Kiernan was quiet. When he spoke again, his demeanor had changed.
“You’re learning,” he said softly, cupping my face and kissing me.
When he pulled away, his hand fisted in Oliver’s hair and he kissed him with the same intensity. Oliver groaned as Kiernan lifted him to his feet.
“Ophelia, on your knees in front of him.”
When I knelt, his cock bobbed in front of my face, flushed and leaking. I looked up, waiting.
“Use your mouth.”
I took him in without hesitation.
Oliver’s cry echoed through the library. His hands flew to my head, then jerked away—realizing he hadn’t been given permission.
“Good boy,” Kiernan murmured. “You can touch her.”
Oliver’s touch was gentle as I worked him with my lips and tongue, and I could feel him pulse.
“You do not have permission to come,” Kiernan said, reaching down to tug on one of Oliver’s nipples. “If you do, you won’t again for days.”
Within minutes, he was trembling, his breath coming in harsh gasps. “Sir, I’m going to?—”
Kiernan’s hand gripped my neck. “Stop.”
I eased away, but it was too late.
Oliver’s whole body convulsed.
Kiernan’s hand stroked through my hair. “Good girl. You did beautifully. Remain on your knees but watch.”
I looked up at him with longing. I was wound tight—aching and empty.
“Please, sir.” I barely recognized my own voice. “Please.”
“Come here,” he said to Oliver instead.
When he approached, he turned him to face the desk and bent him over the oak surface. Fabric rustled, then his belt clinked. “Ask for it.”
Oliver groaned. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Punish me.” The plea tore from him.
“For what?”
“Coming without permission.”
Kiernan circled the desk and held the belt near Oliver’s face. “You have a choice. I warned you that if you came, it would be the last time you did for days.”
Oliver whimpered.
“Or you can accept the strike of my belt. Which will it be?”
“The belt, sir.Please.”
“How many?”
