“Fine. You may go.” Mrs. Bradford-Clarke shoos me away, imperiously, and Pat magically appears.
“This way, Sir James.” He escorts me up some stairs, down a long hall, and into a large bedroom. “Care for a massage? A shave?”
“No, thanks but I need my suit bag. Is it up here?” I take a quick glance into the master bath and attached office.
“Yes, sir.” He opens a walk-in closet, takes my costume off a hook, and places it on the king-sized bed.
Then, he unzips the side and whistles under his breath. “This is quite remarkable.”
Out comes a silk shirt with French lace at the neck. Next, he removes an embroidered doublet followed by black breeches with ties at the knees. There’s a navy wool captain’s cape and at the bottom of the bag, soft leather boots.
“Much better than gold striped pantaloons, matching coat, and an iron codpiece, wouldn’t you say?” This is the first I’ve seen of the sixteenth century costume and I silently thank Grayson while Pat smooths out the wrinkles.
“Agreed, but Ms. Bradford-Clarke will not be pleased.”
“Is she ever?”
He chuckles. “No, sir.”
I open an email which has tonight’s guestlist, including headshots. With Gerard Chase on the screen I hand my phone to Pat.
“Her mother mentioned this man. Are they actually a couple?” My interest is purely professional.
Right.
Frowning, the butler removes hangers and clears the plastic from my costume.
When done, he says, “Thankfully he’s out of the picture but not quite entirely. As I understand, they’regood friends.”
He air-quotes the last two words. “However, the young man hasn’t quite accepted his new status.”
Friends, huh?In my experience, there’s no such thing, especially with a beautiful heiress. “Thank you, Pat.”
“Best of luck, this evening, sir. Call me if you need anything. Oh, I should mention one more thing about the young man.”
“What?”
“I believe he is her reader.”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s like a mentor for her thesis.”
“Well, that must be awkward.”
“Indeed.” With a nod, he exits and leaves me alone with my thoughts.
Hmmm. The evening is taking an odd turn. I’m here to protect some archaic earrings, not a woman being chased by suitors. Perhaps I’ll do both.
Decided, I memorize the guest list provided by Grayson. On the surface, they all seem bloody wealthy and not the jewel-thief type. The caterers check out as do the rest of the staff.
Showering, my mind wanders to her saucy lips and my cock jumps to life. Wrapping my fingers around my soapy length, thumb on my tip, I picture her pink lips and mischievous eyes. Her mouth takes me fully, her tongue swirls, and she moans as she sucks me off.
I pump faster under the warm water, immerse myself in fantasy, and picture her naked on top, boobs bouncing. In my mind, she screams, falls apart, and my back coils. My thigh muscles tighten and I cum hard into my hand.
With my forehead pressed to the tiles, I wait for my heartbeat to return to normal. As it slows, I think on her again and grow another stiffy. Bloody hell. This has never happened to me before. I’ve spent an entire lifetime keeping pretty blonds at bay. Sure, if they’ll have me, we’ll romp a bit, but only if we both understand it’s not serious.
We’ll have a bit of fun, then move on.
