Lord & Master (16 page)

“Yes,” Jake said. “Neither of you move.”

He’d shifted from his position caressing Damien’s back. His lack of clothes took me by surprise. I hadn’t seen him undress. He lay on his back. His head was angled toward me on the pillow out of sight of my husband. The sun was close to the horizon, the afternoon nearly expended. Jake’s features looked as if an eclipse had swallowed the planes and hollows of his left half. In his languor, he reminded me of an opium smoker, simultaneously sleepy and dangerous.

He didn’t seem annoyed by Damien asking me to love him—wary perhaps, or surprised. When he saw me staring, he blinked slowly. His lit eye arrowed into me.

What his shadowed eye perceived was a mystery.

“Your face,” he said, his smile a ghost. “It certainly tells a story.”

I feared it might be a story I didn’t want him reading.

“Don’t move,” he said again when I tensed. “I have something to show you.”

“What?” Damien asked, straightening his neck.

“Not you,” Jake corrected. “This show is just for her. How she reacts is your present.”

Damien stopped turning his head to see. “What is he doing?” he asked me imperiously.

I gasped as I noticed Jake’s arm moving. His long legs sprawled on the quilt, one knee bent more than the other but both lolling. The lowering sun from the dormer lit their apex. The muscles of his abdomen were strikingly delineated, but his cock . . . His cock was thick and straight and reddened—both from watching us and from the jerk of his fist on it. He’d gripped its middle, pulling outward firmly but not rubbing.

“He’s jerking his penis,” I answered.

“Jacking off?” Damien asked.

I had to bow to his expertise for the correct term.

“No,” Jake said. “Not quite yet.”

He released himself, leaving his cock to thrust upright unassisted. A jar had been lost among the quilt’s rumples. Jake found it and unscrewed its lid. The scent of orange and ginger wafted out.

Another of our housekeeper’s concoctions, I supposed.

“This,” he said, “is the best handjob cream ever. Sweets is a damned genius.”

Within my pussy, Damien’s recently spent cock twitched. Despite the graphic reminder of his presence, I couldn’t tear my gaze from Jake.

He scooped out a glistening white dollop. The sound of him spreading it across his palms and fingers sent a thrill down my spine. Damien kissed my ear, his arms relaxed but supportive around my waist.

“It’s all right to enjoy this,” he whispered.

When Jake wrapped his slippery hold around his testicles, I couldn’t stop myself from squirming.

He pulled out his sac slowly. The ball part was more drawn up than I was accustomed to—and maybe plumper too. He writhed slightly on the covers, as if touching himself felt good. Though his fingers were work-hardened, they were graceful and strong and deft: perfect for stimulating any spots that wanted massaging.

Jake guessed what I was thinking. “You like my hands, don’t you?” He tugged his balls out again, obviously enjoying my attention. “I like them too. They’re handy for bringing pleasure, especially when I’m excited. Watching you ride your husband did that extra well for me.”

He pushed his pelvis upward and at the same time gave his shaft a two-handed stroke. His crown flipped through his fingers, his thumb rubbing unashamedly across it. I licked my upper lip. His skin there was very flushed. The handjob cream had sheened it, along with beads of moisture from his slit.

“If you said the word, milady, my hands would be at your service.”

I jerked at Jake’s quiet words. He watched my reaction intently. “I want a release,” he said. “More than you can imagine. I’d give that up in a second, if you wanted me to touch you.”

“No,” I said, less forcefully than before. Did I truly not want him touching me? Or was it that I wished him to continue what he was doing? I swallowed. “I’m sure asking you to delay is unfair.”

He smiled and rolled onto his side. Then he was a male odalisque, so erotically appealing no artist could have captured his full allure. “As you wish. If you won’t request my talents, I’ll use them for myself.”

He was close enough to touch if I’d reached, close enough to register his aroused male scent when I gasped for air. Neither my presence nor my responses inhibited his actions. He stretched his cock as he stroked it, pulling up and releasing, pulling up and releasing, until he was so rigid the shaft stood out from his groin like steel. The fingers of his lower hand gripped his balls, alternately squeezing and relaxing there.

My fingernails dug into Damien’s back. Damien stroked my bottom to comfort me.

I didn’t know when he’d moved his hands from my waist, but the feel of them made me arch.

“Tell me if your husband’s hard,” Jake ordered.

He was very hard. I didn’t know how I’d missed that change either. Being filled so well seemed a thing I shouldn’t have failed to note. Now that I did, I wriggled around the pole I sat on. Damien made a keening noise.

“Tell me,” Jake repeated.

“He’s very hard,” I blurted. “And his heart is pounding.”

I wasn’t quite as pleased as Jake that I’d obeyed. He smiled approvingly. “My heart is pounding too,” he said. “I don’t think I can draw this out much longer.”

“Don’t then,” Damien rasped. “I’ll go with you. I want to come in her again.”

Hot prickles swept my scalp. Jake’s hand fisted on his cock and began jacking quickly in tight motions. He didn’t slide his grip off the top but kept the up and down on his skin. Crazy urges seized me. Never mind letting him touch me, I wanted to touch him. I wanted my hands where his were, wanted my mouth on him, wanted to suck and lick like I was starving.

Jake’s fist sped up even more.

“Watch,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Watch . . . me come for you.”

“Let me.” The words wrenched from me against my will. “I want to put my mouth on you.”

I wouldn’t have guessed a man so close to climax could move that fast. He rolled onto his knees and rose without losing his balance. His hand, which a second earlier had stroked his cock, cupped the back of my startled head.

He guided me to him with unexpected care.

The second time I got my mouth on him was better than the first. He was delicious: salty, silky, and as hot as if he’d been baking before a fire.

Wanting more, I reached up to catch his base and pull him deeper. He groaned and pushed through my lips. Unable to resist sucking, I worked my tongue and cheeks against him.

“God,” he said, drawing back and pushing in again. “
Mi-a
.”

As he said my name, he pulsed and flooded across my tongue. Damien’s grip tightened on my rear, his cock doing the same inside my pussy. I ground harder on his erection and pleasure broke in me. My paroxysm wasn’t as sharp as my earlier one, but it felt good to me.

“Yes,” Damien panted against my neck.

Jake pulled away from me.

I realized I’d utterly stunned myself.

I couldn’t speak and wasn’t sure if I ought to move. Jake stooped to collect something from the bed. It was his shirt. He offered it to me.

“It’s okay if you want to spit. You won’t insult me.”

I didn’t spit but I wiped my mouth. “Thank you,” I said, more than a little self-conscious.

Damien patted my bottom. “Christ, that was hot,” he said hoarsely.

I supposed it had been, but his words embarrassed me even more.

Maybe he’d have known this if he’d been privy to my expression. That advantage belonged to Jake, and he read me perfectly.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have let you give in to your impulses.”

“You didn’t force me. In truth, that . . . end bit was my idea.”

Jake pulled a face at my admission, which I’d thought honesty required. “No, it was the heat of the moment. I’ve seen subs overreach themselves before. I should have guessed you might regret your actions.”

Damien held my shoulders and drew back to look at me. “Do you regret pleasing Jake?”

I hesitated, uncertain how to answer.

“You do.” He cursed and lifted me off him.

“I’m sorry,” I said, disconcerted to suddenly find myself standing on the floor. “This kind of behavior doesn’t come easily to me.”

“And you’re not sure it should.” Damien’s disapproval hardened his noble features.

“No,” I admitted unhappily. “I’m really not sure it should.”

Chapter Twelve

DAMIEN’S
disappointment in me was clear. He left helping me dress to Jake and simply stood by the door scowling.

Nearly done, I pulled the maid’s apron from its hook. I considered it and paused. Maybe I didn’t want to put this back on. I looked at Damien. “Do you wish to continue my punishment?”

“What does it matter?” he said. “You’ve made it clear you won’t honor my requests.”

The frostiness of his answer stung.

“I won’t then,” I said, tossing my head proudly. “I’ll dress as your wife and not your servant.”

He waved his hand as if he didn’t care.

Jake watched us both thoughtfully.

I was surprised Damien waited for me to finish pinning my hair again. Not only did he stay, he also escorted me my suite, where I intended to resume the trappings of my—for now—position as mistress of his house. Jake came too, possibly out of concern for either or both of us. Damien and I weren’t wearing happy faces. Jake may have thought we needed a peacemaker.

Then again, perhaps it was habit. He and my husband certainly were close. He stood off a couple paces while Damien stopped with me at the door.

“Yes?” I said too crisply.

Damien momentarily looked abashed. “I . . . apologize if I pushed too hard. All of us are what we are. In the future, I shall attempt to better respect your limits.”

That he still thought we had a future filled me with relief. I didn’t know if the reaction was wrong of me. Maybe I should have run for the hills. The poorhouse still loomed, but I didn’t think that was the only reason I failed to flee. Damien and I had known each other too short a time for me to feel as attached to him as I did. Attached I was, however, as if a suspension cable had hooked my heart to his. I wanted him to have hopes for me, and I wanted to fulfill them. I wanted us to heal each other’s loneliness.

Torn between warring urges, my hands twisted together before my waist.

“I shall attempt to do the same,” I said.

I sounded stiff. Damien studied me for a moment and then nodded. “Since our honeymoon seems to be over, perhaps we should move forward with other activities.”

My chest tightened. “Such as?”

“You could shop. Host a dinner party. Whatever women do these days. Mrs. Sweets will assist you any way you require.”

None of these options appealed to me. “What will you do?”

My husband shrugged. “Return to my businesses. I’ve neglected them long enough.”

“Only a few days!”

“We didn’t come into this as lovebirds.”

Though I didn’t like the reminder, I simply pressed my lips together. Damien took the inclination of my head as permission to depart. He strode away without looking back or waiting for Jake to follow. Jake did follow . . . and flashed a last look at me.

The sympathy in his expression didn’t lighten my dark mood.

~

“Here you go, milady,” Regina said as she bustled into the sitting room. “I’ve brought a nice tray for you. It’s lamb curry and spinach salad from the garden.”

She set the tray on the inlaid table. The silver covers hid the platters’ contents, though savory scents escaped.

“I didn’t ring for that,” I said.

“Well . . . no,” the maid admitted, “but the master thought you’d want to eat on your own tonight.”

Did he now?
I welcomed the anger this inspired, testiness being preferable to gloom. Damien would learn it wasn’t so easy to put my tail between my legs—or at least not to keep it there.

“I’ve dressed for dinner,” I said aloud.

Nonplussed, Regina blinked at me. I was more than dressed, I was kitted out for battle in an elegant cleavage-baring gown of black-beaded green satin. With a bit of creative wriggling, I’d managed the fasteners by myself. All that remained was to pull on evening gloves.

“Oh,” Regina said. She shot a glance I didn’t understand over her shoulder toward the door. She was mussed, I abruptly noticed. Usually very neat, her hair was draggling and creases marked her skirt. “I, um, do you need anything else from me?”

I could see she wished the answer to be negative.

“Am I keeping you from something?” I asked dryly.

“Of course not. Just, some of us, downstairs, were going to play charades. You know, once we’d finished our other work.”

Regina’s life in Marchton had been duller than my own. My father’s servants were all older than she was.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll manage without you for tonight.”

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, sketching a quick curtsey. “You’re bang up to the elephant!”

I gathered this was a compliment.

“Fix your hair,” I called as she dashed away.

I tried not to sigh as the door thumped shut behind her. I had courage enough to face my husband without bolstering.

As it turned out, courage wasn’t needed but patience. When I went downstairs, the drawing room was empty. Further investigation revealed the dining table wasn’t set. Was Damien avoiding me? I saw no staff to tell me his location. I assumed I’d missed the dressing gong for dinner because we’d been in the attic, but maybe it hadn’t rung. Pulling one of Diogenes House’s scattered bell cords also elicited no response.

Had my spouse declared a servants’ holiday?

I wasn’t prepared to admit defeat. Having an excellent memory for locations, I swiftly found the shortest route to the domestic level, whose passages were—for hygienic reasons—encased in white vitreous tile.

The uniformity of this finish increased my sense that I entered another world. I emerged opposite the archway to a large and peculiar room, which I believed to be the laundry. Though I had little familiarity with its contents, I identified drying racks and a box mangle. The ironing table and clothes boiler were also obvious. What baffled me was the line of shining white machines stacked two high and eight deep along the right-hand wall. The convex windows on the lower line reminded me of deep-sea gear. I inferred the seals were tight. Water and suds and garments spun recklessly behind them.