“No, you’re rather happy with your new home, aren’t you?” he says, smiling at me. “The grass is always greener, right, Maisie?”
I smile again, but a chill runs down my spine. Is he testing me? Looking for some kind of weakness in my background? As if reading my mind, his eyes narrow at me a moment.
“I’m not trying to interrogate you, Maisie,” he says smoothly, taking a drink of his wine. “You seem rather tense. Come to me.”
What is that supposed to mean? I swallow and stand up from my half-eaten dinner, walking over to him slowly until I come to a stop at his side, and he look up at me expectantly before nodding to...his lap. “Sit.”
My eyes widen, but that seems only to delight him further. I lick my lips, looking down at his crotch, and I can see the bulge in there already growing. Yet it’s guiltily exciting to me that the mere potential for my ass to be pressing into him is making him grow. It spurs me on as I turn. I’ve never been very good at flirting, if this can even be called that, but something feels innately good about giving Lord Alastair a view of my ass as I bend it down toward his lap. I can feel him devouring me with his eyes, and his hands reach up to my hips, guiding me onto him.
He’s so big and strong that I can’t help but feel like a doll in his grasp, so easily held and manipulated in his lap.
He wraps one arm around my small waist, and the other goes to the glass of wine on the table. He picks it up and swirls it around a bit. “Chateau Lafite-Rothschild, 1892,” he says casually, and my eyes widen. I thought I’d glimpsed the label when Beth took it down, but I hadn’t realized exactly what this was.
That glass of wine is probably worth about half a year’s pay for me, and that’s only a slight exaggeration.
“A fine year, but I wanted something tasteful to commemorate your first night under my tutelage, dear Maisie,” he says, and I feel my cheeks going almost as red as the wine. “And the taste is...well, have a smell,” he says, bringing the glass close to me. Suddenly, it feels like he’s offering me liquid gold, but that much gold wouldn’t be worth as much. I inhale the aroma, and it smells like the finest, boldest wine with just the right hint of old wood. It makes my mouth water, and I can feel Lord Alastair watching me lust for it, feeding off my desire.
“You want a taste.” Again, a simple statement from him. It’s like he was willing the sentiment into existence, and I can’t argue. I nod faintly, licking my lips. He lets his hand slide up to my breast, and he gives it a squeeze unexpectedly. Any one of the maids could come in at a moment’s notice, what is he doing?! “Use your words, Maisie,” he whispers into my ear, and my breath catches in my throat.
“M-may I,” I stammer, “may I have a taste?” His hand slides down to my skirt, and he reaches under, feeling my naked lips wettening, and he sticks his finger into them, making me gasp.
“Are those the words I trained you to use?” he asks, and I bite my lip, feeling his finger so dangerously close to my clit. I take a deep breath and try again.
“Please, Master,” I say, my tone begging, “may I drink from your glass?” I feel his cock stiffen under my pussy, and I know I’ve hit the right answer.
“Good girl,” he praises me, and before I can react, he reaches up and takes my jaw gently, bringing the wine to my lips. I brace myself as he tips the glass towards me, and I taste the wine washing into my mouth.
It’s the most delicious taste I’ve ever had. Just the right blend of bold, strong flavor tinged with fruit that’s endured for over a century. I take in a breath as his stiff cock gives me just as much pleasure, my hand gripping his leg desperately as he keeps tilting the glass to my lips.
My mouth fills, and I blush as I realize he’s pouring too much into me, but I swallow down as much as I can, a trickle of the wine running in a bloody trail down my cheek. Before it can drip down my jaw, he brings my face close and licks it from my cheek as he takes the glass away, and I feel a deep groan in his chest.
“Not a drop wasted, Maisie,” he chides me, and I can feel his grin as the strong drink hits me. Damn it, I’ve always been a lightweight. He tilts the glass again, and as he strokes my pussy, he makes me drink more from the glass, which I do greedily, my instincts taking over all my senses, making me hungry for more of both. His fingering is incessant. The thought of his touch has been in my mind all afternoon, and it isn’t long before I feel my stomach tightening, and as his fingering gets stronger and more regular on my swollen clit, he draws the glass away and up, letting me see the last drop of it on the tip of the glass.
My jaw hangs open, breathing quickly as I feel the inevitable roiling up in me, and damn it all, he can feel it in me, and he tilts the glass to let the last drop of wine fall onto my tongue just as I feel my orgasm roll through me, the bloody taste of the wine mixing with the ecstatic orgasm deliciously as I melt in his lap, my honey coating his fingers.
As the orgasm subsides, I feel a dark chuckle in his chest, and he withdraws his fingers from my pussy and brings them to my lips as I lean back in his chest. My eyes are closed, but I taste my honey on my tongue as he puts his fingers in my mouth. I reach up obediently to grasp his wrist, licking every bit of my come from his fingers.
When he finally lets his hand drop, I’m sitting on a hard cock as he strokes my hair. “Thank you, Master,” I whisper.
“Something you should know, little American girl from Conwy,” he says, his voice almost menacing, “is that I reward my obedient pets well.” He guides me off his lap, and I have trouble standing as he gets up, finished with his meal. “Follow me,” he instructs, and I’m in no condition to argue as he leads me out of the room and down a series of hallways and staircases.
Before long, he pushes an ornate door open, and I realize I’m in the master bedroom. My breath is stolen from me.
The atmosphere of the all-wood room is shockingly warm compared to the rest of the house. The wood is a rich, hearty brown, and there’s a crackling fireplace on the far end of the massi
ve room, gray stone making a gorgeous hearth. The curtains are drawn over the colossal windows, but the centerpiece of the room is the king-sized four-poster bed in the middle, lavish purple sheets set enticingly.
The maids had said that Lord Alastair’s quarters were strictly off-limits. My heart is pounding harder than ever, but my pussy is quivering with desire as he leads me into the room to the foot of the bed. I expect him to tell me to strip again, but this time, he merely gestures to the bed.
“Shoes off. On your knees. Now.”
The urgency underlying that low growl spurs me on, and I fumble at the clasps of my heels before I put my knees on the bed, crawling on it on all fours. The sheets are unbelievably comfortable, the mattress the softest thing I’ve ever felt. I could stand on my knees here forever, I feel.
And the way Lord Alastair is glowering down at me, I fear that might be the case.
“You might have another drink from my glass,” he says, undoing the front of his pants as he approaches the bed, and on pure desire, my body starts to crawl toward him, looking up demurely into his dominating eyes. “But you must beg for it, darling. What I would give you is finer than any expensive wine.”
I let my lips part, my eyes shining in the firelight as I look up at him, utter need welling up in my gaze and my heart as his eyes hold me locked into place. My body arches, trying to entice him, but he smiles at me and makes me feel foolish. I know he has the upper hand here, no matter what silly games I try to play.