Page 33 of Wicked Games

Eventually I was lulled to sleep by the low, crackling hum of the fire and an exhaustion that only came from your body being pushed beyond its own limits.

CHAPTER 11

RICHARD

Walking into the library, I headed straight for the crystal decanter displayed to the right of my desk. Pouring myself a generous cognac, I took a seat before the already stoked fire. Cupping the thin crystal globe in my palm, I lifted the glass high and watched the play of red and amber as the flames from the fire cast their glow on the swirling liquid.

When it was warmed by the heat of my hand, I took one long sip, relishing in the smooth bite as it slid down my throat.

Relaxing against the high-backed chair, I allowed myself a small smile.

Everything was going to plan.

Elizabeth was everything I could have hoped for and more. She was an intoxicating mix of spirit and submission. She had just enough spit and fire in her to keep me interested but equally so, submitted under my dominant hand when the time came.

Despite the burn of the brandy, I could still taste her on my lips, smell her on my skin. The idea she was at this very moment naked and restrained, under my complete control under my roof, had my cock once more thickening. I don’t think I would ever get enough of the feel of her tight cunt as she squeezed my cock even as she protested my rough touch. Or the vibration of her screams along my shaft as I plunged it deep down her forced open throat.

She wasn’t fooling me. She liked the game of pain and dominance just as much as I liked to play it. I couldn’t wait to take this to the next level.

But first, there were a few loose ends I needed to handle.

To my left against the wall just out of reach was a long strip of heavy tapestry that ended in a large gold tassel. Leaning over, I grasped the tassel and gave it a sharp tug; within moments, my butler, Hutley, entered.

“Where is he?”

I didn’t have to explain who I meant to Hutley. “Just outside, Your Grace. I figured you would want to speak with him.” We were both talking about the footman who broke the rules and brought an item from the twenty-first century onto my property.

The only way this was going to work was if I fully submerged Elizabeth so deeply in the Victorian era there was nothing to confirm her suspicions that it might be otherwise. Hearing that ringtone set back my plans. It forced me to handle her more roughly than I would have liked this early in the plan. I had hoped to give her time to get used to the idea before using my more creative means of breaking down her mind and body for my purposes.

I nodded. “Send him in and summon Harris.”

As far as the staff knew, Harris was my stable master. They had no idea he was actually my personal security, an enforcer. No one was more loyal or devoted to me than Harris. Rescuing a man from being tortured and beheaded by the Taliban will do that. They were right to want Harris dead. He was a sick sonofabitch who enjoyed violence for violence’s sake, enough to alarm even the bloodthirsty Taliban against keeping him on this earth.

The footman entered. Disrespectfully, he immediately began speaking before having his presence acknowledged by me, as was protocol. I sat and listened as he launched into a pitiful tirade of excuses for his blatant disobedience. “Look. I’m really sorry. I forgot it was in my pocket. It won’t happen again. I promise. It can’t happen again. That Hutley guy took it from me. So, like I said, it won’t happen again, I swear.”

Giving the brandy a warming swirl, I took another sip, wanting to measure my words carefully. “Well, you are correct about that; it won’t be happening ever again.”

It took him a few moments to get my unstated meaning.

“Wait. Are you giving me the sack? What the hell? You can’t do that! I need the money. I gave up my flat and sold my car to take this gig.”

“You’re shouting,” I said calmly as I rose to refill my brandy. By then, Harris had quietly entered the room, keeping to the shadows as always.

“Sod off! You’re damn right I’m shouting. You owe me! And you’ll pay or I’m going to tell the police about what you got going on here.”

Turning my attention back to the man, I asked, “And just what do you think is happening here?”

At that he floundered. “I don’t know. But something is off. This is all supposed to be some kind of intense reality show with hidden cameras and all that other crap but that chick didn’t seem to be in on the joke.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That chick?”

“Yeah, you know… the stacked one with the wavy hair.”

I felt a sudden sting against my palm. Looking down, I realized I had squeezed the glass so fiercely it shattered, piercing my palm with crystal shards and sending the fiery liquid cascading over the open wound. Looking down, I brushed at the jagged shards and blood as I tried to calm my rage. How dare he speak of Elizabeth… my Elizabeth in such disgusting terms.

“That chick happens to be my ward. A woman under my protection.”

“Whatever, dude. I get it. The cameras are still rolling and you’re keeping to character as the big bad duke but let’s get serious here for a minute. Your ward as you call her has no idea what the fuck is going on, does she? And if you want to keep it that way, you’re going to pay me the full contract and some extra for me to keep my mouth shut about whatever freaky shit you got going on.”

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