Page 68 of Tangwystle
“Gretel—”
She tutted. “Stay where you are Wystle. Or else.”
There wasn’t much heat behind her threat, but it didn’t matter. My back arched when she sucked on my clit, not taking it easy on me at all.
But as fiercely as she started, her ministrations grew softer. Her licks gentler.
“Gretel!” I demanded.
Her breath tickled my thighs as she laughed.
I tried to sit up. “There will be payback.”
Stars. The sight of her sitting up, her bosom heaving and her cheeks red as she spread my thighs further brought a shot of want to my sensitive pussy. “Is that meant to be a threat?” she asked sweetly before diving back between my thighs.
And that’s how Baz found us. I was on the floor, my back arching as she teased my clit and speared her tongue into my cunt.
He cocked his head to the side, leaning against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. “No wonder no one came to greet me when I got in.”
Something obscene tore from my lips as I rode a crashing wave. Gretel popped back up, still looking like a goddess.
“Well done, pet. You made fairy’s eyes roll back into her head.” Baz chuckled and walked over to Gretel. He swooped down to kiss her, licking my arousal from her face.
She leaned into him, but, unusual for him, he didn’t play.
“What’s wrong?” I panted as I sat up.
Gretel’s brow wrinkled as she studied the man. “Something happened.”
He kissed the back of her hand. Calm and tender. “Not in the way you think.”
“What is it?” I asked impatiently, pulling my knees to my chest. He smirked when I smoothed my dress down, but I shot him a look telling him to get on with it.
Running a hand through his dark locks, he shrugged. “Please don’t hate me, fairy. But I’ve agreed to host a ball.”
My mouth tumbled open. “A ball? Here?”
Gretel had the audacity to squeal. She even clapped her hands.
“No!” I chided her. “No,” I told Baz.
Blue eyes smoldering at me, but I would not be swept away by his charm and handsome looks.
“A ball? Here?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Think of how lovely it will be,” Gretel said.
The fire flickered, the tips burning blue. That meant the Manor agreed, and I was seriously outnumbered.
“When?” I asked Baz. “Why?”
“Because the masses think it will be amusing. And because the masses must be amused,” he said.
“It’s not up to us to amuse the masses,” I retorted.
“It has to happen?” I asked. Master Blackwell rarely hosted dinners, let alone balls. There’d be dancing and drinking. Carriages would need to be organized, and invitations would need to be sent. There’d be the gossip before and the gossip after. And the gossip after would most certainly be rating Blackwell Manor.
