Page 44 of Lady and the Butcher
I closed my eyes for a moment. This was heaven.
“You feel it,” Atticus murmured, quiet enough that the night had to lean close to hear.
I nodded, because words weren’t safe.
“Good,” he said. His hand left mine only to skim the hem of my dress, fingertips brushing the skin just above my knee. My breath stuttered.
He didn’t move higher. He didn’t need to.
The carriage rolled on, carrying us deeper into shadow. Anticipation beat louder than the horse’s hooves.
I wanted him. I hated how much I wanted him. I hated how little I cared who saw.
And when his hand finally slid higher, deliberate and slow, I nearly begged.
15
Ididn’t look at him. I couldn’t. The carriage creaked and the city breathed and every inch of me remembered the window and his voice and the heat of his palm under silk.
“Are you attracted to me,” I asked, eyes on the horse’s flicking tail, “or is this a job you’re very good at pretending to enjoy?”
His arm rested along the back of the bench. His knuckles brushed my shoulder like an accident that wasn’t one. “You’re really asking after everything I’ve shown you?”
“You’ve shown me you’re good at control.” My voice came out thin and wobbly. “Control looks the same on a fantasy and a payroll.”
He shifted just enough for his thigh to press mine. “My massively hard cock should speak for itself.”
Heat punched low. “That’s crude.”
“That’s honest.” He tipped his head, studying my profile like I was a skyline. “You want more words than that?”
“I want to know if you’re here because of me or because of a letter with a price tag.”
His mouth curved. “Both can be true. But this is not a paycheck. I don’t need the money.” He slid two fingers under my chin, made me face him. “Look at me. I know your name. I knew it before this.”
“Because you’re friends with my brother.” It came out harsher than I meant. “You knew ‘Simone’ from his life. You call me ‘Lady’ like this is anonymous, but it isn’t.”
He smiled, small and dangerous. “I do know your name.” He leaned close enough for the word to land against my mouth. “But you’re my Lady.”
Something in me went hot and molten at the way he said it. It didn’t sound like a placeholder. It sounded like a possession.
“It’s more complicated than Alpha Mail was supposed to be,” I said, because if I didn’t keep the argument alive I would lose the last thread of my composure. “No names. No overlap. None of this.”
“Do you want to call it off?” he asked lightly. “I’ll tell the driver to turn around. I’ll take you home. You’ll run your class and get back to your clients.”
“Absolutely not.”
The laugh that left him was quiet and satisfied. He looked at the driver, then back to me. His hand settled warm and heavy on my knee. “Good.”
The horse slowed, then picked up, hooves ringing on stone. We turned off the usual route into a darker lane where the gas lamps burned softer and the houses crouched behind deep gardens. Night pressed close. Spanish moss made lace out of branches above us.
He slid his palm up my thigh. Bare skin. A slow, steady climb. He wasn’t in a hurry. I was almost shaking.
“You’re wound tight,” he murmured. “Tell me again how this is a job.”
I gripped the edge of the bench. “You’re unbearable.”
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry.” His thumb stroked, lazy and sure. “Open your knees.”
