Did he enjoy what we did in the greenhouse as much as I did? Or did he come away frustrated, still wound too tight for comfort?
I know he was being all gentlemanly when he told me not to touch him back. Probably he could read the apprehension in my eyes, the panic at trying something else so new—but I was only scared because I wanted to begoodat it. To make him feel as blissful asIfelt.
I want to wrap that man around my little finger and keep him there. I want to be an instant sex goddess, and I want him so desperate for me that he can’t focus on a single page of his notes. I want to freakingruinthat man.
And hey, I’ve always been a quick learner. Smirking to myself, I run a cloth along the mantelpiece.
* * *
“Maddy,” West grits out, his deep voice almost pained. “Fuck.Maddy.”
My knees throb against the woven rug in his study, and my jaw aches from sucking on his lordship’s girthy shaft like a lollipop. At the back of the room, a fire pops in the grate, while stars wink outside the half-fogged window. The room is warm and quiet except for the rustle of fabric, West’s grunts and cut-off moans, and the little wet noises my lips make against his cock.
I’m really doing it! I’m kneeling between Lord Westmore’s spread thighs, the top of my head brushing against the underside of his desk whenever I come up to breathe. It’s a little dusty down here, and I make a mental note to clean in here tomorrow.
Of course, I didn’tneedto crawl beneath West’s desk and hide like a dirty little secret, not when it’s well after midnight and the whole manor is sound asleep, but hey… sometimes you need to commit to the aesthetic.
“Your mouth,” West mutters, sliding his fingers through my hair, “Your fucking mouth, Maddy. You have no idea how good this feels.”
I hum and bob my head, slurping my way up and down a few thick inches. The noises I’m making would make me blush bright red normally, but in this moment, I can’t bring myself to care.
West doesn’t seem to mind, either. His dark eyes glint hungrily in the firelit study, and his fingertips scratch gently against my scalp, his hands cradling my head to his lap like he’sscared I might slip away. Every now and then, his hips jerk up, his thigh muscles rock solid with tension, like he just can’t help thrusting up into the wet heat of my mouth. A couple of times it makes me cough, but even then I don’t mind.
I love him like this. Jaw clenched, control frayed. Fixated on me with dilated pupils, his whole body taut with arousal as I lick and suck at his cock.
Andwhata cock. Jeez Louise.
Okay, admittedly, I have nothing to compare it to. No frame of reference beyond the internet, and everyone knowsthatis mostly fake anyway. No, I’m completely green, but from where I’m kneeling…
Lord Westmore has the bestequipmenta man could have.
It’s thick but not weird-thick, long but nottoolong. A substantial weight against my tongue, and girthy enough that my fingers can’t fit all the way around. There’s a prominent vein running up one side, and the skin is surprisingly silky as it slides up and down beneath my pumping hand. The head is flushed red with arousal, and when I tongue the slit, West tips his head back andgroans.
“And to think,” I say brightly, licking a stripe from root to tip. “You weren’t sure if you wanted to do this tonight.”
West chokes out a laugh, his chair creaking beneath his shifting weight. His thighs are so strong, bracketing my body. With his clothes on, you’d never know which is his bad leg—not until you saw him limp with his cane.
“Oh, I knewIwanted this.” West gathers a fistful of my hair and uses it to guide my head back down over his length. It’s both gentle and domineering, and that combination makes my skin heat and my lower belly pulse with desire. “Don’t doubt that for a second, darling. I just didn’t want to rush you into anything.”
My mouth is too full to reply, so I hum and bob my head in agreement.
It’s true. When I tapped on the study door just past midnight, bundled up again in my sweatpants, fisherman’s jumper and scarf, I found a perfect gentleman waiting for me at his desk. West called me in, then offered to fetch me a drink or some other refreshment. He seemed ready to spend the whole night talking like polite strangers. Honestly, it felt kinda weird to be waited on by an aristocrat when I was dressed like a hobo snowman.
Still, when I threw myself at his chest, arms wrapping around his neck, West got the picture pretty fast. He kissed me back with the same dark, ravenous hunger that plagued me all day, stroking and squeezing at my body with shameless possession.
When I shoved him back toward the desk, he toppled into his chair happily enough.
And when I dropped down to crawl beneath the wooden table, the sound West made—like he’d been punched in the gut—made me smile wide down there in the dusty gloom. Before I even got his belt open, my mouth was already watering.
Now my older boss grips my hair in his fist, guiding my mouth up and down, and I can’t help but moan and dig my fingernails into his thighs. My scarf is strewn somewhere behind me on the rug, and I’m overheating in this knitted sweater. Burning up from the inside.
Iwantthis man. Doesn’t he get it yet?
Bare skin against bare skin.
Our limbs entwined, chests pressed together.
The thick press of him inside me.
