“Yes,” she sighed.
“I would tease you, circling toward those needy peaks but not touching them. I would watch your nipple get flushed and swollen for me. Only when you squirm in my chair and beg to be touched would I rub the pad of my thumb over that velvety tip. Back and forth. I might lick my thumb, so it feels like a tongue working over your engorged bud. Are you imagining how that feels while you touch yourself?”
Blooming hell, I amnow.
“It makes me so wanton that I throw caution into the winds. Even though I can hear the servants in the distance and know I could be caught, I draw up my skirts. I find the slit in my drawers and a whimper leaves me when I touch my pussy.”
She let one of her hands fall between her legs. Since she didn’t trust herself to masturbate and keep up the tale, she stroked the crease of her thigh instead. In silhouette, however, she knew it would appear like she was doing something far naughtier.
“You’re dripping, aren’t you?” His voice was thick with anticipation.
“I’m so wet that I’ve soaked the linen of my drawers.”
“Tell me how you touch your cunny.”
As she painted the tableau with precise strokes, she mimicked the motions.
“I pet myself, pretending it is you parting my slick, swollen folds. My cream coats your fingers as you explore my juicy slit. You know just how to touch me, what I like best. You find my pearl and rub it, shooting pleasure through my veins. I beg for more.”
“At first, I caress your bold nubbin gently. When you beg nicely, I do it harder, frigging you roughly. Which way do you prefer?”
The truth made her pussy clench.
“I like it rough,” she said breathlessly.
“That is what I thought,” he said with growling satisfaction. “You like it so much that you sling a leg over the arm of my chair, giving yourself full access to your hungry pussy. You lose yourself in the fantasy of being frigged hard by your master. Even knowing that you could be caught, you play with your cunny like the naughty wanton you are.”
Pulse racing, she had to resist the urge to do what he described. To touch herself in truth. She squeezed her thighs together and felt how slippery she’d become.
“Your eyes are closed, and your head is flung back,” he went on. “Your hand works furiously between your splayed legs. Pleasure is building and building…”
“Oh,yes.”
The smoldering heat in his voice mesmerized her. She arched against the chaise, pretending-but-not-pretending that she was losing herself in pleasure.
“You are so lost in your fantasy that you don’t hear the door open.”
Her breath puffed from her lips.
“By the time you have the presence to open your eyes, I am standing there before you. I see you sitting in my chair, your legs spread, your fingers tangled in your wet thatch. Your cheeks are flushed, and your beautiful brown eyes are those of a doe who knows she has been well and truly caught.”
At the scenario, her heart stuttered with anxiety…and anticipation.
“Now that you’ve caught me doing wicked things, what do you do to me?”
“I give you what you deserve, pet.” His voice was deliciously stern. “I punish you like the naughty little housekeeper you are.”
Christ, she is delicious.
Her filthy story and writhing, voluptuous form tested the limits of Ethan’s tailoring. His cock formed a visible ridge in his trousers. He knew it was a dangerous game he was playing, pretending Jane was on the other side of the curtain. Yet he reasoned that no harm could come of indulging in a fantasy. In fact, discharging his lust this way would protect her from his worst impulses. His desire to ravish his housekeeper while she begged him for more like the sweet, filthy girl she was.
Moreover, with Sirena, he could give rein to his darkest impulses. He could return to who he’d been before his failed engagement, before his injury. Anticipation roiled: he was a free man, and he could do whatever he wished.Everythinghe wished with his fantasy housekeeper, his Jane.
“What…what happens next?” she asked breathily.
Arousal seared him as the forbidden scenario unfolded in his mind’s eye. Walking in on his housekeeper sprawled in his chair, her skirts tossed up. She was pink-cheeked and trembling, caught in the desperate act of masturbating.
“You try to cover yourself,” he said thickly. “But I don’t allow it. I can see how needy your pussy is, how lewdly you treat yourself when you think no one is looking. I tell you to confess that you’re a wicked minx.”
