At Your Service

by Alysha Ellis

  It never came. Drake opened his fist, spread his palm wide and cupped the back of Harry’s head. For a moment Harry stood stiffly then his shoulders dropped and he leant forward. The two men’s lips met in a long kiss.

  Mary’s jaw dropped. Her dress slipped from her slack hands and slithered back to the floor. She let it go. If the world had suddenly ceased turning she would not have been able to look away from the sight before her. Harry’s arms slid around Drake’s waist and slipped down to grasp his rounded buttocks. His fingers made indentations where they gouged into the firm flesh.

  With one graceful movement, Drake spun Harry around and backed him towards the bed, lowering him down on it when it hit the back of Harry’s knees. Mary shuffled aside, her back pressed up against the headrest, her legs stretched out along the seat. Harry’s weight settled between them, his clothed back to one side, his head flung back against the headrest, his cheek brushing against her forehead. Drake stood over him, his eyes dark and focused, his cock erect again.

  Mary drew in a shaky breath that rubbed her hardened nipples against the superfine material of Harry’s coat. Arousal fizzed and bubbled through her veins. Over Harry’s shoulder, she saw Drake’s hand go to Harry’s waist and with a quick movement, he unbuttoned Harry’s breeches and dragged them off. Harry’s cock, nestled in a thick thatch of blonde hair, stood erect, the head purplish and dark.

  The hard plane of Harry’s back ground against her mound and she lifted into it, craving more of the delicious pressure.

  Drake pushed Harry’s legs, his knees bent almost double, into the air. “I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that.”

  Harry’s head jerked in a tight nod. Drake reached beneath the couch with one hand and brought out a little pot of salve. He opened it, scooped out a dollop and applied it to Harry’s bare arse. The pulse beat in Harry’s jaw so strongly she could feel it against her cheek.

  “You are mine,” Drake grated out as he rested one knee on the daybed. “You have always been mine and you always will be.”

  “Yes,” Harry whispered. “Yours.”

  Drake wrapped his hand around his cock and he pushed against Harry’s arse. After a moment’s resistance, the thick rod disappeared. Harry’s body tensed, his weight pushing back against Mary, although she suspected he had forgotten she was there. His focus was entirely on Drake, his gaze locked on Drake’s face. He lifted his legs to rest them on Drake’s shoulders and his hands clutched Drake’s forearms hard enough to make white indentations on the tanned flesh.

  A tide of arousal, swelled by the men’s grunts and the hot animal smell of sweat and sex washed away her inhibitions. She reached out, slid her hands across the upward curve of Harry’s abdomen until the skin between her thumb and forefingers hooked around the base of Harry’s cock and wrapped around it in a tight coil. The press of the solid cylinder of flesh in her palm sizzled across her nerve endings. Harry turned his head to look at her, his eyes wide and startled. He knew she was there now. She waited for his reaction, not knowing how she would feel if he renounced her. He stared at her but at that moment the pace of Drake’s thrusts changed, becoming harder and faster and Harry arched his back, lifting his hips higher.

  His lids slammed shut and a moan trickled past his lips. Mary tightened her grip and began to slide her hand up and down the way Drake had shown her.

  Beneath her hand, Harry’s cock twitched. His chest heaved, his breath chopped and caught. Panting moans became rhythmic exhalations. Above him Drake ground out, “Come for me,” and Harry’s cock jerked, covering his chest and Mary’s fist with spurts of hot, creamy liquid.

  Drake drove hard into Harry’s body, his face a mask, lips pulled back over bared teeth, his eyes wide and feral.

  After a moment he relaxed, his head dropping forward to rest on the back of Harry’s thighs.

  “You are mine,” he whispered. “And whatever I have I share with you, as you share with me. Am I understood?” He lifted his head and looked at Harry and at Mary. Then he repeated, “Am I understood?”

  And Mary knew the question was for her as well as Harry. She nodded. What had just happened had changed her forever. Lady Mary, the earl’s daughter and Harry, Viscount Selton. Both of them were his, claimed by a man without title, without rank. The man who kept her father’s gardens.

  Chapter Two

  Drake walked to an ewer on a side table and washed, then he pulled on his breeches. He wrung out a cloth and bought it back to the daybed. Nudging Harry aside, he wiped away the mixture of blood and semen on Mary’s thighs. Embarrassment made her bat at his hands, trying to push him away.

  He gripped her wrists, holding them together. “Be still.” His hold was too firm to fight so she sat back and let him have his way. He rinsed the cloth out again and rested it on the friction-abraded lips of her sex. She sighed at the cool comfort.

  He tossed the now-warm cloth into the ewer and got to his feet “Get dressed.”

  Her dress and underthings lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She twisted and turned, trying to reach the buttons stretched in a long line down her back. Frustration made her snap, “Why are servants never around when you need them?” It was a stupid thing to say. The last thing she wanted was for a servant to see her now.

  Drake took a step back, spun on his heel and strode out without a backwards glance.

  Harry watched him go then spun her around and fastened her dress with detached efficiency. “Tidy your hair.”

  “What’s wrong? What did I do?” she asked.

  “You really don’t understand, do you?” he growled.

  “No. Explain it to me.”

  “You work it out for yourself,” he said. “I’m leaving. You’d better come with me.”

  They walked in silence back to the house. Although a myriad of questions swirled around Mary’s head, Harry’s stiff spine and his fast pace discouraged her from voicing any of them. As soon as they entered the house, Harry left her.

  Mary hurried to her own room, swept inside, shut the door then sank onto the bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the extraordinary events of the afternoon. The aches and twinges she suffered made it impossible for her to forget or ignore them. Too tired, achy and embarrassed to eat with the rest of the family, she requested her supper on a tray in her room.

  Betsy, her personal maid, slipped into the room to ready Mary for bed, the way she had countless times before. Had Mary ever really looked at her? She’d never noticed that she was growing older, and that age and fatigue had etched hard lines on either side of her mouth. She’d never wondered if she was happy, if she would have preferred to marry and have a family and a house of her own. She was just a servant and Mary had never considered her as a separate entity at all.

  Now she knew why Drake had left the summerhouse so abruptly. That one thoughtless comment had reminded Drake not only of his lower status compared to hers, but had highlighted how little respect Mary had for the people who toiled thanklessly to serve her.

  She wondered if perhaps she should apologise or find a way to make amends. With renewed shame she realised she didn’t know if Drake was his first or last name. But Harry would know.

  The next morning, Harry was nowhere to be seen and her mother announced he’d gone to visit a friend for a day or two. Mary decided that after all, she was glad. If she couldn’t talk to Harry she couldn’t contact Drake. Better to pretend that nothing had happened at all. She could put the entire incident down to an afternoon’s madness and forget about it.

  Harry, she was sure, would want to do the same. For a while, every encounter between them would be fraught with tension, but that would fade. They might not resume their old, brother and sisterly relationship, but they would manage.

  Chapter Three

  The next three days were filled with activities that would have met with the approval of even the most straight-laced members of society. She sewed, played the piano and stayed far away from the wilderness and the summerhouse. But no ma
tter how she occupied herself during the day, her nights were filled with erotic dreams that made her toss and turn and wake up drenched with sweat.

  Her composure was shattered when she awoke late from yet another disturbed night to find a tray on her bedside table. The tray itself was not unusual, nor was the cup of chocolate it held, now cooled and congealed. The plain white envelope was. There was no writing on it, yet her hand shook as she snatched it up and tore it open.

  The message inside, written in dark blue ink was stark and simple.

  ‘Summerhouse. Two pm.’

  Her hand contracted, crumpling the paper into a ball that she dropped onto the floor. How dare he give her orders? Not for a second did she wonder who had sent the missive. She did take a moment to wonder how he’d arranged to have it delivered to her room but she was rapidly learning just how little she really knew about the ways the downstairs section of the household worked.

  She kicked the paper aside and summoned her maid to help her dress. When the girl left, she stooped and picked up the discarded note. She didn’t want one of the servants to find it and wonder who would command her presence in such a peremptory way. Four days ago, she wouldn’t have cared what the servants thought and would have assumed that they couldn’t read anyway, but four days ago she’d believed so many things that had since proven to be wrong.

  Keeping the note away from the servants explained why she picked it up, but it didn’t explain why she carefully smoothed out the creases and slipped it carefully into her pocket.

  Not that it meant anything. She had no intention of obeying his orders. At two o’clock she would be anywhere on the estate except the summerhouse.

  * * * *

  At five minutes past two she pushed open the door of the summerhouse and took one tentative step inside. The daybed stood against the wall just as it had before, but the room was empty. She’d walked along the leaf-strewn path telling herself the entire time she was going to turn back. She’d sworn after five more steps she would stop and turn. That she would not climb the steps, not turn the doorknob, not go inside.

  And yet here she was. Alone. Drake had played a game with her, manipulating her, showing her her own weakness.

  She clenched her fists. He would learn she was not weak. She would leave now, run away, leaving the place deserted and he would never know she’d been so foolish as to obey him. She turned back to the door and collided with a hard male chest.

  Two hands clamped on her arms, strong enough to let her know it was no use fighting yet not hard enough to bruise. They spun her around so that she no longer faced the exit.

  “You’re late,” Drake said. “Next time when I say two o’clock I expect you to be here at two o’clock. Not five minutes later.”

  “Don’t give me orders,” she snapped. “I’m leaving.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He bent his head and shut off her protest with a firm kiss.

  When he had kissed Harry, Mary had been envious and curious. He hadn’t kissed her and she wanted to know what it felt like. Now she did.

  He used his hand on her chin to pull her mouth open. His tongue swept in and she reeled under the mixed sensations of its thrust and stroke on the inner lining of her mouth. She tasted the faint, hoppy tang of beer, smelt the warm musk of his skin and the rich earthiness of autumn leaves and smoke.

  He ran the hand not holding her face down to her buttocks and pulled her in, rubbing her against the hard bulge of his cock.

  Her knees shook and weakened and he curved his broad hand to support her. His bent thigh pushed between her legs. Even through the layers of dress and petticoats it felt delicious and she rocked, searching for more.

  The tempo built, his hand on her bum helping her to ride him hard and fast. The whimpers she made were swallowed up in his mouth. He kept his lips fused with hers, giving her no respite, no mercy.

  The spiralling pressure built again and she bore down on his thigh. Tension exploded into waves of pleasure that left her sagging and exhausted, slumped against him.

  Drake lifted his head and looked over her shoulder. “Did you enjoy that, Harry?” He spoke coolly and calmly, with no trace of the turmoil that left her shaken.

  Mary snapped upright again and turned, stumbling as she tried to extricate herself from the tangle of legs.

  Harry stood in the doorway, his eyes fiery and grim, his mouth a hard line in his pale face.

  “You knew he was there,” Mary accused Drake.

  “I knew.” He gestured with an imperious crook of his fingers. “Come here, Harry.” He flung an arm over Harry’s shoulders. “No need to be jealous. I wouldn’t start without you.”

  Was it possible that Drake had set this scene up to punish her for her arrogance, to show her that servant or not, he could bend her to his will at any time? If that was the case he was about to discover he was wrong. She lifted her chin and prepared to march past him. Before she had gone two paces, he snagged her elbow and spun her in to face him. “Stay.”

  “Why?” she asked. “So you can show Harry how easily you can make me forget who and where I am?”

  “Do you ever forget, my lady?” he said with a sneer.

  His eyes burned, but beneath lay something else. Something vulnerable. Her anger faded.

  “You make me forget.” She placed her hand over his where it still gripped her arm. “You make me feel different. New. Better than I was.”

  His angry tension faded and he bent to kiss her, a softer, gentler kiss. It had less to do with lust and more, she hoped, with liking.

  When Drake at last straightened, Harry stood staring at them, his lips a narrow slash in his livid face. “If you’re playing games with Mary”—he took a step forward and faced Drake chest to chest—“no matter what you and I are to each other, if you hurt Mary, I will make you regret the day you were born.”

  “And what if Mary hurts me?” Drake gripped Harry’s shoulders. “We’re all vulnerable. What is happening here is new. We will have to tread carefully.” He captured Harry’s lips in a long kiss. When he lifted his head, Harry’s eyes were glazed and his mouth was soft and full.

  “We have to be honest with each other,” Drake said. “That’s the only way this can work. I want you and I want Mary.”

  “Honesty,” Harry agreed. He held out his hand to Mary. “I love Drake, and that will never change, but I want you, too.”

  And she wanted Harry, Mary realised. Drake had opened her eyes. She hadn’t recognised her simmering feelings until Drake had stoked them to a burning flame, but now she knew, she could never go back.

  She drew a deep breath. If she was going to be honest, she was also going to be strong. “I want you both.”

  Drake nodded and his lips curved upwards, as if their responses had pleased him. He pushed down on their shoulders and Mary and Harry sank to their knees, facing each other. Drake’s hand resting on Harry’s shoulder slid up and his strong fingers grasped Harry’s jaw, his thumb splayed out on his cheek. He urged Harry’s mouth open, tangled his other hand in Mary’s hair and drew them together.

  For one moment they resisted, a tiny space between their lips, their heads nestled against Drake’s hard flat stomach. Then as if directed by his will alone their mouths fused, hot and needy, marking forever the change in their relationship.

  Harry clasped Mary with one arm while his other wrapped around Drake’s hips. The hard ridge of Drake’s cock pressed against Mary’s cheek.

  When Drake pulled them apart they were panting and in Harry’s blue eyes she saw her own excitement reflected.

  “Harry, help Mary take her clothes off.” Drake stepped back and watched, his focus intense. As her clothes slipped off, Mary grew nervous under Drake’s observation. She wondered if she pleased him. She was tall, some said too tall for a woman, but her breasts were full and her legs long. Her hips and bottom lacked the voluptuous roundness so admired by society.

  The first time they had been together, she had been so ove
rwhelmed by the experience that whether he found her attractive or not had not occurred to her. Now pleasing him mattered desperately.

  When she was naked, she stood there, waiting for him to comment.

  Instead he turned to Harry and stripped his clothes from him a few deft moves. Then he led Harry to the daybed and arranged him on it, legs spread. Drake pushed Mary into kneeling position between them. Harry’s cock stirred on his stomach. “Take it in your mouth,” Drake directed.

  Her head swung, switching her fascinated gaze from Harry’s cock to Drake’s face and back to the growing cock again. “You want me to…”

  “Put it in your mouth. Suck it. Swirl your tongue around it.”

  He wrapped his hands in her hair again, using his handhold to pull her head up. She didn’t resist. Everything else he had told her to do, no matter how shocking, had led her into exquisite pleasure. Surely it would be no different now.

  She leant forward and took Harry’s cock into her mouth, tasting the smooth, silken surface. The slit at the top of the head intrigued her and she dipped her tongue into it. A little burst of saltiness rewarded her. Harry jerked and his cock grew larger, magnificently hard and rigid. Satisfaction bloomed. She had more power than she knew. “Suck it,” Drake said from behind, her, so she did, and again Harry reacted, giving a low moan.

  She moaned herself when she felt Drake’s rough fingers stroke her, running from the folded lips of her cunt up through the crack of her arse, to push against the sensitive pucker there. Was he going to do to her what he’d done to Harry?

  Ignoring her apprehension, she spread her knees wider to give him access. She was punished with a stinging slap on her bottom that left her tingling and sensitive. “Did I tell you to move?”