Moonlit Chase & Secrets

Nightstorm nickered as Angelica briskly rubbed her down. Finishing quickly, she moved through the darkened stable, praying under her breath for a cloud to dim the brightness of the full yellow moon. She paused in both step and whisper as her ear caught the sound of heavy booted footsteps.

Picking up her pace, she followed the shadows of the thick oak trees, hoping the thundering of her heart could not be heard by the man tracking her. Breathing a sigh of relief, she grasped the familiar knotholes of the old tree that had given her a means of escape this night as easily as when she’d been a young girl.

Nimble as ever, Angelica scampered up the tree and wasted no time in swinging through her open window. Without a thought, she went through the motions of stripping out of the forbidden shirt and breeches using the moon as a means of light. Falling into bed, she never saw the grim face of the man, glaring at her through the window she’d left open.

The harsh light of the noonday sun, beamed cruelly across her face. Angelica grabbed a fistful of blanket intending to pull it over her head. The coverlet resisted and slid through her clinched fingers. Tasting the foulness of her mouth from too much ale, she turned to get a better grip on the sheet and ease the headache roaring through her head.

Expecting the coolness of the sheets, she met warm skin instead. Sucking in a short breath, she opened bloodshot turquoise eyes to meet the hazel almond-shaped eyes of the man she’d married the day before.

She lay frozen, feeling her strawberry blonde hair matted and gritty from drunkenly riding along the dusty road at a gallop to get away from this same man. He lay with menacing silence. His square jaw remained clenched as he just stared down at her.

Knowing it was only a matter of time, she rounded her eyes and lowered her chin, projecting the timid demeanor of a gentile lady.

“Cut the charade, you herridan. You and your father have conspired to gain yourselves a Duke, but I promise you, Duchess, you will regret that you underestimated me.”

The Duke of Marimont, Bram to his friends, glared fiercely at the devious chit he’d married. He rolled over to his side and Angelica saw that his chest was bare. Long work on his ship had toughened and hardened the muscles of his chest and arms. Unfashionably tanned he was still the most desirable catch of the season, and she was the young lady who would have loved to throw him back.

Smirking, Angelica dropped all pretenses. “My Lord, you reaped full ownership of my family’s shipping line through the marriage contract. I do not underestimate your intelligence; else you would not have gotten your hands on my coveted inheritance. My deception merely protected me from mishandling. You cannot fault the letters of the contract when you agreed to marry a witless deaf and dumb girl for her fortune.”

Angelica tossed her head with self-righteous indignation and immediately stopped the impulse to grab her head in miserable agony.

“You are now titled and have entrance into the ton, where once your family was snubbed. The terms of the contract states I am not allowed to breach your virginity because of your false afflictions. Madam, looking upon your fair face, I cannot help but to notice you no longer have red lumps leaking pus.”

The hump in your back in no way hampered your climb up the tree last night. In fact, that atrocious hump is nowhere to be seen. If I’m not mistaken, your hair seems to be healthy and plentiful if a little dirty. That cap you wore was just as atrocious as the hump.

“Sir, if you will remember, the contract stipulated that you were allowed the use of as many mistresses it would take to satisfy the loss of my duties in the bedroom.”

Bram’s face softened as a devious light appeared into his ever-changing eyes. Raising a large calloused hand, he ran a finger down the unmarked face of his gloriously beautiful wife. Lowering his face, near her own, he grinned.

“My dear Angel, it appears that you are not the woman I married, therefore I intend on making you the only mistress, I’ll ever need in place of that reeking hag I married.”

Rolling over her, he easily held both her arms together above her head, as he took a moment to look at her naked body under his own nudeness. Her pale softness contrasted with his dark hardness. He felt his acute need as much as she did, as he ground his hip into her thigh.

Angelica remained still, wondering how such a good plan could fail so swift and sure. She looked into her husband’s eyes and for the first time, saw no pity for a deformed orphaned young girl. What she saw was an intense hunger and a well-checked anger.

As he brought his mouth down, he flickered his tongue across the moist surface of her lips. Smiling at the thought of him tasting the sourness of the interior, she parted her lips. She was sadly disappointed when his lips skipped down her chin. She lay unsure of his next actions, her eyes closed to hide the confusion and warm heat she felt gathering in the pit of her stomach.

The cool touch of his finger on the tip of one nipple with the combined warmth of his tongue on the other, made an unexpected moan rip through her. The increase of the flicks of his tongue drew a grinding motion from her hips.

Bram controlled the urge to take what was his. He smiled at the pleasure of teaching his hellion bride what she was clearly meant to be. Duchess of Marimont, his wife and the mother of his many many children.

He shifted closer, his weight pressing against her, a deliberate dominance. Her breath caught in her throat as he tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. The scent of salt and sea clung to him, mingling with the lingering aroma of ale. He wasn’t gentle, not at all. Instead, he took a deep, measured breath, savoring the moment before unleashing his desire.

His hand snaked down her back, tracing the curve of her spine with deliberate slowness. His fingers brushed against the sensitive flesh of her lower back, sending shivers through her. It wasn't just physical; it was an assertion of control, a challenge to her carefully constructed facade.

He brought his lips to her neck, a slow, deliberate exploration of her skin. The pressure was intense, almost painful, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation. Her muscles tensed involuntarily, anticipating the next move.

His hand moved lower, gripping her hip tightly. He pulled her closer, forcing her into his arms. The heat of his body radiated against hers, igniting a fire within her. She arched her back slightly, seeking the sensation, craving the release.

His movements became more insistent, more demanding. He began to grind his hips against hers, a slow, rhythmic push that built steadily in intensity. Her breath grew ragged, her heart pounding in her chest. The pain was exquisite, a delicious torture that made her want him even more.

He lifted her, his grip firm and possessive, and carried her to the edge of the bed. He held her suspended in the air, his face inches from hers. The scent of his sweat and arousal filled her nostrils.

With a final, decisive movement, he lowered her gently onto the bed, pushing her down until she was lying face down, her body pressed against his. He began to stroke her back, his movements slow and deliberate, focusing on the sensitive areas beneath her breasts.

Her whimpers grew louder, more desperate, as he continued his assault. She arched her back further, begging for release, but he remained unyielding, savoring every moment of her pleasure. The world narrowed to just the feel of his hands on her skin, the heat of his breath on her neck, the primal urge for connection that consumed her.

He pulled back slightly, examining her face, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of satisfaction and dominance. A slow smile spread across his lips as he realized the depth of her submission. This was exactly what he had wanted, the complete and utter surrender of his new bride. As he continued to caress her, she knew that she had not only lost her husband, but her identity as well. She was nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure, a plaything in his hands. And in that moment, she found a perverse sense of freedom in her utter lack of control. The pleasure was exquisite, a dark, twisted form of happiness that both terrified and thrilled her. It was a new kind of pleasure, born from submission and domination, from the utter annihilation of the self. It was a pleasure she would never forget.

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Moonlit Chase & Secrets

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