Page 118 of Their Master

“You look lovely taking me,” he said, amused when her cheeks flushed at his praise.

He lifted his hips, feeding her the last few inches, until her lips were stretched thin around his thick root.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, easing out to allow her to breathe.

Rather than gasp or cough, she inhaled silently and lowered her mouth again, swallowing him to the root each time, her pupils so huge that her eyes looked black.

Smith tore his gaze away long enough to glance at his host.

The earl’s striking eyes were hooded and the front of his light gray trousers tented, but his hand still flew across the page.

“She is lovely, Selkirk,” Smith said in a strained voice, his fingers sinking into her thick chestnut hair. “And so skilled that I’m afraid your time is almost over.”

Selkirk smiled faintly, not stopping his work. “You have lasted longer than most.”

Smith glanced down at the woman to see how she took such a comment—an admission that this wasn’t the first time she’d serviced one of his guests—but her rhythm never stuttered.

“Going to come,” he warned her with a groan, loosening his grip on her hair and giving her a chance to pull away.

Rather than withdraw, she swallowed.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his body jerking with each pulse of his cock.

She milked him gently, until even the slightest touch was too much.

Smith lowered his hips and she sat back on her calves as he caught his breath. Her pale skin was passion mottled and her lips were slick and red.

He slid a hand around one of her breasts and lightly thumbed the hard nipple. Her body shuddered in response, her back arching. When he lowered his gaze, he saw that her thighs were slick, and the pink tip of her clitoris was poking through the neatly trimmed curls.

Smith was just about to lift her onto his lap and see to her needs when the sound of a throat clearing shook him from his erotic daze.

Selkirk had set aside his sketchpad and was sitting back, one elegantly trousered leg crossed over the other. His face was as unreadable as ever, but his posture spoke louder than words: the sitting was officially over.

Smith shrugged slightly and then helped Ten to her feet, admiring her backside as she walked back to Selkirk and sank down beside the settee.

“So,” Selkirk said, his hand resting on Ten’s nape. “Do we have an agreement?

Smith laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, my lord. But yes—we have an agreement.”

Chapter 27

One month later

Luke was heading toward his mistress’s dressing room with an armload of linen when he heard the strange noise.He stopped and paced up and down the corridor, listening at each door.

It was eight o’clock at night, too late for a servant to be on this floor. They would all be in the kitchen or their rooms.

Luke paused in front of one of the unoccupied guest rooms. He listened for a moment longer, until he recognized it as female weeping.

There was only one woman in the house, so it was easy to guess who was crying.

He stared unseeingly down at the folded linen in his hands, the doctor’s most recent words going through his mind. “Miss Dunsmuir is losing weight—she doesn’t look well. This is not good for her child.” Doctor Felson had spoken to Luke after leaving Miss Moira’s chambers yesterday.

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know—you know her best. Make her happy, somehow.”

Luke was sure that only Smith would make her happy, but he kept that observation to himself.

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