Page 72 of Their Master

“Going to fuck youhard,” he warned right before he clamped onto her neck with his teeth, biting hard enough to break the skin as his hips beat against her, driving his cock painfully deep with each thrust, like an axe splitting her in two.

“Mine,” he whispered in her ear with a ragged breath, and then filled her with lash after lash of scalding heat, their bodies pulsing as one. “I own you.”

Moira was beginning to fear that he was right.

Chapter 17

Every day Luke expected the summons from his master, word that his services were no longer needed. He both dreaded it and yearned for it; at least if Mr. Smith dismissed him, he could stop dreading the inevitable.

The night he’d foolishly exposed his love for Smith had been one of the lowest points in his life.

The look on Smith’s face: disdain, disgust, and disappointment, had gutted him. All he’d wanted to do was crawl into a hole and lick his wounds.

But that had not been an option.

Instead, he’d needed to be ready to serve Miss Moira once she left Smith’s room—whenever that happened to be. Just because Luke was bleeding inside did not mean he could ignore his work.

Indeed, the only thing that had offered any solace in the days after that awful night was work.

Unfortunately, his mistress was tidy and clean and made almost no mess for him to tend to. He knew she was only trying to be considerate; doubtless she could not imagine a person so pathetic that they needed to serve in order to feel useful.

Luke was the only servant who took care of Miss Moira’s room, just like nobody but Knox was allowed to clean Smith’s chambers. Most valets or ladies’ maids would revolt at such demeaning work, but Luke preferred doing the cleaning himself rather than tolerating the presence of other servants in his domain.

On the same evening that Luke had exposed his feelings to Smith, he’d stripped off his coats, donned his heavy apron and gloves, and had cleaned Miss Moira’s already clean rooms rather than sit and stare at a blank wall or try to socialize in the kitchen.

He knew why he chose to clean her boudoir that night. It was because it was nearest his master’s room and he’d been able to hear every yell and grunt as he’d crawled around the already gleaming marble floor, scrubbing the cracks and corners with a small brush.

Luke’s behavior shamed him, but he simply could not stop himself.

Later that night—morose and miserable—he’d gone to David’s room for the first time in weeks.

“I can’t, Luke,” David had said, his hazel eyes heavy with sleep, the dark hair on his chest visible in the V of his nightshirt.

When Luke had only stared—no doubt with a similar mute misery that had so disgusted Mr. Smith—David had sighed, smiled tiredly, opened the door, and drawn Luke into bed with him.

But when Luke had reached for David’s cock, the other man had stopped him.

“No. Not anymore. It is too painful for me.” He’d folded Luke’s much larger body against his chest. “I want you too much to share you, Luke, with him or anyone else. The comfort of my embrace is all I can offer you.”

The simple words had been like a knife in his chest.

What was wrong with Luke that he couldn’t want David, who was kind, handsome, and thoughtful.

And monogamous.

Why couldn’t Luke be happy and stop yearning for the moon? Why did he want Mr. Smith more with each act of rejection?

Worst of all had been the throb of lust he’d experienced under his master’s cold and disgusted gaze: even his contempt had aroused Luke.

He deserved to be thrown into Bedlam and displayed to gawkers:Pay a penny to look at this poor specimen of manhood!

In the weeks since Smith had dismissed him, Luke had fisted himself to the same scene over and over: Mr. Smith, naked and hard, sneering down at Luke’s cringing form.

The dreams took off in dozens of different directions after that, each one wilder than the last.

Luke sucking Smith while Miss Moira watched.

Luke and Smith using her together.

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