Page 21 of Their Master

“You are amazing, Moira.”

The sounds of pleasure he made helped check her anger and she deliberately swallowed around him, earning a guttural growl of approval.

“Such a delicious, fuckable mouth.” His hips pulsed gently while his fingers continued their magic between her legs.

Moira was close to climaxing when he tapped her bottom with the hand that had just been driving her to madness.

“Up,” he said. “I want you to finish undressing me.”

He smirked at her obvious unwillingness, helping her to sit up.

“I’m going to fuck your arse. And later, when I am ready again, I will take your cunt.” His smirk grew. “I’m going to own all three of your holes before the night is through.”

Moira had been a whore for almost eight years and never had anyone spoken so crudely to her. The effect on her was electric and her fingers flew over the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt while he removed his necktie.

She dropped to her knees to remove his shoes and stockings while he shrugged out of both coats and shirt, together.

Moira paused at the awe-inspiring sight of his muscles moving like steel cords beneath his olive skin, a chiseled work of art.

He was a handsome man—perhaps too angular for classical male beauty—but masculine and striking. His lips were full and sensual but not feminine. The only soft thing about him was his eyelashes, which were so lush his eyes looked as if they’d been darkened with kohl.

Moira scrambled less than gracefully to her feet and then reached for her garter while he kicked aside his trousers and drawers

“No, leave it on. I want you to straddle me.” His hands closed around her waist and he steadied her while she placed a knee on either side of his hips. “Hold up your skirt,” he ordered once she was kneeling. “Yes, higher—let me see you.” His probing gaze settled on her bare slit and he made a noise of appreciation. “Rest your hands on my knees and lean back.”

Moira obeyed, which opened her wider.

His lips curved into a smug, possessive smile. “So pretty,” he said, stroking her lower lips with a finger. “They’re pouting,” he murmured, amusement in his voice. “Why is that, I wonder?” His eyes lifting to hers. “Do you think I’m going to deny you an orgasm again tonight?”

Moira flushed, uneasy that he’d guessed the direction of her thoughts.

He grinned at whatever he saw on her face and leaned back, draping his arms along the back of the settee. “Use your cunt to get me wet.”

Again she jolted at his crudity, both aroused and repelled, but her body was trained to obey and she lifted her hips, notching his cock between her swollen lips and moving up and down, slicking him with her embarrassingly wet sex.

“Did you go back to your room and pleasure yourself that night, Moira?”

He laughed before she could even formulate an answer.

Moira dropped her irritated gaze to his prick rather than the knowing, amused glint in his dark gaze.

Smith flexed his hips rhythmically, his shaft grazing her bud with each pump.

Once again he worked her to the brink of climax and then stopped.

Moira had to bite her tongue to keep from begging.

His arms slid from the back of the settee and he reached behind her, spreading her cheeks and prodding at her back hole.

His eyebrows lifted appreciatively when he discovered that she was slick with oil.

“Very nice,” he murmured, pushing his thumb into her. “But next time I want to be the one to stretch and prepare you.”

Next time.

Moira was so excited by the words that she forgot to answer.

“Understood?” he asked, his eyes hot but his expression stern.

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