Page 57 of Their Master

“This will be ready in five minutes.”

Luke thought about what he was doing—making a special trip for a bottle of wine for the woman who’d supplanted him—and snorted softly. Most people would think him a pathetic fool for taking pains to please his replacement. He knew that he should be jealous and angry at her—she’d taken the man he loved—but he couldn’t bring himself to dislike, or even resent, her.

If Smith didn’t have Miss Moira upstairs, there was no guarantee that he’d be with Luke. He’d always spent more evenings in the arms and beds of other lovers than he ever had with Luke, or even Charles.

His lips twitched into a smile; the man did not have it in him to be monogamous. Smith’s wandering ways had never bothered Luke; it only bothered him when he’d failed to wander back in Luke’s direction.

He genuinely liked Miss Moira, who was quiet, polite, and easy to please—unlike Charles. He grimaced at the memory of the beautiful young man. He wouldn’t have tolerated Charles’s tantrums and spoiled behavior for a day. Mr. Smith had not only tolerated him, but he’d also indulged him outrageously.

Until the day he hadn’t.

If Luke was the sort to be jealous, he’d have been jealous of Charles because he hadneverbeen worthy of Smith.

Luke loved Smith. He was sure of it. After all, he was old enough to know the difference between love and lust, love’s less noble relation. He wanted Smith to be happy, even if Luke wasn’t part of that happiness. Weren’t you supposed to want the person you loved to be happy?

He shook his head, irritated by his own dithering, and quickly located the sherry.

Once back in the kitchen Luke arranged the bottle and two glasses—just in case—on the tray Cook had prepared, deciding not to open the bottle until he was sure it was wanted.

When he got to Miss Moira’s room, Luke balanced the tray, opened the door, and stopped in his tracks.

His master’s backside faced the door, giving him a glorious view of his tight bottom, muscular thighs, and pendulous sac, which jolted with each violent thrust.

Luke’s lungs seized and he stared, frozen in place like a startled hare.

Should he set down the tray? Or just leave.

Or should he—

As if sensing him, Mr. Smith slowed his thrusting and looked over his shoulder as he reached beneath his lover’s body. Whatever he did to Miss Moira drew an immediate groan of pleasure.

“Yes…please, Smith.”

He held Luke’s gaze as he masturbated the woman, his lids heavy and his face slack with lust. Luke felt skewered by his dark gaze, his feet rooted to the floor.

As if satisfied by whatever he saw, Smith gave a slight nod, turned away, and resumed his rutting even as Miss Moira cried out that she was coming.

Luke didn’t know whether to crow or weep that the other man had not dismissed him.

He did neither.

Instead, he stood by the door, the tray in his hand, and waited quietly like the excellent servant he was.

∞∞∞

The hair on the back of Smith’s neck prickled and he turned at the primitive warning; Luke had returned from his demeaning errand with the tea tray, complete with some wine.

Smith squinted at the bottle and saw that it was sherry, which he only kept for his guests, not caring for it, himself. Which meant that Luke had brought it for Moira.

That small evidence of the other man’s desire to please his new mistress relieved him.

Moira had been wrong about Luke; he didn’t love Smith and wasn’t jealously infatuated like Charles had been, or he certainly wouldn’t be so considerate of her.

Smith’s lust mingled with relief. Luke wasn’t about to descend into histrionics like Charles had, which meant that Smith could happily keep both his lovers,

The selfish thought made his cock throb so hard he almost came.

But instead of giving into to his need, he reached beneath Moira’s body and stroked another orgasm from her responsive bundle of nerves, reveling in Luke’s gaze.

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