Page 34 of The Scandal You Started
But she’d told him to leave, so he’d departed as fast as his legs had been able to carry him, knowing the danger of staying was too great for his control and her wrath.
He’d immediately locked the door to his own room, folded on the floor before the bed, and taken his cock in hand, panting as he spent in his palm to the thought of her.
Now dressed and sitting at the small dining table in the bright, open kitchen and dining area at the back of the farmhouse, Dominic’s dick was again pressing against the seam of the black trousers Rayna had told him to wear. It wasn’t trying to burst free, but bloody Neves, he couldn’t convince his cock to rest around her.
Said pretty little witch was completely oblivious to his mental struggle as she slunk around the bluish-grey kitchen shaped as an L with an extra little flick at the end. The white countertop was broken up by a deep silver sink and the black futuristic stove, where Rayna was preparing breakfast.
She grabbed stuff out of the full-length cupboards, where the top shelves proved to be too high for her to reach, and a silver, two-doored cuboid the manual had called a“fridge”—not at all like the ice rooms in his stately homes but supposedly made to do the same thing. Wherever she walked, her flappy slippersclacked against the greyish wooden flooring that led seamlessly out of the open archway to the rest of the house.
But while she was focused on filling the room with scents of sizzling slivers of meat and fresh toast, he was losing his mind watching her.
Dominic was beginning to understand why women from his time weren’t allowed to wear trousers or pantaloons in public. They were a damned irresistible villain that could tempt even the most prudish gentleman far more easily than any low-cut dress or silk shift could.
Had women been allowed to wear the kind of skintight pantaloons Rayna was wearing, showing off her delicate ankles, her pretty toes, and the exact shape of her legs, men would have been dropping to their knees, left, right, and centre. Even with the fact she was wearing a rose-red T-shirt that skimmed past her rump and hung too big on her frame.
How was it possible for clothing so similar to that of a man’s to look so bloody sensual on a woman?
Dominic didn't understand, but Rayna painted a magnificent vision, and he struggled to remain seated. The heavy longing snaking around his bones was doing its best to persuade him to follow her around the kitchen like a pup and nestle himself against her. To hold her tight from behind while he kissed her, licked her, maybe even bit her neck at every chance he got.
But either she cooked quickly, or he’d been lost in his ogling, because soon enough she handed him a plate of omelette and slivers of beef. Then she joined him at the square table with her own plate and a stack of toast for them to share.
He probably would have continued gawking at her had the delicious, cheesy, oniony scent combined with crisply cooked meat not reminded him how hungry he was.
Oh, he still stole glances at her in their comfortable silence. But it was between bites of buttered toast, sips of sweetened tea,and moments of admiring the view out of the long glass door made up of three big panels.
The land the farmhouse sat on was wonderfully picturesque, with the bright blue of the sky, not a single cloud in sight, allowing for an endless panorama of the calming scenery.
A large stream, or rather a small river, flowed at the end of a long gravel path and stretch of grass, on the other side of which was a spread of forestland. From the angle he was sitting at, he could see a weathered stable building within the fence of a paddock. And when he craned his head over his shoulder, there was another farmhouse built closer to the river.
“So,” Rayna eventually said, slumped back in her chair, sipping at her cup of coffee. “How much of the house did you manage to check out last night?”
Dominic’s hand stopped midway to his open mouth, and he held her sure, accusing stare. His lips spread into a wide grin as he lowered his bit of toast. “What has led you to believe I did not stay in the room after you caught me?”
She narrowed her eyes with a small scrunch on her mouth. “I’m not an idiot, Dominic. I know your insatiable curiosity didn’t keep you in that room for long after I left you.” Leaning forward, she set her mug on the table and smirked. “That, and I noticed you’d moved things around in the kitchen and turned half the switches on.”
He chomped on the last of the buttered bread, neither denying nor admitting to exploring after she’d warned him to stay put in his bedroom. He hadn’t lasted an hour in there.
“I hope you at least took the manual with you.”
He finished chewing and straightened. “Of course,” he said proudly. “How was I to know what I was inspecting without it?” Her glare was disapproving. “I swear to you, sweetheart, I was very careful with how I handled every new item I discovered.”
She shook her head. “All you had to do was wait one night.”
“After being confined for so long already, another night did not seem possible.”
Her expression softened. “Fine. I can understand that.”
“Thank you,” he said and sat back in his chair. “So what are we to do today?”
“As much as we can, really,” she said, crossing her arms atop the table. “We’ll tidy up breakfast, then I’ll go over men’s and women’s clothing as your first lesson, so that from tomorrow you can choose what to wear yourself. Then I’ll take you on an official tour of the house, and I’ll cover as much as I can of all the basic items you need to know how to use.
“But first, I’m going to explain what you’ll be doing here, who you are, and who I am in more detail.”
Dominic reared his head back. “Who I am? What does that mean? Am I no longer to be myself?”
“Well…” she dragged the sound out, thinking over her words. “Yes and no.” She gestured to him with a roll of her hand. “You’ll still be you. You just won’t be Lord Dominic Evander Jonathan Thorne, the marquess. You’ll simply beDominic Thorne.”
“For what reason?”
