Knight's Mistress
Page 45
No, she wanted to say. But not yet lost to all reason, she nodded.
Competent and perhaps more familiar with expeditious sex than most, he rapidly unbuttoned her bodice, and gently cupped her breasts in his hands. ‘A quick orgasm to take the edge off?’ With her eyes shut and her breathing rapid, he didn’t wait for an answer. Bending his head, he drew a nipple into his mouth.
She gasped, went rigid.
‘Should I stop?’ he asked, raising his head. ‘I should,’ he said, after taking one look at her.
‘No, no, don’t.’ She met his gaze, exhaled slowly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘We should wait until there’s more time, other options.’
‘Please, no, it doesn’t hurt that much.’
Softly swearing, he swiftly moved to plan B, shoving her skirt up with his left hand. No panties. A pleasant surprise. His cock immediately took notice. A very short internal debate occupied his thoughts before he dismissed impractical considerations. They were pressed for time. His satisfaction would have to wait.
Sliding his right hand between her legs, he slipped two fingers up her hot, slick sex with a technical flair that focused on her G-spot and heard a different kind of gasp. A good one. At which point, capable of working blindly, he let her skirt drop, deftly located the holy grail with his left index finger and knew this wouldn’t take long. Her engorged clit was hard as a baseball bat.
As a matter of fact, Miss Hart probably would have broken the Guinness Book of Records for orgasms if one existed. He barely had time to slide in another finger before she climaxed like some wind-up sex doll. Seriously, she was going to kill him before the six days were over. Although fucking himself to death wasn’t a bad way to go.
When her tremors ceased along with her soft moans, he withdrew his fingers, and grabbed two napkins from the table – one to wipe his fingers, the other to put between her legs. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her, soothed and satisfied, to the table. Depositing her gently in a chair, he brushed her cheek with a kiss before seating himself to her right at the head of the table.
Lounging back in his chair, he put his fingers to his nose, softly inhaled and smiled. Jasmine soap and Miss Hart’s fragrant scent, redolent of horniness and lust. Pouring himself a glass of water from a bottle on the table, he dipped his fingers in it, wiped them with a napkin and fondly regarded the flushed, over-sexed beauty who was going to amuse him for the next six days. He expected she’d give him a great deal of pleasure – once he’d cleared the press of events from his calendar. One of which, was getting out of here. He glanced at his watch. ‘Five minutes before breakfast, Miss Hart,’ he softly warned.
Eyes shut, her head thrown back, she nodded.
Her dress was still unbuttoned, her full breasts attractively framed by lilac wool, her soft, pale flesh a lush counterpoint to the pastel fabric, the amethyst buttons a glittering flourish to the succulent display. He’d have to thank Greta again for so quickly assembling a wardrobe. And Miss Hart for so picturesquely showcasing Greta’s designs. He was tempted to take a photo but neither he nor Miss Hart could afford such carelessness. A shame. She was definitely a tantalizing sight.
A brisk knock on the door curtailed his scrutiny.
‘Button up, Miss Hart,’ he said briskly, coming to his feet. ‘The servers are here. I don’t want them ogling my tits,’ he added only half in jest.
He was suddenly looking into snappish green eyes.
‘They’re my tits.’
He smiled. ‘We’ll have to see about that. Five minutes ago, you promised me anything. Those might be on my list.’ His eyes took on a quixotic, edgy look for a moment. ‘Button up,’ he said curtly, disturbed on so many levels by Miss Hart’s capacity to fuck up his life and schedule. Then he walked away.
Kate’s fingers were shaking as she buttoned the front of her dress, and it wasn’t from fear.
A moment later, Dominic opened the suite door and stepped aside to let in three servers pushing large silver-domed carts. ‘Put everything on the table,’ he said in a colloquial Chinese, his accent pure Hong Kong. ‘We’ll manage after that. The lady’s not feeling well, so if you’d work quickly, I’d appreciate it.’
Following them in, he stood like a stern sentry at the back of Kate’s chair while they laid out the food. Then accompanying them back to the door, he tipped them generously and returned to the table. Taking his seat, he reached for the coffee pot, nodded at Kate’s buttons and smiled. ‘Thank you. Very modest.’ He picked up the chased silver coffee pot. ‘Coffee, right? Black?’
‘Yes, please. You intimidated those men.’
‘I doubt it. I just told them I was in a hurry.’ He poured them both a cup of coffee, slid Kate’s towards her, added milk and sugar to his, and waved at the array of food. ‘Bacon sandwiches, as ordered, Miss Hart. And the fruit in Asia is excellent.’
‘I don’t need instructions. I eat fruit.’
‘Good.’ He passed the plate of sandwiches to Kate. ‘Did you take your pill?’
She set down the plate. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Your birth control pill.’ He was piling herbed scrambled eggs on his plate. ‘Did you take it? It’s a simple question.’
‘You’re over-stepping. That’s my simple answer. It’s none of your business.’
‘Actually, it is at the moment.’ He set down the platter of eggs and reached for a colourful aspic of salmon that could have passed for artwork.
Competent and perhaps more familiar with expeditious sex than most, he rapidly unbuttoned her bodice, and gently cupped her breasts in his hands. ‘A quick orgasm to take the edge off?’ With her eyes shut and her breathing rapid, he didn’t wait for an answer. Bending his head, he drew a nipple into his mouth.
She gasped, went rigid.
‘Should I stop?’ he asked, raising his head. ‘I should,’ he said, after taking one look at her.
‘No, no, don’t.’ She met his gaze, exhaled slowly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘We should wait until there’s more time, other options.’
‘Please, no, it doesn’t hurt that much.’
Softly swearing, he swiftly moved to plan B, shoving her skirt up with his left hand. No panties. A pleasant surprise. His cock immediately took notice. A very short internal debate occupied his thoughts before he dismissed impractical considerations. They were pressed for time. His satisfaction would have to wait.
Sliding his right hand between her legs, he slipped two fingers up her hot, slick sex with a technical flair that focused on her G-spot and heard a different kind of gasp. A good one. At which point, capable of working blindly, he let her skirt drop, deftly located the holy grail with his left index finger and knew this wouldn’t take long. Her engorged clit was hard as a baseball bat.
As a matter of fact, Miss Hart probably would have broken the Guinness Book of Records for orgasms if one existed. He barely had time to slide in another finger before she climaxed like some wind-up sex doll. Seriously, she was going to kill him before the six days were over. Although fucking himself to death wasn’t a bad way to go.
When her tremors ceased along with her soft moans, he withdrew his fingers, and grabbed two napkins from the table – one to wipe his fingers, the other to put between her legs. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her, soothed and satisfied, to the table. Depositing her gently in a chair, he brushed her cheek with a kiss before seating himself to her right at the head of the table.
Lounging back in his chair, he put his fingers to his nose, softly inhaled and smiled. Jasmine soap and Miss Hart’s fragrant scent, redolent of horniness and lust. Pouring himself a glass of water from a bottle on the table, he dipped his fingers in it, wiped them with a napkin and fondly regarded the flushed, over-sexed beauty who was going to amuse him for the next six days. He expected she’d give him a great deal of pleasure – once he’d cleared the press of events from his calendar. One of which, was getting out of here. He glanced at his watch. ‘Five minutes before breakfast, Miss Hart,’ he softly warned.
Eyes shut, her head thrown back, she nodded.
Her dress was still unbuttoned, her full breasts attractively framed by lilac wool, her soft, pale flesh a lush counterpoint to the pastel fabric, the amethyst buttons a glittering flourish to the succulent display. He’d have to thank Greta again for so quickly assembling a wardrobe. And Miss Hart for so picturesquely showcasing Greta’s designs. He was tempted to take a photo but neither he nor Miss Hart could afford such carelessness. A shame. She was definitely a tantalizing sight.
A brisk knock on the door curtailed his scrutiny.
‘Button up, Miss Hart,’ he said briskly, coming to his feet. ‘The servers are here. I don’t want them ogling my tits,’ he added only half in jest.
He was suddenly looking into snappish green eyes.
‘They’re my tits.’
He smiled. ‘We’ll have to see about that. Five minutes ago, you promised me anything. Those might be on my list.’ His eyes took on a quixotic, edgy look for a moment. ‘Button up,’ he said curtly, disturbed on so many levels by Miss Hart’s capacity to fuck up his life and schedule. Then he walked away.
Kate’s fingers were shaking as she buttoned the front of her dress, and it wasn’t from fear.
A moment later, Dominic opened the suite door and stepped aside to let in three servers pushing large silver-domed carts. ‘Put everything on the table,’ he said in a colloquial Chinese, his accent pure Hong Kong. ‘We’ll manage after that. The lady’s not feeling well, so if you’d work quickly, I’d appreciate it.’
Following them in, he stood like a stern sentry at the back of Kate’s chair while they laid out the food. Then accompanying them back to the door, he tipped them generously and returned to the table. Taking his seat, he reached for the coffee pot, nodded at Kate’s buttons and smiled. ‘Thank you. Very modest.’ He picked up the chased silver coffee pot. ‘Coffee, right? Black?’
‘Yes, please. You intimidated those men.’
‘I doubt it. I just told them I was in a hurry.’ He poured them both a cup of coffee, slid Kate’s towards her, added milk and sugar to his, and waved at the array of food. ‘Bacon sandwiches, as ordered, Miss Hart. And the fruit in Asia is excellent.’
‘I don’t need instructions. I eat fruit.’
‘Good.’ He passed the plate of sandwiches to Kate. ‘Did you take your pill?’
She set down the plate. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Your birth control pill.’ He was piling herbed scrambled eggs on his plate. ‘Did you take it? It’s a simple question.’
‘You’re over-stepping. That’s my simple answer. It’s none of your business.’
‘Actually, it is at the moment.’ He set down the platter of eggs and reached for a colourful aspic of salmon that could have passed for artwork.
