Page 2 of His Bound Bedmate

Perhaps reading those books had ruined me for nice gentlemen, but I didn’t want that sort anymore. Now I was looking for a man.

A man who could touch me and make me scream in pleasure. I wanted a man who commanded respect and obedience and who would know exactly what to do with my body. A man who would own me completely.

Oh, who in damnation was I fooling? It wasn’t the books which had ruined me. It was my superior.

The lock on the main office door clicked and my gaze went right to the door. So few castle servants had the key that I found myself holding my breath, hoping—

Yes.

Prince Findlay—my superior—stepped into the front office of the Royal Archives, and I couldn’t help the appreciative smile which lit my face.

The man was just perfect. Tall and dark with a perfectly smooth jaw, so different from other men and their messy mustaches and muttonchops. He wasn’t skinny, but didn’t have his brothers’ bulk, either. Sometimes I found myself staring at his lithe fingers, imagining what they could do to a willing woman…

“Millicent,” he acknowledged with a nod, short on conversation as always.

I thrust myself to my feet, curtseying deferentially. “Good morning,” I greeted him. “Findlay.”

Last year he’d given me permission to call him by his first name, rather than his title, while we were working because “Your Highness” could get tiring after a while. I had eagerly grabbed the opportunity, smug in the knowledge that everyone else called him “Your Highness”.

Oh, I knew it wasn’t like he’d given me permission because I was special. It was merely because I was his underling, but it still was nice to pretend we had some kind of connection. Lord knew I’d love the chance to become his underling for real. Or his overling. Or his sideways-ling. Or his upside-ling. Or his tied-up-and-spanked-ling. Or his any-way-he-wanted-me-ling.

Oh yes, I had it bad for Findlay.

He hummed as he crossed to the main desk where he usually worked. “Ye finished this correspondence already? I was dreading those.”

Findlay was in charge of the Royal Archives, a perfect job for him. He was just as much an academic as I was, and could swiftly lose himself in these old documents. He definitely had the most arousing brain of anyone I’d ever met, and it was wrapped up inside the most arousing body I’d ever seen.

I swallowed, reminding myself he was my superior, and forced the muscles in my inner thighs to relax. I slid back into my desk chair and cleared my throat.

“I know replying to all of the requests isn’t your favorite thing, so I took care of it.”

Were his lips curled just slightly as he gave me an approving nod? “And what are ye working on now?”

I couldn’t help but sit taller, thanks to his approval. “I finished transcribing the pay records, although I had to design a new filing system to keep them all straight.”

His head was cocked to one side as he studied me. “Remarkable.”

“Your Majesty?”

He shook himself. “I mean, is there anything I need to ken?”

God, he had a brogue which made my toes curl. I mean…everyone in Faencairn sounded like that—their accents weren’t quite Scottish Highlands, but close enough—but Findlay’s voice always made me want to tear open my blouse and squeeze my own nipples.

I swallowed, reminding myself to be professional.

“There was another request from Oxford University, Your Highness.” I was definitely flustered. Perhaps I shouldn’t have touched myself this morning while thinking of him. Occupational hazard. But really, what was a girl to do after seeing the illustration of the woman restrained, at the man’s mercy? The thought of being in such a position with him…“I—I placed it there.”

Humming, he picked up the letter and scanned it, as I tried to get my arousal under control.

It was his job to handle all the requests from researchers around the world, and I was glad of it; the man spoke four languages fluently, and could read and write two more well enough to make himself understood. Besides, the responses looked more impressive signed by “Prince Findlay of Faencairn”.

When I next glanced at him, the letter was sitting, ignored, under his hand as he tapped a long finger against the desk. He was staring at me, really studying me, those gorgeous blue eyes of his caressing my face…and lower.

My thighs quivered at the realization. The man of my dreams was staring at my breasts! Unconsciously I sat straighter, although I knew my small bosom—I barely needed a corset!—was unlikely to attract a powerful man like him.

Still, this was definitely going to be fodder for a hot and messy self-pleasuring evening. My lips quirked at the thought.

My reaction must’ve pulled his attention back to my face. He blinked and frowned, almost as if he were irritated at himself.

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