A Marquess for Christmas by Vivienne Westlake

stockings.
    When
Violet turned to say something, he put his hands on her neck and gently pushed
her back down to the bed. He looked down at her derrière, admiring each curve
and glimpsing a peek at her sex. It dripped with her arousal.
    “You
are an impertinent, brazen woman who does not know when to hold her tongue.”
    “I
think my tongue did quite well at holding your manhood.”
    “You
will learn.” He would punish her thoroughly and make her so wet she would spill
her silky come all over the covers. One thing that had not changed about him
was that he never shied from a challenge, even one issued by the most
delectable creature he’d ever met.
    He
was the Marquess of Kittrick . Obstinacy was bred into
him like loyalty into a hound. He remembered !
It had been there on the edge of his awareness this week. He remembered his
sister’s name and her stern face and flashes of his mother and father, but his
full name had teased the edges of his mind.
    Now
he knew it. Daniel Cosgrove, Marquess of Kittrick and
Earl of Stanwick . Though he preferred to go by Kit.
When he boxed outside of a gentleman’s club, he often used the pseudonym of Kit
Daniels.
    “I
remain as uneducated as I was minutes ago. When will my studies begin?”
    Violet
brought him back to the present. As elated as he was to finally have a name, he
could not forget about his dark promise.
    He
sat beside her on the bed, which sunk under his weight, so he had to move her
into a better position. With a gentle sweep of his fingers, he stroked the
elegant curve of her back. Once. Twice. Next, he brushed his hand over her
round bottom. He massaged the soft mounds with both hands, even letting his
thumbs skim her sex.
    Though
he would love to bend down and explore the open petals of her pussy, it wasn’t
time for that. So he lulled her into relaxing with tender strokes until he felt
her go pliant.
    With
a crack, he slapped one side, then the other.
    “ Oww !”
    “Quiet.”
He smacked her bottom again. A tell-tale flush had spread over her alabaster
skin. “You could have spared yourself, but you chose to goad me. Now your
derrière will pay the price.”
    “I
could scream,” she warned.
    “No
doubt you will,” he replied with a smile. “But do you think anyone will come
since they’ve no doubt already heard the moans coming from this room?”
    She
did not respond.
    “No
wise remark? Good, you are learning.” He rewarded her by sliding his fingers
over her pussy, stroking until she gasped.
    “Please,”
she whispered.
    His
response involved another crack against her left cheek.   She whimpered and he slapped the right
side.
    When
he could count to twenty and she’d made no sound, he slid his finger into her
wetness. The temptation to suck her slick petals and rub the little nub at the
top of her sex was too enticing. He could give her the release she so badly
needed.
    Already
his shaft came back to life and he wanted to fuck her.
    But
today wasn’t about fucking. She’d given him such immense pleasure and stolen
something from him that no woman ever had before.   He would see to it that she came—hard and
frenzied—but he would teach her not to push him too far.
    Violet
shimmied and he realized he hadn’t moved for a while. He loved watching her
beg, even if no words escaped from her lips—especially then.
    He
bent down and kissed her bottom. He licked and sucked a spot on one side then
nibbled the other side. All the while, his fingers quested, exploring her quim in slow, measured strokes.
    “I
can be generous,” he said, whispering close to her ear. “But never forget that
I am the wicked one, my dear.” In a steady rhythm, he spanked her several
times. Not so hard as to bruise, but enough that she would feel the sting.
    A
small squeal made him ease up on the sweet torture. He could push her farther,
but he decided he’d rather watch her unravel before him. Taking three fingers,
he thrust into her pussy. She lifted her bottom and he