Chapter Seventeen
The Ball
Marlow woke before Rosalind the next morning. He preferred that, waking before her, so he could drowse and gaze unabashed at her lovely features, her full lips and pert nose. Sometimes he toyed with the edge of a golden wave of hair, gently, so gently, marveling at the colors contained in that burnished tone.
How was it possible she belonged to him now? What good fortune? It had been her bravery that had accomplished it, while he’d been content to run away. I don’t deserve you, Rosalind. I don’t. She was the rose, Rosalind, and he was the thorny, mottled stalk that only existed to support her form and beauty.
She stirred as he thought his dark thoughts. He went still, waiting. He dreaded her waking after what he’d done to her last night. What if she opened her eyes and he read distaste in her gaze, or regret?
Her deep blue-gray eyes fluttered open, and there was nothing in them but affection, which made him love her more. More, always more.
“Have you been staring at me while I sleep?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes, intently staring. I’m sorry.”
She stirred, moving into his arms. “I don’t mind.”
“You’re far too kind to me in my excesses.”
“Is it an excess to stare at your wife as she sleeps?”
“It is when you imagine the sorts of things I do. After last night…” He let his voice trail off, then looked at her sharply. “How are you today?”
She stretched in a sinuous fashion that was far more erotic than she probably meant. “I’m perfectly fine, despite all you put me through. I slept exceptionally well.”
She was only saying that to please him. She’d been taught to be polite and pleasing her entire life. He wondered how she really felt, if she would even admit if she’d been hurt too much by what he’d done to her.
“Why are you frowning so?” she asked, stroking his cheek.
“Am I frowning? I don’t mean to. It’s only…”
“Only what?”
“I feel I must apologize for last night. I was too rough. Too coarse. Wasn’t I?”
“Goodness, Marlow, you shouldn’t worry about that.”
“But I spanked you for…for nothing really. Only because I wanted to.”
“It’s been that way every time, though, hasn’t it?” She smiled, bemused. “Am I really the sort of person who needs to be spanked?”
“No. But I want to do it anyway, all the time. Every day.”
“Because you like it. It excites you, and I like pleasing you.”
Just as he’d thought. It was about pleasing him. “Let me see the damage I’ve done to you.”
“Oh! Right now?” She protested as he lifted her and turned her over. He brushed up her diaphanous sleeping shift to reveal her thoroughly bruised bottom. It turned him on as much as it distressed him.
“You’ve got some color,” he said, rubbing his hands over the spank marks.
She turned her head but couldn’t see. “I need a mirror.”
“Oh no. No mirror for you. I can’t bear for you to see.”
“Feeling it is enough, I suppose.” She reached back and caressed one of her cheeks, wincing. “I warn you, I’ll look later.” She grinned, then grew serious as he gazed at her. “Dearest, don’t look like that.”
What did he look like? A man who’d gone instantly erect, to see his half-naked wife stroking her ravaged bottom? A man both lust-filled and horrified by himself?