The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

She would do better next time, and she would not tease or question him. Stroking back and forth from damp hole to swollen nub, he marveled at how her moans rose in response, how he was able to play her like an instrument. When his finger on her clit started her panting breathlessly, he concentrated on that part of her. Never before had he found such a sensual, responsive gem. Gone now was his need to teach her she could not lead this situation. Instead, he wanted to make her come. His desire to feel it happen was binding. He stroked her to the brink of completion and then eased two fingers inside her. The sigh of relief she let out when he thrust them deep was satisfying.

He rested his free hand on the base of her spine, and moved his fingers in and out of her hot, wet sheath. Her flesh responded instantly, closing hard on him, releasing, and closing again. All the time her juices flowed, coating his fingers. It required every ounce of his self-control not to take over there and then, not to thrust his cock inside her to ease their mutual need. Instead he forced himself to learn the make of her, to explore her and enjoy the way her inner muscles grasped at his fingers.

When her body stiffened, he found his fingers crushed and then swimming in her juices. She shuddered from head to toe. When she wilted over his thighs, he pulled his fingers free. Rolling her over, he lifted her and sat her up on his lap.

She rested against him, her breathing unsteady.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his shoulder, as soon as she could speak, “that I did not do it right.”

Gregor did not trust himself to reply. He rested his arm around her back, tucking her against him. It would take some time before his erection subsided, but it had been a necessary lesson for her to learn. And him? Perhaps. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know she was a temptress. That was why he’d rescued her. What he hadn’t bargained for was that she would tempt him quite so relentlessly.

She looked up at him. Her lips had darkened to red and her eyes were shining. Tendrils of her hair had escaped the ribbon that held it and her eyelashes were damp and glistening. How strange that it had affected her so. Was it the pleasure she had been afforded, or the unwilling submission to him that had brought that about?

The urge to kiss her, to feel those soft lips under his own, was great. To have her body—supple and pleasured as it already was—under his on the bed, where he would bring her to release again and enjoy her more specifically from the inside.

“Will I do, do you think? If you tutor me some more?” Her eyelids fluttered.

Was this genuine submission, or a ruse to make him rest easy? He gave a wry smile and cupped the back of her head. “You’ll do.”

Her expression grew even more serious. “You think your enemy’s attention will be secured, if I act that way and do it well enough?”

Her comment reminded him most firmly of his purpose, that which had driven him these past eleven years. For a moment there, he’d forgotten it. That reassured him she was a good choice for the task. She would lure Ivor Wallace’s attention completely. That was what Gregor needed to know, after all. He reassured himself that the lesson had been valuable.

Still she gazed up at him, her lips parted as she awaited his answer. Unable to resist, he inhaled her sweet nectar from his fingers, and licked them. She tasted good. He would allow himself to enjoy more of that. Not yet, but before his enemy had her.

Jessie watched what he did, and then her teeth bit into her lower lip, her eyes darkening once more as she observed his actions. Her breasts lifted and lowered more quickly, and he knew she was already growing ready for coupling.

“You are undoubtedly suitable for the task,” he eventually replied. “With practice.”

FIVE

MISTER RAMSAY WENT OUT ONTO THE LANDING to call for service, and after he returned, Mistress Muir appeared at the door. He ordered food for one.

Jessie observed the exchange with curiosity. Wasn’t he going to feed her? She was not overly concerned, for she’d had a good meal that morning and her mind was still on what she

considered the unfinished business of earlier. While she had been over his lap, the heavy bough of his erection pressing against her had made her dizzy with lust.

Jessie was surprised he had not used her to satisfy his own needs, those that were so readily obvious. The bulge in his breeches barely subsided for several long minutes afterward, and not until he set about studying papers he pulled from his trunk. Why did he resist?

When he’d had her across his lap, she’d been willing him to turn her so that she was splayed and ready to be probed with that sturdy length. The hiding he had given her only seemed to arouse them both to a state of frenzy. Yet now his whole attention was given over to the papers from his trunk. Were they so important, and what else had he in there?

When he caught sight of her eyeing the trunk, he got up and shut the lid. “Tidy yourself up,” he instructed, with a frown.

That interested her. He did not want her to see what was inside his precious chest. Languidly, she laced the bodice of her borrowed dress while she speculated about what he might have in there. Patience had never been within Jessie’s grasp for any length of time, but she attempted to sit by quietly, waiting for him to resume instructions. She was sure that when he continued to order her about, as seemed to be his wont, things would move forward to a mutually satisfying result.

However, when the alewife brought a plate of pigeon pie and a mug of ale on a tray, Mister Ramsay gestured at Jessie, indicating it was for her. The look of the baked pigeon and pastry lid made her appetite grow. There was easily enough for two, and she would enjoy feeding it to him. But he was busying himself, as if preparing to leave. He had strapped a sheathed dagger to his belt and was now putting on his frock coat and hat. Confused, she stood by the table, picking at the pastry crust with her fingers.

“You are not hungry, sire?” she asked as she lifted a morsel to her mouth.

He did not look at her when he made his reply. “I have business to attend to this afternoon. Take the food and go to your room.”

He gestured at the small room in which she had slept. She thought it rather odd, but the food was now her main concern. It was by far the best meal she had tasted recently. She lifted the plate and carried it with her.

Gregor followed her to the door. “I will be back by sunset. Behave yourself while I am gone.”

With that he closed the door.

Jessie stared at it. Did he truly expect her to stay in here while he was away? She chuckled to herself, then sat on the edge of the narrow cot and picked up the fork. As soon as he was gone, she could explore her surroundings.