Bent Over in the Duke's Library

She came to me shrouded in debt and defiance, a gentlewoman whose family shame clung like smoke from a dying fire. I saw it instantly-the tremble in her voice, the arch of her back that begged what her pride denied. Absolution, she craved it. Not from prayers or ledgers, but from the sting of my palm meeting her bare curves amid the whispering oak shelves.


One night, the candle flames danced low as I bent her over the desk. Her skirts hiked, skin glowing red under each measured s ...