Nola Page 3

  "No, no, please!" She was trying to wiggle away, yet not trying to, and he let her struggle for a moment, before catching her tear filled eyes.

  Brandon reached into the center of her, tugging those puffy lips apart so that he could deliberately waft his hot breath over her most private place, still watching her as that beautiful blush stained her chest and worked its way up her neck to her face. The random thought that he hoped he was still blushing fifty years from now flitted through his mind, making him frown fiercely.

  "Don't look away, or I'll paddle your bottom again, wife," he warned, letting his mouth descend on that delicate area, suckling away at her tellingly prominent bud while he watched her fighting herself and her shame as she kept her eyes locked to his while he defiled her with his mouth.

  Her hands were clenched in the bedspread beside her hips - she'd learned in the past two days - the hard way - not to interfere with whatever it was he wanted to do to her. But he found himself unwilling to allow her free range, so he grabbed her right wrist with his left hand, tugging it just the slightest bit, forcing her to offer even more of herself to his eager lips and tongue.

  His right hand wasn't idle, either, though. She had amazed him that first night by exactly how virginal she was, and he had stayed away from that particular area since then to give her some time to heal. But he was going to make damned sure that she didn't feel a thing that wasn't specifically designed to make her absolutely crazy with pleasure.

  When Brandon pressed just his index finger up inside her, he couldn't quite tell if her arched hips were meant to be an invitation or a method of protest. Either way, it didn't matter. He was going to do what he wanted to do, regardless, and what he wanted to do was pleasure his wife. He'd been very pleasantly surprised by how readily her body had reacted to him, and he intended to indulge himself whenever and wherever he wanted to, especially knowing that she wanted him to - even if she wasn't willing to admit or acknowledge that fact.

  His eyes were glued to her face as he entered her carefully, though, looking for any signs of true discomfort. There was a little bit of a twinge around her eyes, but nothing that made him feel the need to stop, and even that tightness disappeared completely when he settled his mouth over her burgeoning clit and began to move that solitary finger in and out of her, all the while holding that wrist - and pretty much Nola herself - completely immobile, completely at what little there was of his mercy.

  "No - I don't want this - please - stop!"

  Her husband didn't say one word to her desperate, humiliating plea. His mouth was, however, most definitely, sinfully occupied, and there was nothing she could do to get away from it. His abilities - his bald, bold knowledge of her body and the way he used how it continually betrayed her had Nola wishing every time he touched her that she'd never succumbed to Wilde's pleas to go to that blasted ball.

  But when he applied himself earnestly to cajoling her fiery pleasure, she thought she had died and gone to Heaven - only Heaven couldn't possibly admit someone as sinful as she was for enjoying what he insisted on doing to her. And she did enjoy it - all too much.

  The first time he'd entered her there - not with his finger - she'd screamed. He'd done it all at once, not stopping or waiting or even speaking to her about it. He simply invaded her, painfully, and remained seated within her as she struggled beneath him, trying to get her off and out of her, but that was akin to a mouse trying to move a lion.

  At that time, she'd felt very sure that she would never want anyone to touch her down there again. It hurt too much. She felt as if she'd been ripped from stem to stern down there, and was even more ashamed as tears rolled down her face because of it. It wasn't a terribly horrible pain - not nearly as bad as being spanked by him by a long shot - but it was the unexpectedness of it, she supposed, along with the inherent intimacy of the location of the pain that had her gasping and crying with it.

  But this time, there was almost no pain - only that God awful pleasure that he delighted in conjuring just to humiliate her. She had been so scared the first time it had happened that she'd screamed, more out of fear than out of the actual ecstasy that had wracked her body. She hadn't had any idea where all of those sensations were going - what it was all building towards - until she'd fallen over the cliff, and had naturally screamed as a result.

  Her scream had made her husband break into a huge grin as he labored over her, plunging deeply into her, not deliberately trying to hurt her, but not being all that careful of her, either. He was concentrating on bringing her to the heights of ecstasy, and he knew he'd hurt her, which made it that much more of a challenge to him.

  And he'd succeeded.

  He'd managed to repeat his success several times since then, despite the fact that she'd let him know it no uncertain terms that she had no interest in reliving the experience ever again.

  And that, of course, just made him want to make sure she did.

  Every time he wanted her to, without fail, and this time was no exception to his rule.

  Nola could feel her control slipping as soon as that hot mouth closed around her, and his broad, flat tongue began to bathe the entire area with his own hot wetness, rubbing over and over every molecule of that area, and she couldn't do a thing to get away from it. That was almost worse than anything else - the complete and utter helplessness that he created - because it amplified those feelings a thousand fold, and she knew it shouldn't.

  He was relentless, never coming up for air, never giving her a moment's respite, even when she arched against him violently and groaned through clenched teeth, entirely unwilling to give him the satisfaction of screaming again; groaning was quite bad enough as far as she was concerned. If she could have stopped that, she would, but she truly couldn't. Nola had always considered herself a strong willed woman, but her husband was turning out to be more than a match for her, and she hated him for it.

  As her body dissolved into the almost familiar bliss, and he joined them together in that horribly intimate manner she hated to love, she bit her lip as hot wet tears slid into the fine hair at her temples.

  Chapter Three

  Their honeymoon had officially begun the next day. They were scheduled to do the usual Grand Tour of Europe - Switzerland, Paris, Rome, London as well as other, smaller spots - but Brandon's father had taken sick the night before, so their honeymoon was put on hold. Her husband told her in an extremely matter of fact manner, as if he thought it shouldn't matter to her in the least that they would have to delay the trip, and frankly it didn't.

  Her almost complete lack of reaction - although he was certainly happy that she wasn't weeping and wailing all over him - was something of a surprise. He at least thought she'd be in somewhat of a snit or something, that she'd do the de rigueur moaning and complaining that most women would do.

  But she didn't. She seemed almost happy not to be going, and that made him even more curious about her. He knew he'd picked someone different - that had been a very deliberate choice on his part. But perhaps he hadn't realized just how different.

  She even came with him to see his father, calling him Papa Sawyer, and making him smile, if somewhat weakly. Nola found herself a chair and moved it next to the bed, reaching out to take a hold of the older man's hand. "Is there anything I can get you?"

  It was a truly ridiculous question - this was one of the richest men in the country who had servants, doctors and nurses dancing attendance on him every hour of ever day - but again, it was something that not everyone would offer. Geoffrey Sawyer found strength enough to ask her for some cold water, and although his ever present nurse rose to get him some, it was his new daughter in law that went to the trouble of going downstairs to fill a pitcher with water and ice, coming back up quickly and efficiently to pour him a small glass.

  Brandon knew that, with that small gesture, she'd weaseled her way into his father's heart. After that, he could barely pry the two of them apart. If his father had been twenty years younger, Brandon might have been worr
ied. But instead, it ended up that she helped him to recover quickly - and more so - than he might have from a small heart attack. Still, he found himself being resentful of the amount of time and attention his new wife was lavishing on his father.

  But he was between a rock and hard place - he could hardly forbid his wife from seeing his father, especially when his father's doctor has expressly mentioned how well Geoffrey was responding. As his frustration grew, so did his appetite for his wife, as if he was staking and restaking his claim each evening. She got up when he did and went off to take care of his father, but he insisted that she be home by seven to have dinner with him by eight.

  Their somewhat strained dinners together didn't bother him, because directly after dinner he would take her hand and lead her up to their bedroom. Some nights, he played the ladies' maid and undressed her slowly, his big fingers nimbly working the thousands of tiny buttons that her maid, Ruth, usually argued with. But he'd given her a standing order that she wasn't to come to their room again after helping Madame with her dinner ensemble. Neither Ruth nor Nola had been particularly happy with that order, but Nola had reassured the only somewhat older woman the next morning that she was fine with her husband's assistance.

  That was somewhat of a lie, of course, but she didn't want Ruth worrying, regardless. She was a married woman, and apparently his nightly - and sometimes, much to her shock and horror, he did it to her during the light of day - pawings were apparently something that married couples did.

  But she didn't have anyone she could talk to about what was happening between herself and her husband on a nightly basis - usually multiple times. She certainly couldn't speak of such things to her mother, whose idea of a woman to woman talk the night before her marriage had been assorted tips on how to treat the household staff and several of her father's favorite recipes.

  The girlfriends she'd had as an adolescent had all drifted away one by one as they got married and had children and became involved in their own family's lives. The only person she was truly close to was Wilde, and she wouldn't - she couldn't - ask him questions about such an intimate subject.

  Could she?

  Since the honeymoon had fallen through, she had set a luncheon date with Wilde at a small, intimate cafe they had frequented for years. They knew the proprietor well, and he greeted them by name, tucking them into the small booth they'd always favored and bringing them beignets piled high with powdered sugar and strong, hot cafe au lait.

  Wilde looked her boldly up and down. "So. How does married life sit with you, Mrs. Sawyer."

  Nola was still very uncomfortable with that name, feeling she'd done nothing to earn it, besides spread her legs every night and scream her husband's name at the most embarrassing of times. "Uh, it's... uh..."

  Wilde could read that blush on her face like a book. He and Nola had never discussed sex at all. It would have been completely inappropriate, especially considering his personal preferences, and he knew just how innocent she was, despite how involved in women's causes she was. She'd been completely sheltered from knowing anything about the physical side of being a woman - beyond that a woman was expected to submit to her husband in all things, he was sure.

  He raised his eyebrows at her and tried to be as casual as he could in his approach, not knowing exactly how far she would let him get with this. Sitting back against the plush but well worn velvet upholstery of the booth, he filled in words he figured a woman like her might use when thinking about the marital bed. "Embarrassing? Intimate? Awkward?"

  Damn Wilde for knowing exactly what she'd been thinking when her answer had trailed off like that. He knew her too blasted well for her own comfort. She shifted her own weight, feeling the stripes of his belt against her backside again as sitting irritated them, even thought there was more than enough padding on the seat. He'd laid it onto her well this morning, and had then kept her on her stomach and violated her from behind!

  She'd never even conceived of anything quite like what he'd done to her - or the mortification she'd felt from the fact that he'd tugged her hips back, so that she was on her hands and knees, just so that he could reach around to the front of her and make sure that she had that awful, horribly pleasurable explosion happened to her, whether she wanted it to or not.

  "My, my. That's not a very becoming shade of red, Mrs. Sawyer," Wilde couldn't resist needling her.

  "Stop calling me that! I don't feel like I'm Mrs. Sawyer. I feel like I'm plain old Nola Hughes, pretending to be someone she's not, pretending to be someone's wife and doing things -"

  Wilde said nothing, just tilted his head in invitation for her to continue.

  She tried, she really did. But she just couldn't get the words out. It was too shameful. The humiliation was just too incredibly awful.

  Finally, her companion took pity on her, of a kind, putting his hand on her forearm and patting it gently. "Let me guess, since I've much more experience in these things - "

  Nola scoffed loudly, then reached for a beignet she'd promised herself she wouldn't eat, sinking her teeth into it and feeling the hot pastry and the powdered sugar melting together in her mouth in a manner that was at least as sinful as what she and her husband did between the sheets in the middle of the night.

  "You've never been married - how would you know what I'm uncomfortable about?" she asked after swallowing the big bite.

  "Surely even you aren't naive enough to think that one has to be married to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh?" His schoolmaster's tsk made her color even worse, but she kept her eyes on her beignet. A sudden thought struck Wilde, although he'd never heard any mention of Brandon Sawyer having a problem with women. "He hasn't... hurt you, has he?"

  She wasn't at all sure how to answer that query, then for some reason, she opted for the bald faced truth. "He spanks me."

  Both of Wilde's eyebrows headed north at that revelation. But his reaction wasn't at all what she wanted. A huge, somehow self satisfied grin spread over his face. "He does?" There wasn't even the smallest ounce of sympathy in his voice. Absolutely none.

  Nola glared at him for all she was worth, but it didn't seem to be doing any good. "You're not supposed to be happy about that, Wilde. You're supposed to want to defend my honor and want to beat him up for it."

  "Not if I think it's good for you. I've always thought that your father should have taken you more in hand, Nola. Perhaps your husband is going to do that. I think that could only help you." He was serious for a moment, "But if you're telling me that he takes his fists to you, then we'll definitely have to have a talk."

  She squirmed in her seat, realizing she couldn't say that without lying, and she wasn't a liar. She could be an instigator, and sometimes she was a bit too outspoken, but she wasn't a liar. "Well, he hasn't, yet. He's done worse, though!"

  "Worse?"

  "Yes! He's - he's..." she wanted to tell him, but the words couldn't make it past her lips.

  "Made love to you?" Wilde filled in in a bare whisper. "Been free with his hands and... other parts?"

  He thought she was going to explode in embarrassment right in front of him, but that was how he knew he'd struck the right chord.

  "Worse. Much worse. He makes me..."

  Wilde could fill that sentence in with any number of suggestions, but then he thought of what might make a woman like Nola so completely incensed, thinking of how flustered she'd become, and what her new husband might do that would annoy her that much. When it struck him, he just blurted it out. "You like it."

  "Oh dear God." The pastry tasted like ash in her mouth as Nola realized that he'd struck on exactly what she'd been struggling to tell him but mortified that he might actually realize it. She buried her face in her hands, wishing desperately that she could disappear.

  "I'm right, aren't I?"

  Her words were badly muffled by her hands, but he had leaned so far forward that he caught every syllable. "I am so ashamed, Wilde. I - why - I can't stop it! I don't like it - I don't want - "


  Wilde was at a loss. That she could have been so completely innocent, and yet, apparently, brought to the heights of ecstasy. Wilde's measurement of the man rose several notches. There were few men of his class that would have bothered to do much beyond essentially breeding with his wife, figuring that she wouldn't have been brought up to be interested in any of the finer points of lovemaking.

  He had to admit that he had originally been very prejudiced against Sawyer's play for Nola. He'd seen too many of that type of man - the spoiled only son in a phenomenally rich family. The tendency for abuse was rife in that type of situation, and he had worried that Nola would simply have been another trinket for Sawyer to put in a display case and take out occasionally, when she intrigued him at first, then ignore as the marriage progressed.

  As her closest friend - male or not - Wilde had done some digging about the youngest Sawyer, and had been somewhat befuddled by what he'd found. There could be no doubt that the man was a playboy - an impressively discreet playboy, but a playboy none the less. Despite the fact that he was known to be ruthless in his business dealings, despite the fact that he was much less than the unfailingly polite gentleman that upper society required of its scions, Wilde couldn't find anyone to speak a word against him. Although he certainly didn't have to, he got up every morning and went to work at his father's business - almost without fail. He didn't spend money lavishly, yet lived a comfortable lifestyle. He paid his workers well, and didn't take lavish vacations himself, and, it seemed, treated everyone, from his servants to his peers, with the same general disdain.

  He'd watched as Sawyer had maneuvered his way into Nola's parents' good graces - not necessarily worrying much about how Nola felt about him, or his suit, but making sure that his parents knew who he was, and how well Nola would be taken care of, doing all of the right things as far as Mr. and Mrs. Hughes were concerned, but not spending too much time or lavishing much attention on Nola at all. From his view, it was almost as if Nola was a guest at her own engagement party. Wilde knew that the decision had been made for her, especially since she hadn't been told until a week before the party that that was what it was for. The invitations had gone out with no hint of an engagement, but Sawyer and the Hughes' had arranged the entire thing, including the small wedding that was performed several months later.