Page 196 of Entangled

But he doesn’t hand it to me.

He hands it to Lucky.

“Clean her, Lucien,” Jasper instructs, and his dark eyes find mine again.

They glitter like blood diamonds.

My heart batters against my breastbone, my hand covering the tie of my bodice over my dress. I suddenly feel exposed. He knows about the plug. He knows the state Lucky left me in. Those eyes are seeing everything—and it’s far, far too much.

Is this a dominant-submissive relationship without sex?

Because it feelsincrediblysexual.

I glance at Lucky, waiting for a quip or some sassy backtalk, but he’s gripping the silk handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist.

Then he drops to his knees behind me, so smoothly, so easily, I realize it’s a motion he’s made many, many times before.

He lifts my dress from behind, and I tense. From this angle, Jasper can’t see much, but it’s so... indecorous. Apart from that first night at Bristlebrook, Jasper and I have met over books and dinner, tea and chess and conversation that seduces and confuses me by turn. We’ve been clothed and mannered.

Standing in the woods before him, dirty and tangled and soaked in cum, my ass exposed to the air, I feel positively heathen. Like he’s some seraphic being, stepping down from clouds and deigning to amuse himself with filthy mortals.

“Hold your dress for our Lucien, darling girl.”

I lower my hands from my bodice to hold my dress over my hips.

Lucky tugs at my ankle, and I let him drag it out, widening my stance. I glance down at him, and he looks up at me, something heated and vulnerable in his eyes.

“He can behave, with the right motivation.” Jasper is looking at Lucky too, his posture loose, but face tight with searing intensity. “He looks exquisite down there, don’t you agree?”

Lucky sucks in a short, harsh breath, his cheeks coloring. It’s odd, talking about him like this, like he’s an object or a pleasing pet. But I feel myself growing wetter, and I don’t think I can blame Lucky’s cum for all of it.

To my surprise, Lucky avoids my eyes, and I suddenly wonder if he feels it too. Despite all his laughing confidence, I wonder if he feels as chipped open and exposed when he’s on his knees as I do.

“He does,” I say softly. A breeze stirs, sliding over my damp, swollen flesh, and I breathe out through my teeth. “Lucky always looks exquisite.”

Lucky’s eyes close briefly, relief touching his features. Then he looks back between my legs. The silk handkerchief slides up my inner thigh, smearing through the slick mess, then up over my soaked pussy. He works silently, cleaning me like I’m helpless to do it myself. His motions are trembling, imperfect, and every swipe leaves a streaked, sticky residue on my skin. The delicious, shameful humiliation of it makes me look up at the canopy.

Jasper’s eyes watch and watch and watch.

Then Lucky holds up the handkerchief like an offering. “This can’t take anymore.”

His hoarse voice shakes, and I hear the silent meaning—I can’t take anymore.

Jasper takes the handkerchief, folding it with a neat motion and placing it in his pocket. “You didn’t tend her cunt, Lucien. Be a good boy and lick her clean.”

I stare at Jasper’s pocket.

Is hekeepingthat?

Did he really just say the wordcunt?

Lucky’s grip on my calf grows painful, and his forehead falls against my leg for a moment as he groans. But Jasper is still so cool and collected, so utterly unhurried. In his silk and slacks, he looks artfully dissolute.

I feel Lucky’s beard against my inner thighs. The hot, wet press of his mouth.

My body is feverish. Shaking. I’ve already come twice, but anticipation prickles my skin. Lucky is too good with his tongue.

“Are you quite all right, my dear?” Jasper asks pleasantly.

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