Said dick, already growing, gives a little jump on my thigh, and I sternly tell it to quit. This is the morning after, not the night before. Everything’s different in the daylight.
I’m not sure what to do. Should I get up? Should I stay and cuddle? Should I already be running down to the kitchen to help with breakfast preparations? Oh, no, I don’t need to—Elliot said I’d been excused from meal service.
Still…I’m leaving today, so there’s a part of me that wants to make that last meal special. To have that experience, working with the kitchen staff one last time. And Elliot’s still asleep, after all.
Mind made up, I slide out of the bed, take a quick shower, and dress.
Elliot is still asleep when I’m ready to go, like a male Snow White lying there with all that unruly black hair and red lips. If I had my phone, I’d take a photograph.
Good thing Idon’thave my phone. Imagine the number of infractions snapping a pic would get me.
I’m still snickering about it to myself as I leave the room and head down to the kitchen.
* * *
“Someone’sin a good mood,” Daniel observes while we set out the silverware in the breakfast room.
I quit humming right away, but then I shrug and say, “Yeah, I slept well. The beds are even better upstairs than they are downstairs.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Daniel says. “I’ve never been anyone’sfavorite.” But he’s grinning as he says it, and besides, Iknowit’s totally not true.
“You mean Chef Henriette just likes to spank you for the heck of it?”
“Sometimes I’m naughty,” Daniel sighs, but his eyes are sparkling. “I can’t help it.”
I scoff. “I don’t believe that for a second. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
He laughs, and we both step back from the table to take in our handiwork. Perfect enough that it would pass inspection from Sebastian Fox, I bet. Well, maybe.
Then Daniel’s smile has changed a little as he turns to me, and there’s a touch of wistfulness in his question. “Are you really leaving?”
I don’twantto. When Elliot asked me last night if I’d stay a little longer, I’dalmostagreed. But: “I have to,” I tell Daniel. “My boss will freak out if I try to skip any more days.”
“That’s a pity. It’s nice to see Lord Arden so happy. Well, happier,” he amends at my incredulous look.
I remember the third degree I never got to give Daniel before. “Hey, who was that Martin guy you mentioned?”
Daniel says nothing, but helookslike he wants to. Rolling my eyes, I scoff, “No gossip? Come on, Danny Boy.Youbrought it up, and I’m leaving today, anyway.”
“I should never have mentioned it.”
“But you did,” I persist. “Who was he? Was he Elliot’s previous service sub while he was here?”
Daniel cocks an eyebrow. “Elliot, did you say?”
“I meant Lord Arden,” I mutter, but there’s a knowing look on Daniel’s face that irritates me. “Come on, spill the tea.”
But Daniel refuses to say anything more and I quit pushing as we re-enter the kitchens, Chef Henriette’s baleful eye turning upon us from across the room. It’s my last morning here, and I want it to be fun.
I’m annoyed at Daniel, though, both for refusing to talk about Martin and for acting like I even have theoptionto stay on here any longer. It’s fine for Daniel; he’s a between-jobs actor who picks up side gigs here and there. I have acareer. I can’t just throw it all away for some amazing sex and the penetrating, swoon-worthy gaze of a rich, playboy aristocrat.
No. I’m leaving the household after breakfast, and I won’t see Elliot again.
It really hits me, then, with a deep desolation that iswaymore painful than it should be, given that it’s just been a couple of kinky weekends: I won’t see Elliot again.
I mean, Lord Arden.
I won’t see Lord Arden again.
