Maybe after the party, Callie will want a go at it. Certainly, the pretty sheila is giving out all the right signals. My appendage swells more and I moan. It’s going to be a long night, especially with a short doublet and tight hose.
I suppose I could claim I opted for authenticity and wear the iron codpiece. Chuckling, I dress in my black silk shirt, doublet, and black leggings. Loose knickers stop mid-thigh and sitting, I tug on black suede boots and tie them behind the knees.
Should I need my weapon, my holster is well hidden under the wool cape. I add one knife to the small of my back and one sheathed in the side of each boot.
Grayson is counting on me to make an excellent first impression. As incentive, I imagine a few of my buddies with hungry kids, grit my teeth, and finally, my cock stands down.
Ready for work, I open the bedroom door, where Pat waits and nods his approval. “Very authentic, sir. Calliope is ready for the earrings.”
The upstairs is more like a small hotel with at least fifteen bedrooms. There’s even more, down a set of stairs and to the right.
As Pat walks me down a hall filled with framed portraits and ghostly daguerreotypes, his voice intones like a tour guide “This house has been owned by the Bradfords since the sixteen-hundreds. The original fireplace was unearthed in the nineteen-sixties when it was opened to the public.”
He stops and knocks on one of the many doors.
“Come in.” Calliope’s voice sets my heart to racing and when Pat opens the door, I figure I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Her short locks are pulled away from her face with a comb of pearls and long curls fall from a red cap perched on top of her head. A silk dress gathers at her tiny waist and my fingers itch to feel her exposed white breasts.
“The sixteenth century agrees with you.” My gaze moves up to her lovely neck and pauses on red lips smiling under my scrutiny.
For once, her eyes don’t lock on mine. Instead, she’s focused where I neglected to wear a codpiece. When her breath hitches and nostrils flair, my willie swells.
Down, pal. We got work to do.
“My lady.” Bowing, I take her hand, turn the palm up, and place the small velvet satchel in it.
Like in the bank, she lingers so I squeeze her fingers around the bag. Her eyes shoot up, lust widening the black centers.
That’s right, luv.When tonight is over, we’ll figure out what you need.
