Content warnings can be found here

Peaches gave a slight, teasing smile, and made insolent eyes at him. “Is that so, my Lord?”

“I should bloody well think so. Look at you. It’s a disgrace. You’re supposed to be my man, and you swank into the room so that a gentleman has no choice but to fix his eyes on your backside? Is that fitting behaviour, Peach? Is that proper?”

She said nothing.

He picked up the crop and tucked it underneath her chin, pushing her head upwards, the way Dickie had liked to do, “I asked you a question, Peach.”

“No, my Lord.”

“Quite. And what am I supposed to do? Take you home to Forthenby for all the lecherous eyes to gape upon? You, my boy, are salaciousness simply waiting for opportunity to indulge itself. Now, drop those britches and bend over.”

She pouted, “As you say, my Lord.”

He tapped the whip sharply against her face. “Less impertinence from you, lad. Get over here.”

She fluttered lashes in the most whorish way she had, and came to stand by the bed, right beside where he had planted himself and started to unpick the buttons of her fly. Then, she peeled off the britches and arched like a cat, her hands stretched out before her, her legs straight.

“On your knees, boy.”

With a sultry look, she obliged.

“Oh, yes.” He ran the cold leather of the crop over the cheeks of her backside, back and forth, flexing his wrist as though he were about to strike. 

She flinched, obligingly. 

Edward breathed, slow, keen. He was impossibly hard. “Do you know how I handle insolent serving men like you, Peach?” he said, and licked the first two fingers on his right hand. With a rough caress, he felt the tight hole of her arse and pressed against it.

“What about supper?”

“Did I ask you to speak, Peach?” he said, and pressed harder against her, the fold of tissue yielding for a second, tensing, yielding again.

She shook her head.

He pressed again and a fingertip slipped inside her. She gasped. “I expect an answer, Peach,” he said.

“No, my Lord.”

“Precisely.” He waited for the muscles to unclench and thrust himself deeper. His second finger slipped in after the first. Inside, she was smooth and flawless. He wanted to take her then, to take her roughly, overwhelmingly, and to make her scream. It was a struggle not to shove at her, to push his whole hand inside, knuckles and all. Peaches made a muffled gasp, halfway between pain and pleasure. The sallow skin of her thighs and backside were stark against the dark counterpane, and Edward felt a groan of desire building in his throat. “I am going to enjoy teaching you the proper forms of this so very much.”

“And this is proper, is it? Ah,” she cried out as he slapped the crop into her side, “My Lord, I mean.”

He whipped her again and pushed his fingers deeper inside her. “No, that wasn’t why I struck you. Why did I strike you, Peach?”

She burrowed down into the bed. In her white sleeves and amber waistcoat, with the fine sinews at the nape of her neck, she looked like the prettiest boy he had ever bedded. “Speaking out of turn, my Lord.”

“Again.”

“Again, my Lord.”

Edward put down the crop and unbuttoned his own britches, stroking his cock as his hand slid back and forth inside her arse with a smooth rhythm. “I’m going to bugger you, Peach.”

“Are you now?”

“You really need to learn to shut that lovely mouth of yours.”

“Unless I’m sucking you off, eh, Teddy?”

“You’re impossible,” he said, and slid his fingers out of her, shifting until the head of his prick rested there instead, waiting. She was more open now, and arched her back, shivering a little at the touch of it. “Honestly, Peaches, if I were serious about this you’d be raw by now. Even I wasn’t this fucking stupid.”

“You, ah,” she moaned as he pushed inside her, as the delicious tightness of her arse closed about him, pulsing in slow, measured waves. “Mmm, you like me pert.”

And that made him think of her high, pretty nipples, the way she swung her little hips as she walked, and it was only because they’d had each other in the bath that he did not spend there and then. Edward rocked his hips forward and back, “Pert, and hard, with that tart tongue of yours. Peach is a bad name for you. You’re more of a damson.” He felt her around him, a smooth tunnel of muscle and secrecy. She moaned, writhing, and he felt at once awash with power and admiration. It would be easy to turn it in his hands, to make himself cruel. The riding crop lay next to him on the bed. 

Instead, not meaning to, he held her hips against him with the kind of grip you would put on a horse’s head if you were riding without reigns, and used the other to stroke the back of her neck. She sank into the bed as he thrust deep inside her, rose up as he pulled away, as though that distance were more than she could bear. 

“Oh,” she said, after a long time, a long, slow time. “Oh, this is… this is impossible, Teddy. How do you cope with this?”

He stopped. “Am I hurting you?”

“No. No. But, Christ, I’m keen. And I can’t…” she was pressing her thighs together, the little minx, and grinding against the bed. 

So that was what all the wiggling was about.

“I’m frustrating you?”

“Mmm,” she said, and, “Yes,” and she swore. 

“Oh. Oh, that is the most beautiful thing I’ve heard. I’m deep in you and yet you’re aching for me?”

“Yes,” her voice was breathy, surrendering. Beseeching. “Honestly, I… ah. Come on…”

“Come on, Teddy, be a sport? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

She did not answer him with words, just a deep sound of need and longing and annoyance.

He pushed hard inside her, bracing his hands against her shoulders, awash with triumph. “Are you in my power, Peaches?”

And, for a moment, she tensed, as though she were about to throw him off, then she relaxed again. “I’d rather you were in my power.” 

“Of course you would,” and the warmth of satisfaction immanent flooded him, “You always prefer that. But that’s not what I asked. You’re in mine. Utterly. And you want me to frig you.”

“Yes.”

Edward licked his lips and made quick thrusts into her, felt her tremble and buck in frustration. “You know,” he said, “it’s easier for chaps. You see, if you were thus equipped, your cock would grinding against the bed and that would be doing the job for me.”

“Yes, I can see that would help,” she said, and twisted her hips against him, as though by rubbing her thighs together enough and ramming him deeper inside herself she would overcome the handicap of having her clit tucked away so neatly. 

“But, instead, you want me to, hmm...” He pulled her up a little, slid his hands under her hips and cupped her mound, “Hold you like this?” Her hair was somehow both soft and rough against his fingers. She shoved against him and the very tip of his nails teased against the wet fold of her lips. He pulled back a touch.

“Ooof. Don’t be such a bastard.”

“But no,” he said, as though he hadn’t heard that, drawing his hand back another quarter of an inch. “Now I think about it, I don’t see why I should have to. I’m having my man. Anything that he gets out of it is his own concern.” And he grabbed one of Peaches’ wrists and dragging it behind her back. 

“Don’t you dare,” she said, and tried to get her other hand between her legs, but he slipped his own away from her cunt and grabbed her free wrist, bundling it up with the first.

“Now, where was I?” he said, returning his fingers to just where they had been. In his grip, she gave her wrists a token struggle then relaxed. 

Watching it sent a shiver through him. He knew that feeling, the way it was rich in your mouth like good brandy, when you owned yourself overpowered. When, even if you could have escaped, you chose the path of surrender, submission.

Edward moved slowly, drawing out his own pleasure, feeling the heat of his breath against her back, the warmth of her thighs against his own. Then, at last, as his own pleasure built to its very peak, he relented and slipped his hand into the soaking wetness of her cunt, feeling her clit slip against his fingers, feeling her shudder and spend against his hand. And at the tremors that went through her muscles at that, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Close, close and breathless and sweaty, he clung to her, this wonder, this marvel that was Peaches, and she made small, satisfied movements as he withdrew his prick from her. 

“Oh,” she said, a short, blissful sound that expressed whole worlds of closeness, of the complicity. For the shortest moment of heartache, Edward thought of Dickie, and the words he had written on the note. Then he made himself smile, and kiss her. 

“Better?”

“Wonderful.”

“Yes,” he said relaxing back into the moment, into the exhausted flesh beneath him. Then, catching sight of the fob lying on the bed with the rest of the stuff, “Oh, damn.”

“What, my Lord?”

“Peach, I think we’ve missed our chance at supper.”