Page 60 of Their Master

A lift, in his opinion, was an almost perfect exercise. Muscles from his neck to hips bunched and flexed, the blood engorging and defining every part of his body, not just his prick.

He stared at his reflection, making sure to maintain perfect form with each lift, and counted silently in his head.

One, two.

It bothered him that thinking about Moira always seemed to lead to thoughts of Charles—as if he were doomed to unhappiness when it came to his lovers.

Three.

It wasn’t that Moira or Charles were anything alike, quite the reverse, in fact.

Four, five.

Besides, he and Moira had entered into this agreement for entirely different reasons than the one he’d had with Charles. This was a union for a specific purpose: a baby. Hopefully she would become pregnant and have a child they could share, love, and raise like rational adults. Like a family.

Smith smiled at the image. His body, which had been flagging, enjoyed a surge of energy.

Six, seven.

He thought about tomorrow and Moira and the things he would do to her.

Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.

A pearly stream dripped from his prick as he imagined Moira naked before him on her knees, lips stretched around his cock.

“Christ,” he grunted, as the vision struck him with the force of a locomotive.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.

Smith’s arms strained, his body shaking with effort.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

He grunted loudly and hoarsely, his biceps and abdomen on fire. A week away from his gymnasium had affected him more than he’d believed.

A soft knock startled him and he looked away from his reflection toward the door. Not the one from his chambers, but the one that led to the corridor. Only one person would knock on that door.

Smith’s gaze returned to his reflection, his eyes briefly flickering over the weeping slit of his cock before he did his next lift.

Twenty-one.

So, Moira had come to him, had she? How… intriguing.

And revitalizing. Smith counted off three more lifts in rapid succession.

Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four.

He smiled, lowered himself slowly, and then called out, “Come in.”

∞∞∞

Moira didn’t want to knock on Smith’s gymnasium door at one o’clock in the morning, but neither did she want to engage in yet another argument with her fauxmusic tutor, Mr. Victor Turnbull tomorrow.

Especially not when she’d been bickering with him for what felt like years.

Turnbull knew nothing about the piano and she doubted his name was either Victor or Turnbull.

What shedidknow about the man was that Marie had sent him.

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