Page 139 of New Storm Rising
Not this time. I couldn’t give in. This time, it couldn’t go his way.
But…
A grin spread across my face. That didn’t mean I couldn’t still have my fun tonight.
“Assuage my wrath?” My eyes sparkled with mischief. “Why should I be angry? After all, tonight’s events were so…enlightening.”
Mr Rikkard Ambrose stiffened. Under normal circumstances, the only emotion reflected in his eyes would be cool indifference, or, if he looked my way, possibly desire. But now, there was a trace of apprehension in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Why, your preferences, of course!” I smiled up at him brightly. “First that brothel back in London where I met Amy, now this place…who knew you had a fetish such as this?”
In the silence that descended, you could have heard a pin drop on cotton wool.
“Fetish?”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” Reaching up, I patted his cheek. “I’m very progressive. As long as it’s consensual, why shouldn’t you enjoy your perverted phantasies?”
“Perverted? Mrs Ambrose! I most certainly do not—”
“Don’t worry,” I cut him off with a big smile. “I fully support you. So you like paying your partner for services rendered. So what? As a wife, I should always be supportive of my dear husband. So…” Reaching up, I held out my open hand. “Twenty pounds should do, I think.”
I could see a muscle in Mr Ambrose’s cheek twitch.
“Itoldthem not to give you ideas.”
“Oh, but they did. And what excellent ideas they were.”
“You’re being unreasonable! You—”
“Now it’s twenty-five pounds.”
A muscle in my dear husband’s cheek twitched. “You can’t seriously expect me to—”
“Oh? Can’t I?”
“No, you ca—”
My hand was already so conveniently close to him. So, why not take advantage of it? Or rather, ofhim. In the blink of an eye, my hand vanished underneath his shirt and down his trousers.
“—aaahhh!”
“Yes, that’s what I thought you’d say.”
“Mrs Ambrose! Immediately remove—”
“—your underpants? Why, yes of course, Mr Ambrose, Sir.”
With a soft, almost soundless noise, Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s ten-year-old vintage trousers hit the floor. A moment later, his underpants followed.
“Mrs Ambrose! You—”
“Yes, Sir?” I glanced up at him, batting my eyelashes. “How may I be of service, Sir?”
This time, nothing but a croak came from Mr Ambrose’s throat. Wrapping my hand around the find I’d made in Mr Ambrose’s trousers, I squeezed. This was rewarded with another croak.
My, my, this was fun.
“M-Mrs Ambrose…your hand…”
