Page 90 of Decoding Morse

Investments to cover the house’s taxes and operating expenses have been established in a trust. It’s protected, so you can’t sell it or give it to charity. And it’s designed to keep the manor running in perpetuity, so you might as well move in and enjoy the luxury. The staff is competent, if a little too friendly, but they will keep my home fromfalling into squalor. You’ll have the power to hire and fire as you please, but the trust will pay their salaries.

Also, I’ve instructed Jeremy to retrieve the gifts I gave you from above the garage and return them to their rightful homes upon my death.

You thought you were so sneaky, but I always knew.

Nobody has bothered to befriend me in a long time.

For that, and for your phenomenal breakfast casserole, I thank you.

Your friend, Carol Landry

24

Amelia

WIGGLING INTO THE bustier of my costume, I cursed the designer as I struggled to fasten the hooks without popping my shoulders out of their sockets. Fashion this complicated required multiple hands, and I currently only had two at my disposal since I planned to surprise Morse, and nobody else needed to see me in this getup.

Still, as I snagged the last hook and smoothed the black silk and white lace ruffles into place, I couldn’t deny how sexy it made me feel.

There were no mirrors in Morse’s room at the club, so I used the stainless steel surface of the mini fridge to primp and fluff, ensuring everything was even and secure. The bodice was so tight I had to take shallow breaths, but it hiked my boobs up to my collarbone and made my cleavage look amazing. The thong covered precisely zero stretch marks and provided no belly support, but fuck it. It had been ages since I’d worn lingerie, a travesty I intended to rectify because I felt sexy.

Morse would lose his mind when he saw me, and that was all that mattered. His pleasure was well worth a little boob squashing and wedgie inflicting.

Hell, I’d fucking waxed for him. The man better appreciate the effort.

Careful not to trip over any partially packed boxes scattered across the floor, I made my way to the bed. Morse would be here soon, and I needed to figure out the best pose to greet him in.

I’d forgiven him for the whole monitoring me without my consent thing, and he’d promised never to do it again. Any future recording would be consensual and far more fun….

Morse and I haven’t spent much time at the club lately. After Carol’s death, he took some time off to help me and has been staying at my house. He plans to return to work next week, but we’ll see. Link has challenged me to see how long I can keep my man out of his dungeon, and I am up for the challenge.

Besides, we have a lot of shit to do.

Eric contested Carol’s will, sending the estate into probate, but since she’d set up the house in a trust specifically naming me as the beneficiary, it wasn’t tied up in the courts, and we’d be able to take possession soon. It might be crazy to move in with someone I’d only been dating for a few weeks, but Morse and I had lost enough time already. We enjoyed being together and wanted to take this next step. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single reason to wait.

Emily didn’t think probate would last long, considering all the dirt the bikers had been digging up on Eric. About two years ago, the real estate tycoon made some poor investments. Rather than fessing up to his mistakes, he’d chosen crime, embezzling millions from his real estate firm and its clients to pay off the debt.

We weren’t sure if Carol had told him about the change to her will or if his former frat brother—who worked in the estateattorney’s office—had spilled the beans. Regardless, the district attorney’s grandmother turned out to be one of Eric’s victims, so he was about to learn regret for his shitty life choices. Between his white-collar crimes and attempts at kidnapping and murder, Eric Landry would be locked up for a long, long time.

The door burst open, and I thrust out a hip, pretending to feather dust the top of the dresser while my boobs spilled out of the bustier. A gust of cool air from the hallway chilled the lower halves of my ass cheeks since they were peeking out beneath the lacy skirt.

The hunger that ignited in Morse's eyes as he took in my “naughty maid” costume and hurriedly slammed the door shut behind him reinforced my newfound commitment to wearing more lingerie.

“The compression socks are doing it for you, aren’t they?” I teased. Black and white checkered and covering me from toes to knees, they weren’t part of the outfit, but they were a bitch to get off, so I’d left them on. They’d been the suggestion of a widow I’d resumed taking meals to. I’d been wearing them for a week now, and I wasn’t sure they were helping with the pain, but I was in the try-anything stage of treatment. I’d also started physical therapy, yoga, and going for daily walks, determined to get my sciatic nerve under control.

“The entire outfit is doing it for me,” Morse said, lighting my skin on fire with his gaze.

He prowled closer, and I turned the feather duster on myself, tickling my exposed cleavage before dipping it down over my belly to the tops of my thighs. Morse followed my movements like a cat watching a laser beam he was about to pounce on.

“Anything I need to clean for you, boss?” I asked in my best sultry lilt.

“Me.” His lips stretched into a grin as he closed the last of the distance between us. “I’m absolutely fuckin’ filthy.”

“You are, huh?” I asked, using the duster to brush off his shoulders as I discreetly ogled the bulge growing in his pants.

“Yep. In fact, right now, I’m imagining bending you over that bed and fucking your brains out.”

I blinked, fantasizing right along with him, and decided I was game. “Less talking, more acti?—”

---