Page 36 of Their Master

Luke desperately wished for more and brighter light as he gorged on Mr. Smith’s sleeping face and relaxed body.

His mouth watered to nibble the other man’s exposed nipples, but even if he possessed the courage to do something so audacious, he didn’t want to wake his master from a rare moment of sleep and deprive him of rest.

Indeed, Luke almost never saw Mr. Smith asleep; the other man seemed to survive on brief cat naps here and there and a few hours every few nights.

Like everyone else, Smith looked younger while he slumbered, his chiseled features relaxed. His lips looked even fuller and were slightly parted, his muscular chest rising and falling gently, tiny specks of black sprouting on his chin and cheeks.

Luke could watch him for hours.

He knew such behavior crossed the line from adoring to disturbing but he simply did not care. These past few weeks had been blissful. He’d joined his master in his bed almost every night since he’d returned from Glasgow, his days spent on a cloud of joy, anticipating the next time they would be together.

But beneath that joy there lurked something darker.

How much longer could something so good continue? How much longer until—

“I canfeelyou thinking.”

Luke startled. “I’m sorry, sir. Did I wake you?”

Smith opened his eyes, his lips curving into a smile that shot straight to Luke’s balls.

“No, you were as quiet as a mouse.” He reached out a warm hand and caressed Luke’s face. “But your body is tense.” He glanced at the clock. “I’ve already slept too late; it is past time I got up.” He stretched and yawned, his movements causing his muscles to ripple and flex in a way that left Luke breathless.

He swallowed down his lust and realized he was staring—again—and reached for the sheet, preparing to get out of bed.

Smith’s hand shot out and closed around his wrist. “Stay a moment, I wish to speak to you.”

Luke’s belly tensed at the other man’s expression—gentle yet… reserved. “Yes, sir?”

“I wanted to let you know that I am in the process of engaging a live-in lover.”

The stabbing in Luke’s chest was so painful that he glanced down to see if Mr. Smith had actually plunged a dagger into him.

But there was no blood. The wounds were invisible, no matter how much it felt like his heart had been hacked out of his chest.

Luke swallowed several times to force down the bile and vomit that threatened to choke him before looking up to meet Smith’s gaze. “Are you terminating my employment, sir?”

“Lord no!” Smith squeezed Luke’s shoulder. “I’m sorry; I did not express myself very well. I’d like you to stay on, but in a slightly different capacity, if you are amenable.”

Luke wanted to sob with joy and relief, but he merely nodded and said, “Of course I will stay, no matter the capacity.”

Smith’s dark eyes softened at his calm response and he knew that he’d pleased his master by not indulging in histrionics, which Smith loathed.

Luke had worked for Mr. Smith while his last lover, Charles, had occupied the big suite of rooms adjacent to Smith’s. Charles was a stunning young whore who’d met Mr. Smith at Tosca’s, a brothel that was almost as exclusive as the Birch Palace.

Unfortunately, Charles’s temperament had been as ugly as his appearance was beautiful.

He’d hated any attractive men who worked for Mr. Smith—which was most of the all-male household—and had made their lives hell, trying to force them to quit.

He’d saved the worst of his temper for Luke and Smith’s valet at the time, an older man who’d worked for Smith for years and had warmed his bed on occasion.

Charles had caused scene after scene, seemingly unaware of how such behavior had revolted Smith and driven him away.

Revulsion was the last emotion Luke wanted to see in his master’s eyes.

“I want you to know that my hiring a new lover is no reflection on you, Luke,” Smith said. “You please me greatly.”

But not enough that you don’t need somebody else, too,Luke wanted to say, but did not.

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