Trembling a little, she ambled toward him, her hands still clasped in front of her and perfectly framing her breasts. But there wasn’t a trace of fear on her expressive face, only intense arousal, ready and waiting to be mastered into ecstasy. “I know…” she began hoarsely. “I know my request must seem like an odd one. Very scandalous. And I’ve already behaved scandalously by saying I am your wife. But…”
“But?” he said, soft and encouraging as he could, considering he wanted her more with each passing minute.
“You are a very attractive man. I am drawn to you in a way that I’m not even sure I can explain in my own mind, let alone out loud. But I very much want to be bedded by you. And…and I think perhaps you might want to bed me too.”
Arran nodded brusquely. “Yes.”
She brightened. “Then you will? Oh, I must reassure you also, I am not a virgin. So you do not have to worry about that, although my experience is rather limited. And, er…do you have a sponge, perhaps? Although it might be easier just to spill on my belly at the end.”
Such refreshing frankness delighted him, yet it only increased his curiosity about her. Unmarried but not a virgin. The knowledge of a courtesan but the speech, manners, and dress of a governess. A certain shyness, but a bold streak that spoke directly to that darker part of himself, the part that yearned to dominate and discipline and spank her backside cherry-red for daring to offer instruction. “A long way to go before then.”
“Really?” she replied, her gaze darting down to where his cock bulged embarrassingly prominently. “I think you might need your mistletoe mistress sooner rather than later.”
“My what?”
Rachel’s lips twitched. “Well, it is nearly Christmas.”
“Are you teasing me, madam?” Arran said, tilting his head. “How wicked.”
A shiver passed through Rachel, dislodging her shawl and revealing the outline of hard nipples pressing against the bodice of her gown. “I fear you are right. Such wayward behavior should probably be corrected.”
Arran stilled, temporarily speechless. Surely he couldn’t be so fortunate. This amusing, forthright, beautiful woman with the kind of heavenly lush curves tailor-made for a large man like himself, not only knew about the pleasure in discipline but wanted it? “Er…”
Her shoulders drooped. “I mean, ah…”
Leaping to his feet, he halted mere inches in front of Rachel, and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing the fabric covering the tops of her breasts. “I know what you mean. And yes, I will give you everything you need.”
Rachel moaned, her back arching in a deliberate attempt to get him to stroke her distended nipples. But he was having none of that. Only when his mistletoe mistress submitted to him fully and properly obeyed his commands, would she receive rewards.
Slowly, so slowly, he slid his left hand down the length of her arm before moving it to rest at the small of her back. Then he glided his right hand along her shoulder, up the side of her neck and around so his fingertips could trace little circles at the base of her skull. Rachel’s hands lifted to grip his jacket lapels, and she tilted her head back into his touch, her eyes heavy-lidded and her breasts bobbing as she took quick, panting breaths.
“Pl-please, Arran,” she whispered. “Kiss me. Please.”
Yes. That was what he wanted to hear from her. Raw need that only he could assuage. Benevolent now she had surrendered, Arran swooped down and captured her lips with his. Christ, they were soft. Soft and warm and ripe to be plundered. As he deepened the kiss, his tongue flicked at her lips for entry, and she opened her mouth immediately, a sensual little sigh escaping. Soon her tongue tentatively touched his, and he barely suppressed a groan as they tangled together and sent the kiss from hot to scorching. But then she attempted to move even closer and rub her taut nipples against his chest.
Naughty.
Arran chuckled, promptly abandoning her lips and turning her around, so her back rested against his chest, held firmly against him by his arm under her breasts. Rachel mewled in dismay, and further amused at the charming kitten-like sound, he bent his head to trail his mouth along the side of her neck, taking tiny nipping bites before soothing with a lap of his tongue. “Like a little kitten, you are delightfully playful and bold. But entirely too impatient. Try and take charge again, and I’ll be forced to discipline you. I decide when my mistress is allowed to come, and that time is not now. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Arran.”
“I think not,” he replied in a hard, uncompromising tone. “When being corrected, you will call me sir.”
Rachel quivered, a carnal little whimper echoing in the room.
“Yes, sir.”
Arran knew.
Somehow he knew that for the longest time she had yearned for a man to take complete control of her pleasure. To command her body in the bedchamber, discipline her when she was wicked, make her surrender in such a way that all she had to do was feel. And not only did Arran understand this unusual need in her, he also seemed to approve wholeheartedly. For a moment there when he’d stared at her, she’d thought she’d made a terrible mistake in starkly stating her desire for sexual correction. But oh, the way his gaze had then heated, his voice hard, his touch a perfect torment. And he called her a kitten, a rather apt choice for a woman known to be both wayward and occasionally fierce.
Rachel quivered again, her body screaming for more of the kisses that had near set her mouth and neck ablaze. If Arran attended to her nipples, currently scraping uncomfortably against a
