was sure that he would have been in there still working if he were home. The darkness of that window in particular was reassuring.

  They'd slipped in through the front door, moving silently so as not to alert the butler, and easily made their way up into Alex's room. Grace hadn't hesitated to light the candles and gas lamps available, brightening up the room enough so that they could look.

  Surprisingly, despite the fact that most of the documents on Alex's desk were completely standard business correspondence, Cynthia didn't look bored at all as they leafed through them. She occasionally held one out to Grace, wanting to know if a particular transaction or deal might have something to do with Grace or her father, but nothing had. The documents on Alex's desk were entirely benign.

  "Time to go through the drawers!" Cynthia said gleefully, when they finished the third small stack, not even bothering to whisper.

  For some reason, Grace's stomach did a little flip when Cynthia opened the first drawer. It seemed more invasive to go through the drawers than it did to go through the things on top of his desk. Something disturbingly like guilt wiggled in her belly. But it was far too late to turn back now; curiosity, and a strange kind of desperation, drove her onward.

  "You take that side, I'll take this side," Grace said, shooing Cynthia to the left. The younger woman eagerly pulled open the first drawer.

  "Boring... boring... boring..." Cynthia was muttering under her
breath as Grace did her best to ignore the soft chant. Her own drawer wasn't proving to be very interesting either. Mostly it was long-term contracts between Alex and others with whom he did business. She did find the one between Alex and her father, but it hadn't been updated since it had been signed.

  Which meant that the deal between her father and Alex hadn't changed at all, despite her and Alex's estrangement. Not that her father had ever been the type to allow sentiment or family to get in the way of refilling his coffers. The man had decadent tastes, and didn't mind dabbling in business to support that, especially if he could do it under the guise of a socially acceptable transaction like a marriage.

  Scowling, Grace shoved the papers back into the drawer and moved on to the middle one.

  "Grace," Cynthia whispered excitedly, making Grace's head jerk up. But Cynthia wasn't holding papers, she was holding out a portrait in miniature, which had been carefully wrapped in paper in the middle drawer of the left side of the desk. "Look! This is you, isn't it?"

  It was. A younger her. Grace hadn't realized how much the face in her mirror had changed over the past years. In some ways, she was exactly the same; oval face, creamy skin, bright blue eyes with their extravagant lashes, deep black hair. Looking at this image of her past self, she could see the innocence of youth, the lack of lines around her eyes, and the artist had even managed to capture some of the hope that Grace had always felt when she was younger.

  When had Alex had this done? It wasn't a portrait that Grace had ever seen before, and yet it was irrefutably one of her younger self. This wasn't something he'd commissioned recently. So when? And how long had he been carrying it around with him.