Coming Home (The Surrender Trilogy 3)

later, her phone whistled.

Let me see

She smirked and left the phone on the table as she slowly walked into the sitting area. Lucian sat

behind his mahogany desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin, collar undone. He looked handsome as

hell.

“Hi.”

His gaze traveled over her form. “You learned to text,” he said, smiling.

“I did.”

“I like it.” He slid his chair back. Warm sunlight filtered through the enormous glass wall behind

him, catching highlights in his ebony hair. “Come here.”

Her bare feet pressed into the carpet as she stepped around his desk. Papers were piled haphazardly

over the surface. Her body stood in the space just outside of the V of his knees. His gaze roamed up

her legs and settled on her breasts. He didn’t move, just watched her.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

How could she forget? He terrified her. She thought he was a guest at the hotel and, because she had

inadvertently knocked over some things on his desk, was going to get her fired. “Yes.”

“I’ve left something for you in the guest room. Go put it on and come back here.”

She turned and followed the hall to the spare room. When she entered, there was an object sitting on

the bed in a pile of folded satin that looked like an animal. Approaching the bed, she saw it was a

feather duster. She laughed.

Her fingers pushed it aside and lifted the satin, discovering a maid’s uniform. It was nothing like

the uniform she’d worn while employed at Patras. No, this was sinfully provocative.

The bodice was a whaleboned black corset. The skirt was more of a ballerina tutu made up of

crinoline with a short lace apron tied up with ruched bows. Beneath the costume sat a matching lace

bonnet and wide-net thigh highs topped with bows. Looking down, she spotted a very dangerous pair

of platform pumps.

Is he kidding with the shoes?

She picked them up and her eyes widened. Clearly a man invented them. The heels reached from the

tip of her middle finger to her wrist, easily over six inches. The soles were devil red. It simply wasn’t natural for a foot to arch that far.

She sat on the bed and shimmied into the costume. Cool air brushed her bare cheeks peeking out the

ruffled skirt as she pulled on each thigh high. Taking a deep breath, she slid her feet into the shoes.

Someone could get a nosebleed at this altitude.

She grabbed her bonnet and wobbled over to the mirror. After fitting the band to her head and

finding her balance she— carefully— walked back to the common area, grabbing her feather duster

along the way.

She entered the room, and in her best French accent, she said, “Bonjour, Monsieur Patras. You called for housekeeping?” She didn’t know where the French words came from. She supposed, after so

many months at the hotel, she’d picked it up from some of the staff.

Great satisfaction filled her as his lips parted and he breathed, “Jesus.”

She smiled. “Shall I dust for you?”

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight in his seat. “Yes. I’d like you to dust my desk.”

Trying hard not to snap her neck or break an ankle, she did her best impression of a sexy walk.

When she was within arm’s length of him and his desk, she pouted. “Oh, but I have strict instructions

not to touch Monsieur Patras’s desk.”

“You’ll have to be careful not to make a mess.”

She smiled over her shoulder and bent enough to give him a peek at her bare behind as she

proceeded to dust around his many papers. A ghostlike touch traced up the inside of her leg, and she

paused. Her body arched over the right side of the desk and she continued to dust. A sheaf of papers on the far left corner tumbled to the ground, and she stilled.

“You knocked over my papers,” he said. She knew full well he deliberately pushed them over on

purpose. “Better pick them up.”

She lowered herself to the ground and crawled to the papers. After stacking them in some sort of

order, she slid them onto the desk. “I’m so sorry, Monsieur. Perhaps I can make it up to you?”

He grinned. “How?”

“I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Take out my cock.”

Her belly tightened as she crawled between his knees and undid his zipper. He was hard when she

pulled him out. She looked to him for instruction.

“Put me in your mouth.”

Leaning forward, she engulfed him with her mouth and proceeded to suck him off. He didn’t touch

her as she worked his flesh. When his length twitched over her tongue like he was about to come, he

said, “Stop.”

His cock slid from her lips as she settled back on her heels. Something hot and liquid tightened in

the pit of her belly.

“Do you like sucking my cock, Ms. Keats?”

“Yes, sir.”

He growled. “I’d like a scotch on the rocks.”

She rose from the floor. Her shoes elevated her, and the netting of the stockings sensitized her legs.