Chapter 59: Punishment and Promise
Four days had passed since the political revelations that shook the duchy.
Evening light filtered through Draven’s bedroom windows as candles flickered to life, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. Elise stood by the bed, her fingers fidgeting with the belt of her silk robe. carried herself with the poise that years of nobility had instilled, yet tonight, anticipation made her hands tremble.
"You’re certain about this?" Draven asked, his voice low and careful.
Her eyes traveled to the items arranged on the bed: pre-cut lengths of soft cotton rope, leather cuffs that gleamed in the candlelight, a leather paddle that looked more substantial than anything they’d used before, and a few other implements she couldn’t quite identify in the dim light. This was a different world from silk scarves and gentle restraints.
"Yes." Her voice held steady, though her pulse quickened. "I want more. I need to feel everything—harder, deeper, completely controlled."
Draven stepped closer, studying the face he knew so well—his mother’s face, beautiful even with worry lines at the corners of her eyes. "This is different from what we’ve done before. More intense. It will hurt."
"I know." She met his gaze without flinching. "I trust you. Completely." She paused, her fingers tightening on the robe’s silk fabric. "And I need this. With everything happening—the politics, the threats, your plan to eliminate Marcus—I need to let go. To give you complete control."
He understood perfectly. In her daily life Politics dictated her every move. Society’s expectations constrained her utterly.
But Draven had other plans. He would eliminate Marcus, claim the Duchy for himself. And when that happened, his mother would transition from Duchess to dowager Duchess—a position that would allow them to be together openly. Mother and son, living in the same household. No one would suspect the true nature of their relationship.
"Your safeword?" he asked, pulling his thoughts back to the present.
"Red. If I say red, you stop immediately."
"Good." He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her high cheekbones. "I’m going to push you tonight. Deny you. Make you beg. Make you cry." His eyes searched hers in the candlelight. "But I’ll never truly hurt you. Do you understand?"
A shiver ran through her body. "Yes. I understand perfectly."
"Then take off the robe."
She obeyed, her fingers working the knot at her waist with practiced grace. The silk whispered—rustle rustle—as it slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet with a soft whoosh.
Naked before him, her mature body was revealed in the golden candlelight. Her breasts, heavy with milk despite her age, already showed signs of leaking—drip—small droplets beading at her darkened nipples. Her nipples stood erect, flushed with arousal. Between her thighs, she was already glistening with wetness.
"Beautiful," Draven murmured. "On the bed. On your back. Arms above your head."
The bed creaked—creak—as she climbed onto it, the old wood protesting slightly under her weight. She positioned herself as he’d instructed, stretching her arms above her head, wrists together, waiting. Her breathing had already quickened.
Draven picked up the rope, testing its texture between his fingers before approaching her. Unlike silk, the cotton had a rougher texture—more restrictive, more present against skin.
He wrapped the rope around her left wrist with practiced care, each loop deliberate. Wrap, wrap, wrap. The rope pulled tight as he secured it to the ornate headboard, knotting it firmly. Knot. Then her right wrist received the same treatment, the rope digging in with constant, insistent pressure. Wrap, wrap, wrap. Pull tight. Knot.
"How does that feel?"
She tested the bonds, pulling experimentally. Tug, tug. Her wrists didn’t budge at all. "Tighter than silk. More... real. I can feel it constantly."
"Good. That’s the idea."
He moved to her ankles, binding each one with equal care before spreading her legs wide and securing them to the bedposts. Wrap, wrap. Knot. Wrap, wrap. Knot. She was completely exposed now, utterly helpless, her pussy on full display.
Then came the leather cuffs—an additional layer over the rope. They clinked softly—clank, clank—as he buckled them around her wrists and ankles. Buckle, buckle. Buckle, buckle. Double restraint. There would be absolutely no escape.
"Now you’re properly bound," Draven said, stepping back to admire his work.
Elise’s breathing had quickened significantly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "I can’t move at all. Not even a little."
"That’s exactly the point." He picked up the leather paddle, testing its weight with a firm slap against his palm. Thwack. The sound made her flinch. "And now we begin."
Her eyes widened, a mixture of fear and arousal darkening them. "Draven—"
"Color?"
A pause stretched between them, filled only with her rapid breathing. Then: "Green. I’m green."
"Good mother." He leaned over her, his presence dominating the space. "Tonight, I’m going to punish you. Make you beg. Deny you. Break you down, then build you back up stronger. And you’re going to take all of it. Understand?"
"Yes," she whispered, fear and arousal warring in her voice.
"Yes, what?"
Her breath caught in her throat. This was new territory. "Yes... Master."
The word sent electricity through him. She’d never called him that before, and hearing it from the lips of the Duchess—his own mother—made something primal and possessive surge within him. Throb. His cock hardened instantly.
"Good." He trailed the paddle down her stomach, the leather cool against her heated skin. Shhhh. "Your safeword?"
"Red."
"Use it if you need to. Don’t try to be brave. Don’t endure past your limit. If it’s too much, say red. Promise me."
"I promise."
"Good." He positioned the paddle over her left breast, watching milk begin to bead at her nipple. Drip, drip. "Now let’s see how much you can take."
The paddle came down with a sharp crack. SMACK.
"AAAhhhhhhh!" Elise jerked against the restraints—rattle, rattle—the rope and leather rattling against the bedframe. Her breast bounced from the impact—bounce—the skin immediately flushing pink. Milk sprayed from her nipple in a sudden arc. Squirt.
"Color?"
"Green!" She was gasping already, her chest heaving. "Green! Again!"
The paddle struck her other breast with equal force. SMACK.
"Fuck!"
He alternated between her breasts, each strike measured and deliberate. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. The paddle left pink marks across her sensitive flesh—not bruises, just the sting of impact. Milk leaked constantly now—drip, drip, drip—soaking the sheets beneath her.
"Yes! Yes! Punish me!" she cried out, her voice breaking.
Ten strikes. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Her breasts had turned a deeper shade of pink—flush, flush—milk streaming down the curves in rivulets. Tears had begun to fall from her eyes, though not from pain—from release, from the overwhelming sensation of finally letting go.
"AAAAhhhhhhhh More!" she begged, her voice desperate. "Please! More!"
Draven set the paddle down—thunk—and leaned over her, capturing her abused breast in his mouth. He sucked hard—SUCK—and warm milk flooded his mouth in pulsing streams. Squirt, squirt, squirt.
"Oh fuck!" Elise’s back arched off the bed as much as the restraints allowed. "You’re drinking! After hitting me! It’s too much!"
He sucked harder—SUCK, SUCK, SUCK—draining her breast while she writhed beneath him. Gulp, gulp, gulp.
"I’m going to cum!" Her voice rose in desperate pitch. "Just from this! From being hit and nursed! Oh god!"
He pulled back, releasing her nipple with an audible pop. Pop.
"No."
"What?!"
His hand came to rest gently on her throat—not squeezing, just holding, asserting control. "You don’t cum until I say so. Tonight, your orgasms belong to me. You cum when I allow it. Not before."
"Oh god." Her pussy clenched visibly—squeeze—wetness dripping onto the sheets. "You’re going to deny me?"
"Yes I want completely orgasm control. I decide when you cum, how many times, or if you cum at all." His thumb pressed against her pulse point, feeling her heartbeat racing. Thump, thump, thump. "Understand?"
"Fuck." But she wasn’t protesting. Her arousal was evident in the wetness gathering between her thighs—drip—and the way her hips shifted restlessly.
Draven stripped off his clothes—rustle, rustle—revealing his hardened length. Throb, throb. His cock stood fully erect, already leaking precum. He positioned himself between her spread legs, the head of his cock pressing against her slick entrance.
"Ready?"
"Please. Please fuck me."
He thrust forward hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. SLAM.
"Ahhh!"
There was no warm-up, no gentle building. He simply pounded into her with brutal intensity—SLAM, SLAM, SLAM—the bed shaking with each thrust. Creak, creak, creak.
"Yes! Fuck! Harder!"
His hips drove forward relentlessly, his body slapping against hers. SLAP, SLAP, SLAP. His balls hit her ass with each thrust—thwack, thwack, thwack. Her breasts bounced wildly—bounce, bounce—milk spraying in arcs across her chest. Squirt, squirt.
"I’m close!" Her voice broke with desperation. "Please! Let me cum!"
"No."
"Please! I need it!"
"Not yet." He slowed his thrusts deliberately—slam... slam...—keeping her balanced on the edge. "Beg better."
"Please, Master!" The desperation in her voice was raw, genuine. "Please let your mother cum! Please let me cum! I need it so badly!"
"Not yet." He pulled out completely—squelch—leaving her empty and gasping.
"No!" She actually wailed, her voice breaking. "Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!"
He picked up the paddle again and brought it down sharply on her inner thigh. SMACK.
"AAAhhhhhhh!"
Then the other thigh received the same treatment. SMACK.
"Aaaaahhhhhhh"
"Fuck!"
"Beg again. Better this time. Tell me what you are."
"Please!" Tears were streaming down her face now. "Please let me cum! I’ll do anything! I’m your mother! Your woman! Your slave! Your cow! Please let me cum!"
"Better." He thrust back inside her in one hard stroke. SLAM. "You may cum. Once. Now."
"Cumming!" Her body convulsed immediately—SPASM, SPASM, SPASM—her pussy clenching around him rhythmically. "Thank you! Fuck, thank you, Master!"
Her pussy clenched around him in powerful spasms—squeeze, squeeze, squeeze—her whole body shaking with the force of her orgasm. Wetness gushed around his cock—gush—soaking both of them.
But Draven didn’t stop thrusting. He continued driving into her through her climax—SLAM, SLAM, SLAM—overwhelming her overstimulated nerves.
"Too much! Too sensitive! Oh god!"
"Take it." He grasped her milk-swollen breast and squeezed hard. Squelch. Milk sprayed across both of them. Squirt, squirt. "You wanted more. You’re getting more. Every bit of it."
His thrusts remained relentless—SLAM, SLAM, SLAM—as her second orgasm began building far too quickly.
"Fuck, I’m close again! Already!"
"Denied."
"What?! No! Please!"
He slowed his pace, keeping her hovering just below the threshold. Slam... slam... Not letting her tip over the edge. The frustration was written across her tear-stained face.
"Please! Please let me cum again! I’ll be good!"
"Not yet. You cum too easily. You need to learn control." He leaned down, taking her breast in his mouth and sucking hard—SUCK—while continuing to fuck her with measured strokes. Slam. SUCK. Slam. SUCK.
"Oh god!" The combination was overwhelming. "I can’t! I’m going to—"
He stopped completely. No thrusting. No sucking. Perfectly still. Freeze.
"Nooo!" Elise sobbed, frustration and desperation mixing in her cries. "Please! Please don’t stop!"
"Breathe. Control it."
"I can’t! It’s too much!"
"You can." His hand returned to her throat with gentle pressure. "Breathe. Focus. Let it fade."
She focused on her breathing—haa... haa... haa...—gasping and panting as the crest of her denied orgasm slowly, agonizingly receded. Fade, fade.
"Good girl." He kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth. Slurp. "You’re learning. You’re doing so well."
"I hate this." But she was smiling through her tears. "I love this. I don’t know what I feel anymore."
"That’s exactly the point. Breaking you down. Building you back up. Making you mine completely."
For ten long minutes, he continued this exquisite torture. Bringing her to the edge with hard, driving thrusts—SLAM, SLAM, SLAM—then stopping completely. Freeze. Making her control the urge to climax through sheer willpower. She was utterly wrecked—tears streaming down her face, sweat glistening on every inch of her skin, milk leaking in constant rivers. Drip, drip, drip.
Her wrists had rope burns forming where she’d pulled against the restraints. Her body trembled constantly. She was a mess of need and desperation.
"Please!" she begged, her voice hoarse. "Please, Master! Let me cum! I’ve been good! I’ve controlled it! I’ve done everything you asked! Please!"
"How badly do you want it?"
"So badly! I’ll do anything! Say anything! Be anything! Just please let me cum!"
"Then tell me." He thrust deep and held himself there—SLAM—buried to the hilt. "Tell me what you want. Our future. When I’m Duke and you’re the dowager Duchess."
Understanding dawned in her tear-filled eyes. This was about more than just sex. This was about their entire future together.
"I want to be yours," she gasped, her voice breaking with emotion. "Openly. Publicly. Not hiding anymore. When you become Duke and I become dowager Duchess... we can be together. Live together. Mother and son in the same household. No one will suspect. No one will question it."
"Keep going. Tell me everything."
"I want to stand beside you. Advise you. Be your confidante. Your lover in secret. Your mother in public." The tears flowed freely now, emotional rather than frustrated. "I want to bear more of your children. Raise them in the ducal household. Make our bloodline stronger."
"Even though you’re my mother? Even though it’s the ultimate taboo?"
"Especially because I’m your mother." Her voice grew fierce despite her vulnerable position, despite being bound and used and denied. "We’ll make it work. We’ll make it beautiful. When Marcus is gone and you rule, we’ll have everything we’ve ever wanted."
Draven’s control nearly slipped at her words. Her passion. Her absolute surrender to their future.
He began moving again—SLAM, SLAM—each thrust deep and purposeful. "Two. You may have two. Now."
"Yes! Thank you, Master!" Her second orgasm crashed through her like a wave. SPASM, SPASM, SPASM. "Oh god, oh god, oh god!"
He reached for more rope as she trembled through her climax. Working quickly with practiced hands, he wrapped it around the base of each breast—wrap, wrap, wrap—creating tight bands that made them swell even more prominently. The pressure was intense but not dangerous—exactly the line they needed to walk. Pull, pull.
"What are you—oh!" Her eyes widened as the full sensation hit her. "They’re so tight! They’re swelling!"
"That’s the idea." He tugged on the rope—tug—and she gasped. "Every sensation amplified. Every feeling magnified."
He began fucking her harder now—SLAM, SLAM, SLAM—and with each thrust, her bound breasts bounced heavily. Bounce, bounce. The pressure was building inside them, milk having nowhere to go, creating an ache that bordered on pain but mixed with intense pleasure.
"It hurts!" she cried, tears streaming. "But feels good! I don’t understand! I don’t know what to feel!"
"You don’t need to understand. Just feel. Just experience. Just surrender."
Another five minutes of this brutal pace. Her breasts were turning a deeper shade of pink from the bondage—flush—swollen almost painfully. Milk was trying to leak but couldn’t escape properly—strain, strain—creating incredible pressure. She was begging incoherently now, words tumbling out between sobs and moans.
"Please... Master... so much... can’t... need to..."
"Three. Now. Cum for me."
"Cumming!" Her third orgasm tore through her. SPASM, SPASM, SPASM. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
He untied the breast bondage quickly—pull, pull, pull—and the moment the rope fell away—drop—milk exploded from her nipples with tremendous force. SQUIRT, SQUIRT, SQUIRT. The pressure released all at once, spraying everywhere in great arcs. Spray, spray, spray.
"Oh my god!" Elise screamed, the relief intense and overwhelming, mixing with the tail end of her orgasm. "Too much! Too good! I can’t—"
Draven leaned down and drank directly from the spray—SUCK—milk flooding his mouth—gulp, gulp, gulp—as he continued thrusting. SLAM, SLAM.
"Yes! Drink! Drink your mother’s milk! Take everything from me!"
The bed was completely soaked now. Sheets ruined. Milk and sweat and arousal everywhere. The room smelled of sex and milk and desperate need.
He felt her fourth orgasm building in the rhythmic way her pussy was beginning to clench. Squeeze... squeeze...
"Four coming?" he asked, pulling back from her breast.
"Yes! Please! Can I?! Please let me!"
"Beg for it properly. Use your words."
"Please, Master! Please let your mother cum! Please let your cow cum! I’m your breeding whore! Your milk slut! Please!"
"Yes. Four. Now."
"Thank you!" This orgasm was gentler, her body exhausted. SPASM... SPASM... "Thank you, Master, thank you..."
He pulled out—squelch—and began untying her ankles—knot, knot—then her wrists. Knot, knot. The rope fell away—rustle—along with the leather cuffs. Unbuckle, unbuckle.
But she was too weak to move, just lying there limply, completely spent.
"Wait. We’re not done?"
"Two more. You promised six. And I’m going to give you all six."
"I don’t know if I can take two more."
"You can. You will." Her ankles were free now, then her wrists. "Turn over. Hands and knees."
"I can’t. No energy left."
He helped her, positioning her carefully. Hands and knees, ass raised high, face pressed into the pillow. Then he retied her wrists to the headboard—wrap, wrap, knot—but now she was face-down, vulnerable in an entirely different way.
"This position," Draven explained, picking up the paddle again—thwack—"allows for much deeper impact. And I can properly spank your ass the way you deserve."
"Oh god. Oh god."
The paddle cracked against her left ass cheek. SMACK.
"AAhhhhh!" The sound that came from her was half scream, half sob.
Then the right cheek. SMACK.
"Aaaaaahhhhhhhh"
"Fuck!" More tears spilled down her face, wetting the pillow.
He continued methodically, each strike measured and deliberate. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Her ass turned progressively redder—flush, flush, flush—the marks clear and stinging. Each impact made her whole body jerk forward—jerk—the rope pulling tight on her wrists.
"Yes! Punish me! Spank your mother! I deserve it!" Her words dissolved into crying—not from unbearable pain, but from the overwhelming release of everything she’d been holding inside. The stress. The fear. The need for control. All of it pouring out in tears and sobs.
Twenty strikes. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Her ass was bright red now—flush—beautiful in its own way. She was sobbing openly, her whole body shaking with the release of emotion. Tears and snot running down her face, drool on the pillow, utterly undone.
He set the paddle down—thunk—and thrust into her from behind in one hard stroke. SLAM.
"Aaahhhhh!" The angle was different, deeper. "So deep! You’re so deep inside me!"
His hands gripped her reddened ass—grip—squeezing the abused flesh as he drove into her. The heat from the spanking radiated against his palms.
"Ow! Fuck! It hurts and feels good at the same time! I don’t understand!"
"That’s exactly the point. Pain and pleasure. Mixed together. Inseparable. Two sides of the same coin."
Her breasts hung down, swinging with each thrust—swing, swing—milk dripping steadily to create a growing puddle on the sheets below. Drip, drip, drip.
He reached around and grabbed one hanging breast—grip—squeezing it hard as he fucked her. SLAM, SLAM. Milk sprayed down onto the bed. Squirt, squirt.
"Oh fuck! Oh fuck!"
"You like that? You like being used like this?"
"Yes! Yes! Use me! I’m yours! Your breeding cow! Your milk whore! Your mother!"
"That’s right. You’re all of those things. And you’re going to be the dowager Duchess too. Living with me. Serving me. Loving me. Forever."
"Fifth one is coming!" she gasped between sobs and moans. "Please! Please can I?! I need it so badly!"
"Not yet. Beg properly. One more time. Tell me what you want when I’m Duke and you’re the dowager Duchess."
"I want to be yours!" She was sobbing fully now, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion, her words broken and desperate. "Your Duchess! Your adviser! Your mother! Your lover! Your everything! I want the whole duchy to see us together and never suspect! No more hiding in shadows! Just you and me, ruling together, loving together in secret! Duke and dowager Duchess! Openly living together! Forever and ever!"
"Yes. Yes." He thrust harder, faster. SLAM, SLAM, SLAM. The bed was creaking loudly now—creak, creak, creak—threatening to break. "That’s exactly what we’ll have. I promise. When I eliminate Marcus. When I claim the Duchy. When I make you mine legally as the dowager Duchess. That’s our future. Our destiny."
"I believe you!" Happy tears mixed with overwhelmed tears, all of it running together. "I believe in us! I believe in our future!"
"Then cum. Five. For our future. For everything we’re going to build together."
"Cumming for us!" Her fifth orgasm was powerful and emotional, ripping through her entire body. SPASM, SPASM, SPASM, SPASM, SPASM. "For Duke and dowager Duchess! For our future! For our love!"
Draven pulled out—squelch—untied her wrists—knot—and gently flipped her onto her back. Shift. She looked beautifully destroyed. Tears everywhere, covering her face. Milk everywhere, coating her breasts and the sheets. Sweat coating every inch of her skin, making her glow in the candlelight. Red marks from the paddle decorating her breasts and ass. Rope burns visible on her wrists and ankles. Completely exhausted. Utterly spent. Absolutely perfect.
"One more," he said softly, his voice tender now. "Six. Together. Then we’re done. Then you can rest."
"Together?" A weak smile crossed her tear-stained face. "You haven’t cum yet."
"I’ve been saving it. All of it. For you. For the final one."
He positioned himself over her in the classic missionary position, looking directly into her eyes. In this position, he could see everything—every emotion playing across her face, every tear track, every expression of love and need and exhaustion.
"I love you," he said simply.
"I love you too." Her hands reached up to touch his face with surprising gentleness given everything that had just happened, given how destroyed she was. "My son. My lover. My future Duke."
"My mother. My woman. My future dowager Duchess."
They kissed deeply, passionately, lovingly. Slurp. His tongue explored her mouth as hers did the same. It was intimate and tender after all the brutality.
He entered her again—slide—but this time his movements were slow, deliberate, intimate. After all the intensity, this felt right. This felt perfect.
"This is nice," she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying. "After everything... this feels perfect."
"It is perfect." He kissed her again, softly. Mwah. "We’re perfect. Our future is perfect. Everything we’re building together."
They moved together, building slowly with no rush. Slam... slam... slam... Just connection. Just love. Just two people who loved each other completely, forbidden though it was.
His orgasm finally approached after denying himself throughout the entire session. Throb, throb. "I’m close."
"Me too." Hers was building naturally, gently, beautifully. "Together. Please. Let us finish together."
"Together." He kissed her softly. Mwah. "On three. One."
"Two."
"Three."
They came simultaneously. SPURT, SPURT, SPURT. He filled her with his release—flood—rope after rope of cum flooding her womb. She clenched around him—SPASM—her final orgasm gentle, perfect, complete. Their bodies moved together in perfect synchronization.
"AAAhhhhhh..." Her final orgasm washed through her like a gentle wave. Peaceful. Beautiful. The perfect ending.
They collapsed together, tangled in each other’s arms, both gasping for breath. Haa... haa... haa...
The room was silent except for their breathing and the soft crackling of candles.
"That was..." She couldn’t finish the sentence, too exhausted to find words.
"Intense?"
"Perfect." She smiled, exhausted but deeply, completely satisfied. "Everything I needed. Everything I’ve ever needed."
Draven held her as they both recovered, their breathing gradually slowing, heartbeats returning to normal. He gently stroked her hair, her skin, soothing the marks he’d left.
After several minutes of comfortable silence, just breathing together and holding each other, she spoke quietly, seriously.
"You really meant it? About making me the dowager Duchess? About us being together openly?"
"Yes. Every single word."
"When you eliminate Marcus... when you become Duke... I’ll transition to dowager Duchess. We can live together. Rule together. No one will question a Duke living with his mother."
"Exactly. The perfect cover. The perfect future."
"They might whisper. They might suspect."
"Let them whisper. Let them suspect. They can’t prove anything. And as Duke and dowager Duchess, we’ll be untouchable."
She laughed weakly, happiness evident despite her exhaustion. "You’ve thought of everything."
"I have to. For us. For our future."
"When do we start? The plan. Eliminating Marcus. Claiming the Duchy."
"It’s already started. Lyra’s investigating, gathering evidence against him. Building the case. Six months. That’s all we need."
"Six months until you’re Duke."
"Six months until you’re the dowager Duchess."
"Six months until we can be together without hiding."
She cuddled closer, her head resting on his chest. Milk still leaked slightly from her abused breasts—drip—soaking into his skin. He didn’t mind at all.
"Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me exactly how it will be."
"When I’m Duke," he began, his voice soft but certain, "you’ll be the dowager Duchess. You’ll have your own wing of the castle. But you’ll spend every night with me. We’ll rule together—you’ll be my most trusted adviser. In public, the devoted mother supporting her son. In private, my lover, my everything."
"And children?"
"We’ll have more children. They’ll be raised as nobility. No one will question it—a young Duke sowing his oats, having bastards. We’ll legitimize them, bring them into the household. Build our dynasty."
"Our dynasty," she repeated, smiling. "I like the sound of that."
"And every night, I’ll have you. Just like this. In every way possible. You’ll be mine completely."
"I already am yours completely."
"I know. And I’m yours."
They lay together in comfortable silence, holding each other, planning their future in whispers and touches.
"Six months," she said eventually. "I can wait six months."
"It’ll go quickly. The time will pass before we know it."
"And then?"
"And then freedom. And then everything we’ve ever wanted. Duke and dowager Duchess. Openly. Forever."
She kissed his chest softly. "I can’t wait."
Neither could he.
The candles burned lower as they held each other, both lost in thoughts of their future. A future where they could be together without fear. Where their love—forbidden, taboo, wrong in every conventional sense—could exist in the light.
Six months. Then freedom.
Six months. Then the Duchess would become the dowager Duchess.
Six months. Then theirs.
Openly. Publicly. Forever.
END OF Chapter 62
[A/N]: hey guys 👦 ❤️ sorry for late update but I am busy in my personal things so 😅 these will updates little late sorry for that ... how was Chapter well i am felling like hentai reader and writter at same time 🤣😛🤭 what should I say more tell me you opinions 🤔...
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