Papa's Little Pain Princess Read online

  Wishing to get a closer look to see the color of his eyes, Winnie leaned in closer. The thin, feeble wood of the dressing screen creaked. Her heart stopped. With wide, helpless eyes, Winnie stared through the slats, sure she was about to be dragged from her hiding place like a petulant child.

  The muscles across Archer’s back tensed. There was no other outward show of awareness. Continuing his seemingly casual pose, he tilted his head, serenely swinging his gaze around the small room, searching for the source of the sound. If he were fortunate, it was some poor love struck swain intent on earning the affections of Lenora. He would still have to bloody the poor man, thought Archer with a smile, but it would solve his problem rather handily.

  It was then he caught sight of a pair of beautiful dove gray eyes through the slats of the dressing screen in the corner. Framed with lush lashes, large with a distinctive almond-shaped tilt, there was no doubt they were feminine. This evening continued to surprise. He saw the eyes widen in fright as he took a step forward, intent on seeing the face that belonged to such bright, expressive eyes.

  “Devil take him if he thinks I’m gonna let him get all the laughs next round,” harshly cackled Lenora to a stage assistant as she strolled into her dressing room. “My Lord!” she crooned with surprise as soon as she saw Archer, quickly softening both her demeanor and voice, “What a surprise!” she exclaimed as she kicked out behind her, getting the stage assistant in the shin, for not notifying her sooner. Lenora slammed the door in the lad’s face before he had a chance to protest.

  Archer slowly turned. Taking in Lenora’s exaggerated appearance with her painted face and heavy perfume, he felt an irrational surge of anger. She had spoiled his fun with the mystery sprite behind the screen.

  “Ah, did my stwong, woody poody need his wittle puss puss?” warbled Lenora as she pressed against his chest, running her hands over his shoulders.

  Archer closed his eyes and suppressed a grimace. A misguided attempt at some bedroom play a fortnight ago had led Lenora to adopt what she thought was a darling, little girl’s voice but to Archer was just grating and annoying. It was his own fault for trying to initiate her into some of his darker control fantasies.

  “I’ll be wight back,” Lenora giggled in her sugary baby-voice as she headed towards the dressing screen.

  Archer grabbed her by the upper arm. “Wait.”

  “Archer, I just need to change out of my costume then we can have some fun,” she intoned. “I’m not on stage again until the second scene in the third act.”

  “I won’t wait,” he hissed. “On your knees.” He tightened his grasp on her upper arm to emphasize his point.

  “My woody poody…”

  “Stop talking and open your mouth,” Archer ground out as he reached down and undid the buttons on his trousers.

  Lenora gave a soft sound of protest as she was forced to the floor on her knees, not because of the position but rather she didn’t want to soil her new costume. “Please, Archer, can I at least change first?”

  “No.” He fisted his cock as he watched her mouth twist into an unhappy mew. Knowing she was getting ready to be stubborn, Archer reached down and grabbed her under the jaw with his large hand. Pressing his thumb and middle finger into the soft, fleshy skin of her cheeks, Lenora’s mouth was forced open wide. Grabbing Lenora by the back of the head with his other hand, he angled her head back and prepared to push his thick cock deep into her throat.

  Pausing as the head of his shaft felt the wet tip of Lenora’s tongue, Archer looked up, searching for a pair of innocent, dove gray eyes.

  Locking in on those eyes, he slowly pushed his cock in further. As the smooth, sensitive underside of his shaft felt the rough brush of Lenora’s tongue, Archer’s gaze never wavered. He had not even seen the hidden woman’s face and already the thought of her watching him getting his cock quail-piped by Lenora made him more aroused then he could ever recall being.

  Tightening his grip, he pushed till he felt the squeeze of the back of Lenora’s throat. “Swallow it,” he breathed through clenched teeth. The quivering walls of her throat closed against his shaft, as the head of his cock thrust deep.

  Lenora groaned as she pushed her hands against his hard thighs, struggling. Finally, he relented. Pulling his cock free for a moment, the room was filled with Lenora’s harsh gasps for breath.

  “Come on, open that mouth,” ordered Archer as he leaned over her prone form. Grabbing her jaw once again, he rammed three fingers into her mouth, pressing down. Lenora’s mouth gaped open, spittle running down the side as she choked on his fingers. Archer released her face as he once again fisted his aroused cock. Tracing the outline of her swollen lips with the wet tip, he darkly whispered, “Open”.

  “I don’t want to, Archer,” whined Lenora. “Can’t you fuck my pussy instead?”

  “Open.”

  “Please, not so rough,” Lenora begged.

  Archer turned a deaf ear to her pleas, he was too focused on the large pair of eyes that had turned a smoky, dark gray as they watched him in horrified fascination from their hiding place. Threading his fingers through Lenora’s hair on either side of her face, he waited till she dutifully opened her lips wide. Once again, capturing the gaze of his hidden voyeur, Archer slid into Lenora’s wet, warm mouth. Keeping her head still, he rocked his hips back and forth. His wide shaft was almost beyond what her mouth could contain. Her lips stretched painfully around the girth. He could feel the gentle scrape of her teeth across the top as Lenora’s jaw weakened from being forced open. The pace of his thrusts increased. Lenora’s choking gurgles, the only sound that could be heard in the small chamber. She struggled to breathe around his cock as he ruthlessly used her mouth.

  Crushing her face against his flat, abdomen, Archer let out a guttural groan as he released his seed deep into Lenora’s throat. Archer hauled Lenora’s rumpled form to her feet. Using his index finger, he pushed a small drop of cum from the corner of her lips, deep into her mouth.

  “What do you say?” he commanded.

  Lenora stared at him with glassy, unfocused eyes, her cheeks warm with a bright flush. Her throat burned. Her lips felt bruised and chapped. Even her knees hurt. “Thank you, my lord,” she cooed as she curled against him like a satisfied cat.

  ~

  For the second time that evening, Winnie thought she might faint. While no one living in the East End would consider themselves sheltered by any means, she had never seen or experienced anything like that in her life. The barbarous way he just grabbed and used that woman. Winnie pressed her cold hands to her inflamed cheeks, ashamed to admit how much the sight aroused her. He was distractingly handsome but it was his strong hands that kept her riveted. The way they masterfully gripped…the woman’s head. Well, not just her head but try as she might, Winnie could not get a good look at that part of him.

  It was all just so raw, so real. Nothing like she imagined what would take place between a man and a woman. He didn’t even bow or kiss her hand! Winnie thought a gentleman was supposed to be sweet and well…gentle. They were supposed to wait around to do a woman’s bidding like getting her punch or picking up her handkerchief. At least that is what they did in the fairy tales and novels Winnie liked to read. The man on the other side of the screen did not look like he had ever fetched a woman anything in his life let alone a cup of punch.

  He seemed to have more in common with a marauding Viking from a past age than he did an upstanding member of the ton. The most frightening part of the whole experience was the way his eyes seemed to bore straight into hers. The intensity of his gaze took her breath away. Winnie was almost certain her hiding place had been discovered but surely he would not have continued on with such an intimate act? An extremely intimate act. An almost savagely intimate act she thought, her cheeks flushing again. Winnie wondered what it must have felt like to be that woman. To be at the mercy of such a man. To be under his control.

  Winnie was roused from her dangerous musings by a startlin
g screech. Fearing the worst, she curled into a ball and prepared to be dragged from her hiding place. Moments went by and nothing happened. It took her another moment to realize the shrieking and chaos had nothing to do with her.

  Lenora was rushing about the room babbling, “I’m going to miss my cue! Lord! Look at my hair! I don’t have time to change my costume now! There is nothing for it.” She raced over to the dressing room door and swung it open, shouting for the stage assistant. When the lad appeared, she grabbed him by the collar. “Tell Hardy to hold the curtain for me. I need to change.”

  Archer calmly intervened. “The lad will do no such thing. A London curtain does not get held because an actress got tussled between acts,” he quipped sardonically as he motioned the lad away.

  “You’re a bastard, Archer.”

  “And you, my dear, are a whore. Now hurry along or you will miss your cue.”

  With a rather unladylike snort of laughter, Lenora kissed him on the cheek and hurried away.

  The small chamber was once again silent. Archer lit a cheroot and waited.

  ~

  Winnie strained to hear any signs of movement. The dressing room was quiet and still, only the smell of the man’s clove tobacco lingered. Winnie cautiously stepped out from behind the dressing screen.

  “Well aren’t you a naughty little one,” intoned a dark sultry voice.

  With a frightened shriek, Winnie promptly tripped over the excess fabric of the princess costume and fell to her knees directly in front of the imposing stranger.

  Archer raised an eyebrow. “My, my. This looks familiar,” he mused.

  Mortified, Winnie tried to scramble to her feet but only managed to step on the front hem which wrenched the bodice of the gown scandalously low. “Oh! Oh, no!” she cried in dismay as she lowered back down to a kneeling position as she tried to cover her charms.

  Archer made no attempt to assist her, preferring instead to observe. The promise of her large, expressive pearl gray eyes did not disappoint. The rest of her was just as lush and lovely. For a petite, little scrap of a thing she was full of curves. Archer observed her ample breasts when she stepped on her hem and her generous bottom when she pitched forward to try to cover her ample breasts. Already he was finding her immensely entertaining. She had a charming, heart-shaped face with a pert nose, that only served to make her wide mouth and large eyes look even more out of proportion. The effect of which gave her a deliciously innocent yet sensual appeal. Her honey-brown locks were an odd mixture of artificial curl and iron-straight. It was a floppy, slightly up, slightly down mess that only added to her charm.

  “Please, my lord,” Winnie begged. “I…I didn’t see anything.”

  “Tsk. Tsk. Now we must add lying to your list of transgressions.”

  Winnie didn’t think it was possible to blush any more furiously.

  “I wonder what sort of punishment I should devise for a little girl who spied on her betters and then lied about it,” remarked Archer casually taunting her.

  At the word punishment, Winnie finally met his gaze, something she had been avoiding. The wanton images spurred by her similar position to the woman earlier crowded her vision. By his arrogant lip tilt, she could tell he was reading her mind.

  “Oh, please, my lord. I didn’t mean any harm. Truly I didn’t!” Winnie implored.

  “What is your name, little one?”

  Winnie hesitated, not sure if she should tell this powerful man her name, but one gaze at his unrelenting look proved she had no choice. “Winnifred Edwina Applegarth, my lord,” she dutifully answered.

  “My, that is a big name for such a tiny thing,” he commented.

  “My…my friends call me Winnie,” she offered shyly.

  “That seems more in keeping. Well, Winnie. I am the Most Honorable Marcellas Horatio Stuart, the 11th Marquess of Archerly.”

  “That is a big name for such a…” Embarrassed Winnie stopped, realizing what she was about to say.

  Archer laughed. Yes, she was very entertaining. Leaning down on his haunches, Archer placed a finger into her gaping bodice, tracing the lace edge. Winnie shivered at the close contact. Keeping his eyes on the rapid rise and fall of the tops of her breasts, Archer chastised her in a low, quiet voice. “I don’t believe this is your gown, Winnie. Is it?”

  “No, my lord,” whispered Winnie, dejected. She nervously brushed at the long bangs tickling her eyes.

  “If it doesn’t belong to you, then you need to take it off.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Winnie waited but he didn’t move. Confused, she said, “I’ll just step behind the screen, my lord.” The idea of undressing with this dominant man in the room, even with the slim protection of the screen, sent a shiver of titillating unease across her shoulders.

  “I think you already got into enough trouble behind that screen. You’ll stay right here where I can see you.”

  Clutching the bodice close as a flimsy bit of protection, Winnie tried to protest.

  Archer’s long, firm thumb pressed against her lips. Tilting her head back so he could stare into her soft, gray eyes, he warned, “Hush. Don’t make me angry, and don’t make me repeat myself, little one. Take off that dress.”

  Swallowing her whimper of protest, Winnie nodded her head in defeat. Archer rose to his full height. Winnie could feel him towering over her slight frame. He held his right hand out and waited. Reluctantly, Winnie placed her small hand in his much larger one and allowed him to raise her up.

  Standing awkwardly in the center of the room, Winnie nervously twisted her hands in front of her, waiting…for what she didn’t know. Perhaps for the floor to open up and swallow her whole? A big puff of smoke to suddenly fill the room so she could escape? Some woodland creatures to appear to defend her honor? All those scenarios seemed more likely than changing the mind of the imposing man standing before her with his arms crossed in a rather menacing way over his chest.

  “Winnie.”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. That was all it took, just her name to spur Winnie into action. Since the costume was fitted for the taller, more well-rounded Lenora, it was a simple matter of slipping the dress off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. She kept her head bowed, refusing to meet what she was sure was his pitying look or worse his laughter. This was a handsome man of the world. Winnie did not want to dwell on what he must be thinking when he took in her dingy, threadbare unmentionables not to mention her short stature. Men like him were used to glamorous women like that Lenora. Women who wore clean, silky pink things and smelled like lilac soap. Maidenly concerns were the furthest thing from Winnie’s mind as she was sure they were the furthest thing from the Marquess’ mind.

  She could not be more wrong.

  She awakened his senses.

  Archer used every ounce of self-discipline he possessed not to pounce on the poor unsuspecting thing. Truth be told, it was not so much self-discipline as it was indecision. He could not decide what he wanted to do first…or most. She was a feast for his senses. He wanted to sip from those beautiful, pouting lips only to move to her breasts to see if they tasted as creamy as they looked. Perhaps he would start from behind? The thought left him feeling beastly, almost primal. He would bury his face into the tender spot between her neck and shoulder to breathe in the sweet musk of her arousal. From there, he would grasp her hips and push her generous bottom against his hard shaft, as he savored the moans coming from her pretty throat.

  Taking one bold step forward, Archer reached out his hand, the need to touch her soft skin too strong to resist. Skittish and wary, Winnie tried to take a step back but was prevented by the edge of the dressing table.

  Capturing her gaze, Archer once again reached out his hand. Without lowering his eyes, he stroked her exposed collarbone, gliding the tips of his fingers down her shoulder. His fingers felt warm and slightly rough against her cool skin. Trying to break the hypnotic intensity of his eyes, Winnie started to close her own when w
ithout warning, his thumb brushed over her erect nipple. With a startled gasp, her arms flew up to cross over her breasts as she pressed back against the dressing table, heedless of the perfume bottles as they toppled and crashed to the floor. The room instantly filled with the scent of roses, lilacs and musk.

  Archer closed his hands around her small waist and pulled her close, groaning as her soft curves brushed against his hard arousal.

  “No,” Winnie whispered against his cravat, her head barely reaching his shoulder. She was not sure what was happening but she was sure she was not prepared for it.

  Archer placed his curved finger under her chin and forced her focus on him. Staring intently at her full bottom lip, he rubbed it back and forth with the pad of his thumb. “Open your mouth, little one.”

  The command sent a shiver of awareness through Winnie’s body, having heard the same words from him earlier this evening under much harsher more intimate terms with the other woman.

  Instinctively, she tightened her lips. The moved caused Archer to frown and press harder against her mouth with his thumb. “Open.”

  She relented. The tip of his thumb pushed past her lips. Her tongue helplessly swirled about the intrusion, tasting his skin. Archer closed his eyes and imagined that same tongue lapping at the tip of his cock…soon. He pushed his thumb in further. The move making Winnie whimper as she pulled back. Swinging her face to the side, she once again, timidly said, “Please, my lord, no.”

  Archer chuckled before giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead. Taking a step back to collect himself, he warned, “No, is simply a word, I will not take from you, my dear.”

  “My lord?”

  “You will understand soon enough. I suggest you get dressed and leave before Lenora returns and sees what has become of her precious perfumes.” With that warning, he departed.

  Chapter Three

  Three days later Winnie was edging the inside bodice of a dinner dress with rose coloured silk when she heard the familiar tinkling bells of the shop door. While it may not be in fashionable Mayfair or Bond Street districts, where the elite ton shopped, Madame Minerva’s shop in Bethnal Green was popular with the burgeoning bourgeois. The wives of merchants and country squires who desired to mimic their betters both in fashion and decor. Winnie had worked for Madame Minerva for seven years, since she was a girl of thirteen. She was used to the dull, comforting sounds. Like the tinkling of the shop bell. The hum of conversation of the other needlewomen about her. The sound of Madame Minerva greeting her customers in stilted French. She was actually as English as the Queen but everyone pretended otherwise. Winnie supposed it was more fashionable to purchase your trousseau from a French modiste as opposed to your dresses from an English dressmaker.