Page 13 of Their Master

Just when Smith began to lose himself to pleasure, Luke shoved a second thick digit alongside the first.

When Smith whimpered at the sudden stretch Luke slapped his cock with the hand that had been resting on his belly. “Quit sniveling or I’ll give you something to whine about,” he threatened, scissoring his fingers until tears ran down Smith’s cheeks.

After an eternity, Luke gave a grunt of satisfaction and replaced his fingers with the thick crown of his cock. But he didn’t enter him immediately, instead only slightly breaching the grudging ring of muscle.

“Bear down and let me in or it will go badly for you.”

Smith instantly complied and Luke mounted him with a pile-driving thrust, burying himself balls deep. “Ahh,fuck yes!” Luke shouted, his muscular chest clamped tightly to Smith’s back as he held his trembling body stuffed full of cock, allowing him a moment to adjust to being stretched and invaded.

“So tight and delicious,” he whispered in Smith’s ear. “I’d like to shove two pricks in you—you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Smith groaned behind his gag, his body feeling too small to contain the sensations the vulgar, brutal threats evoked.

“Maybe next time I’ll tie you up and then pull three or four big bruisers off the street—huge men with horse pricks who’ll go at you all night long. I’d let one fuck your throat while I gave you a good hard ride, stretched you—and then I’d have another man shove in beside me and we’d pound you into next week. When we were done using you, I’d plug all that juice inside you.” His laugh was ugly and harsh “But not right now.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Right now I’m going to breed you just like the desperate bitch you are.”

Smith’s entire body clenched, drawing a tortured moan from the other man.

“Good whore,” Luke praised, filling him thoroughly with every thrust, his prick striking that place deep inside Smith that brought almost unbearable bliss.

Just when he thought he couldn’t bear much more, Luke’s pumping became jerky and wild as he lost control.

“Oh, God. I love being inside you,” Luke muttered.

Even through his delirious haze Smith heard the yearning in the other man’s voice. Distant alarm bells went off in his mind but were quickly muffled when Luke’s fist closed around Smith’s swollen shaft, jerking him in counterpoint to the snapping of his powerful hips.

The leather band became an agony as his balls tried to draw up. Mercifully, Luke’s free hand fumbled for the thong and untied him. Blood and sensation returned to Smith’s abused groin in a rush.

“Coming,” Luke shouted, hilting himself so deeply it felt like he’d punched through Smith’s spine, his thick shaft filling him with jet after jet of scalding semen.

Even in the midst of his orgasm Luke did not forget him, and his fist pumped Smith’s prick fast and hard. “Come for me, whore.”

The degrading order was like the prod of a whip and Smith’s entire body spasmed, the pure shock of pleasure turning him inside out.

He abandoned himself to mindless bliss, the knowledge that he didn’t and couldn’t do or say a thing setting him free.

Yes, tonight was exactly what he needed; for the first time in weeks, he was at ease, no annoying or distracting thoughts of ex-lovers or intriguing whores.

No sooner had he finished congratulating himself when his willful brain assembled a mental picture of a certain ginger-haired, sea-green eyed woman.

Smith groaned, unwilling to return to the world around him.

But Moira Dunsmuir was back, and Smith was beginning to fear that she might be there to stay.

Chapter 4

That is checkmate,” Luke said. And then added in a more diffident voice, “Sir.”

Mr. Smith stared at the board for a long moment and then looked up, his scowl slowly—almost grudgingly—shifting into a smile. “Well done you sneaky bastard. That is three bloody nights in a row you’ve bested me.”

Luke tried not to grin and failed miserably.

Smith laughed. “Go on—have a nice gloat, you’ve earned it.”

Luke grinned. “Thank you, sir.”

Smith stood and poured them both more wine before Luke realized what he was doing. When he began to stand, Smith shook his head. “No, I’ll wait on you—to the victor goes the spoils.”

Luke wanted to tell him that he’d prefer some otherspoils, but he caught himself in time. As casual and friendly as the past two weeks had been, he was still intensely aware of his place in Smith’s household. He was a servant first and foremost and a whore second. They were not lovers or friends, they were master and servant and the moment he forgot that distinction he suspected Smith would send him packing.

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