He stopped himself from following that train of thought, one which inevitably led his chest to tighten and his heart to beat wildly.
“And so, Miss Blanchet,” he said, an almost cruel tone in his voice, in order to cover the wobbliness of his thoughts and his feelings, which he did not want to reveal to her—or to Doyle—”Did you have an enjoyable rest?”
“Quite, Mr. Blackstone,” she chirped, with a flicker of that same smile. “Master, sir,” she added quickly. “Thank you.”
Doyle gave him a look, his own lip repressing a smile. He would be amused by this situation. It was so like Doyle to be contrary.
What could her smile mean? Perhaps she believed she had outwitted them? Perhaps she had been very naughty, and made herself spend, and would require more punishment. He enjoyed disciplining Miss Blanchet, but in some ways he dreaded it, for she seemed quite capable of making him lose control of himself. In truth, he was considering turning over her training entirely to Dr. Doyle, for he could not dislodge thoughts of her from his mind after spending time with her. Even as he thought about her, the scent of her neck appeared, the ghost of a smell, in his nostrils, as though he had placed his face close to her skin.
He unfolded his napkin stiffly and grumbled. “I trust you behaved yourself, as Dr. Doyle and I instructed?”
Miss Blanchet smoothed the napkin on her lap and looked up to meet his eyes, which she could see over the glaring candlelight placed deliberately to block her view of his countenance. She did so with an unflinching calm. “I did not spend,” she said crisply, though she stumbled slightly over the word that was so unfamiliar to her, a mere hesitation that affirmed her naivety, not necessarily discomfort.
“You require no discipline after dinner, then, Miss Blanchet?”
There was a pause, and the air between them seemed to turn to liquid as it does in the heat of the desert, before she blinked slowly and steadily. “I should think not, masters, at least for having disobeyed your instructions not to spend. However, if you believe I require discipline of another kind or for another matter, I shall submit to it as you desire.”
Doyle, who had lifted a fork to adjust its setting next to his plate, let it drop from his fingers in surprise, and exhaled in a steady stream while staring stiffly ahead. Blackstone’s heart felt as though it might fall through his body to the floor, and his cock grew stiff within a moment.
The butler and two servants entered with the first course as the trio simmered in the peculiar silence, but the spell was broken as they lifted the lids of a delicious seafood soup.
* * *
Lina smiled once thedoor to her room was closed, and bit her lower lip. She felt certain that she had managed to rattle the unflappable Mr. Blackstone, and it had given her a very peculiar thrill. The two men had seemed to not know what to do with her, and she felt that she had obtained the upper hand.
Their meal had proceeded with all feigning a most ordinary and proper dinner, replete with polite conversation. Mr. Blackstone was most interesting to talk to. He had clearly traveled a great deal and seemed to enjoy her curiosity. Had it not been for the intense relationship that hung among them, making the air thick with tension, the dinner would have been most pleasurable.
She relaxed in her enormous and comfortable bed, thinking of the two strange men, and the mysteries that surrounded them. Why did Mr. Blackstone choose to hide his face in the shadows? She could see the contours of his face shifting in the shadows as he moved, and she had felt his skin upon hers; while she could not be certain of the fidelity of her senses, Mr. Blackstone’s skin was not rough, or grotesque. It felt as she had imagined it might and sent shivers along her spine. He did not seem truly disfigured, and certainly not “monstrous.”
As for what he had done with her... well, thatwastruly depraved.
Wasn’t it?
Her stomach flopped and flipped again, and her heart had begun to beat wildly.
Perhaps it was depraved, but how could she know if it was or was not?
And even more disturbingly,what if it was depraved?
For as she touched her stomach absently, and the queer feelings again snaked through her lower parts, she could not deny the truth: she craved more of it.
She enjoyed it. She wanted to feel Mr. Blackstone’s firm hand on her bottom again, his fingers on her intimate parts again, and... though she did not know if this was something that could be done, or that he would do... she wanted to feel the heat of his body, that organ he’d called his “cock” inside of her.
Her mind turned over to wild fantasy, and she imagined scenarios with Mr. Blackstone and Dr. Doyle that—if this was truly “depravity”—made her decidedly depraved.
She tried not to think the thoughts, for she knew that they were, at the very least, most immodest.
Not only that, the craving between her legs began to rage again, and she was soon in nearly the same state as when she had been sent from Dr. Doyle’s surgery.
She wanted, desperately, to relieve herself, and she believed that she knew how to do it... and however would they know if she had?
But she also wanted to be obedient.
And defiant.
And, she thought with a shudder, she didn’t detest Mr. Blackstone’s discipline, not entirely.
For several fitful hours she tried to sleep, tossing and turning, the wetness pouring between her legs and her body pulsing around the object in her bottom while her “cunny” throbbed and ached, each moment more forcefully than the one before. The images in her mind grew more vivid, and she pictured them together with her, touching her, inside of her, making her please them in all sorts of ways, without knowing if such depravity was even possible.
