“No. If you want breakfast you’ll have to eat it sitting here.” He patted his knee.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Seriously?”
He blinked, surprised by her bold response. He was worried she’d come out of the bedroom meek and will-less, obviously that wasn’t the case. His Livie was a much stronger woman than that.
“Olivia, don’t forget your place. The next time you don’t address me properly there will be repercussions.”
“I’m sorry. I meant to say I’d rather starve, my lord.” He matched her glare, the two of them in a silent battle of wills.
“Let me rephrase that. You will eat breakfast on my lap or you’ll stay inside the rest of the day, with me.” He saw how the last part caused her to lose her defiant glare and that angered him, but he kept it buried, not wanting her to see the pain of her rejection.
She sighed and walked over to him, sitting at the very edge of his knee. She tried to touch as little of him as possible, but he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her up against him so she rested squarely in his lap, her butt pressing against his groin. She ate carefully, incredibly aware of how his body reacted to her every movement. She reached for the sugar, accidently rubbing her rear into his lap and felt his cock jump in his pants. She decided her coffee was fine black.
He ignored her for the most part. The TV was on and set to a local news station. Every now and then, he’d yell at the newscaster for his biases. He held a report in one hand, reviewing it, and absently stroked her arm with the other. When he reached for his own cup of coffee he pressed his upper body against hers, making her lean forward slightly. The movement made her body thrum with desire.
“I’m done,” she yelped, dropping her spoon before quickly adding, “my lord.”
He looked up from his papers, eyebrow raised at the half eaten bowl of oatmeal, but he shrugged and allowed her to scamper off his lap. He put his papers on the desk and took her hand. She didn’t pull away, but kept as much between them as possible. They walked in silence and when they entered the courtyard she pulled away from him, heading for the garden. He yanked her back, her body slammed against his. She looked up at him. He was watching her face, almost in question. She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but she grew increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze.
“How are you going to thank me?” he asked her flatly. She stood still, staring at him, but didn’t respond.
“Get on your knees,” he ordered and he looked around them as if weighing her options. “Your knees, Olivia,” he growled.
She slowly sank down in front of him. She tried to ignore the other people in the courtyard, but could feel them all staring at her and the spectacle she made. She waited for his next order.
“Kiss my boots.” Her eyes narrowed and at first he thought she would defy him.
She took an agonizing amount of time to bend over as if trying to convince herself to do it. She quickly pecked his boot and sat back up. He grunted his approval and walked away from her, leaving Olivia on her knees.
CHAPTER 10
He was already late for his first meeting of the day, but every fiber of his being wanted to run back to her, lift her up over his shoulder, and take her right back to bed. Having her sit in his lap had been an excruciating torture. Even though he’d just bedded her, his cock sprang to attention as soon as she touched him. He felt like a teenage boy, desperate to relieve the ache she caused him. Then, there was the way she looked up at him, on her knees in the courtyard. He debated whether to be even later and go jerk off in the bathroom or suck it up for the rest of the day.
Either way, he decided he was going to make her pay for the discomfort she caused him.
. . .
Olivia continued to kneel on the ground, stunned by his abrupt retreat. She stood up and went straight to the garden, eyes pointed to the ground, refusing to look around her. I need to get out of here, she thought, building up her determination. If she stayed she’d continue to get taken and humiliated. What would her father say? Would he reject her if she ended up pregnant? If she bore the enemy’s child? She had to find a way out. Olivia looked to the sun, trying to gauge the time, how much longer until the next guard change?
“Oh, Olivia,” called Mrs. Wellings. She was waving to her and marching across the yard, her extremely large bosoms flopping like wings with the effort. “There you are dear, I was wondering when you’d get here. I need to ask a favor.”
Olivia wasn’t in a very generous mood, but let the woman talk.
“My grandbaby is here, but I have an emergency in the kitchen. Will you watch him for a few hours?”
Olivia looked past the woman and saw a young boy, kicking stones a few yards away from them.
“Aren’t you worried that I would grab him and threaten to hurt him in exchange for letting me go?” Olivia spat at the woman.
Mrs. Wellings stared at her a moment. “No, that thought never occurred to me. You’re too kind and level headed to take your fears out on an innocent child.”
Olivia instantly felt the woman’s words like a slap to the face. She nodded, ashamed by her outburst.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’d be happy to watch him.”
Mrs. Wellings smiled and went to retrieve the small boy, bringing him over. “Thomas, this is Olivia, you’re going to help her in the garden for a while, okay?”
He nodded and extended his hand to Olivia. Her heart melted and she was absolutely mortified that she threatened to harm the little boy. She took his hand and walked into the garden. Spotting the guard running to his post, late again, she knew she missed her opportunity.
Thomas was a sweet, excited, boy. He laughed and smiled as he plucked strawberries, popping a few in his mouth. Olivia laughed with him as she handed him an extra-large berry, his eyes grew big at the prize.
The boy spent most of his time exploring the garden, looking under plants, asking questions, chasing a moth down a row of tomato plants. Olivia kept an eye on him, letting him roam as she worked.
“Eeeeeeekkkkkkkk, Olivia!” Thomas cried and she bolted from her spot, running to him.
He was pointing and shrieking at a large centipede, crawling along the ground. She scooped up the insect, showing the boy there was no danger, and a plan of escape formed in her mind at the same time.
“Here, I’ll put him under this bucket so he can’t get you.” She put the centipede under a compost bucket, hoping it would still be the following morning.
After a few hours, she looked up and saw Cole smiling at her, watching her work alongside the boy. Mrs. Wellings came over to fetch Thomas, thanking Olivia for her help and taking the boy’s hand. They walked off and she could hear him telling the old woman about his day in the garden. She smiled, watching the two of them leave, but then she looked over at Cole. His eyes were dark and stormy. He crooked his finger, beckoning her to his side.
He stared at her heatedly as she approached him. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and walked back into the fort, towards his rooms. The silence between them made Olivia increasingly uneasy, but she wasn’t about to start up a conversation on her own. When they got to his room he shut the door and went to his desk.
“Go get changed,” he said sitting down, and typing an email.
Olivia went into the bedroom and saw a navy blue dress and velvet blue pumps. The dress fit her well, accenting her curves and floated gracefully around her knees as she walked. The shoes were comfortable for heels and made her legs look long and thin. It occurred to her then that he planned for her to wear the dress that morning, as she already wore a navy blue bra and matching panties. Fully dressed, she couldn’t help twirling once and watching in the full-length mirror as the skirt of her dress swirled up like she was a ballroom dancer. As she came to a stop, she looked at the doorway and blushed. Cole was there smirking, he’d caught her little show.
“Ready?” he asked in a rough voice.
She nodded. He escorted her out of the room and
to a new part of the fort. Cole stroked her back as they walked. The light touch was enough to cause her entire body to prickle with awareness. The pair walked out onto a veranda overlooking the west lawn. The sun was just beginning to set. Torches along the wall bathed the area in a warm glow. A table was set up for them, dinner already there. He walked over and pulled out a chair.
“Do I have to sit in your lap again, my lord?” She didn’t mean for her words to sound so catty, but she couldn’t stop herself. He just smiled and gestured for her to sit down, she did.
He pushed in her chair while leaning down and whispering in her ear. “Not this moment, but probably.”
She flushed, but grabbed her dinner napkin, meticulously unfolding it and putting it across her lap, pretending his words had no effect on her. He sat down across from her and uncorked a bottle of champagne. She sat up straighter, excited to have a glass.
“How was your day with little Thomas?” he asked, filling her glass.
“Fine,” she said, reaching for it.
He put his hand on top of her glass, stopping her from taking it. She tried to keep from pouting, but wasn’t sure how successful she was.
“Fine? That’s all I get from you?” he tsked.
“It was nice,” she added, staring at the glass.
She only ever had one sip of champagne, from her father’s glass when she was very young and they were at a senatorial banquet. She wanted that glass now.
“He’s a sweet boy. We picked strawberries and he chased after insects.”
Cole lifted his hand, allowing her to take the glass. She didn’t hesitate, picked it up, and inhaled the fragrant scent.
“Mrs. Wellings has fifteen grandchildren, you know,” he told her as she took a sip.
She was smiling as the bubbles tickled her tongue.
“Fifteen?!” she responded in horror.
“Well, she’s got eight children.”
“That explains those huge breasts.” Olivia blushed as soon as the words left her mouth.
Her newly formed plan of escape was making her tongue bold, but her words still embarrassed her.
He laughed out loud. “No, I’m afraid she’s always been… heavy chested,” he said not sure what had gotten into her, but he liked it. “Do you like the champagne?” he asked as he started to eat dinner.
“Yes, where do you get it? I’ve never seen champagne outside of houses of Lords. How do you people manage to come by it?”
He told her about his uncle’s vineyard, about the wealth this district built up while his father was lord, and how he hoped to be as great a leader as his father. The champagne freed her tongue and she asked him more questions, about his father, about his life, about him. She started to tell him about the greedy lord her father worked with before the rebellion, but stopped mid-sentence.
“I suppose you’d rather not hear about my father…” She trailed off.
“Regardless of his political ambitions, he’s still your father and you’re free to talk about him.” He wanted her to know how much he meant it.
He wanted her to tell him everything. A solider came out and cleared their dinner plates.
“Dessert, sir?” the man asked.
Cole looked at Olivia’s hopeful face and nodded. “Yes, I think so.”
“Very good, sir. Mr. Thurgood is waiting to speak with you.”
Cole motioned to bring the man in and turned to Olivia. “Stand up,” he ordered and she hesitated, but did as she was told. “Sit.” He pushed back his chair and motioned to his lap.
“But…” She was almost hurt by his demand.
They were having such a nice time together or so she thought she thought. Why did he have to ruin it by humiliating her?
“You can either sit here or on the ground, but you’d have to take off that dress. You wouldn’t want to get it dirty, down there, on your knees.” His voice lost the warmth it had before.
She took in a big inhale of air and slowly let it out before stiffly walking over and sitting down on his lap. His arms went around her, a hand resting on her upper thigh. She sat upright and ridged, keeping as much of her body away from his as possible. The solider returned, carrying plates of fruit tarts with fresh whipped cream and escorting a man in a sharp business suit. Cole motioned for the man to sit in Olivia’s chair.
“Good to see you, Thurgood. Please, join me for dessert.”
The solider placed the plates on the table and left. Thurgood thanked Cole for the offer and sat down. They got to talking, completely ignoring Olivia. She wanted to glower at the man for stealing her chair and dessert, but stared at the table cloth instead. Olivia was almost convinced Cole forgot about her until he started to gently rub her thigh. She tried to move away from his touch, but there was nowhere to go and her squirming was causing her to rub against his lap. She started to wish she picked the floor, nearly naked or not.
Thurgood was talking about issuing supplies and strategic drop offs for troops in the field. The two of them seemed to be talking in code and remained vague through the entire discussion. Not that Olivia could have done anything with the information if they were to talk specifics anyway so she grew irritated and bored with their conversation. She was more concerned about the fruit tarts in front of her. She knew it was childish and probably misplaced anger, but she watched Cole take small bites from his and Thurgood power through, nearly finishing his. Thomas and she worked hard collecting the fruit in those pastries and she grew increasingly huffy as the men ate them, although it was a silent huffy.
Cole shifted her slightly in his lap so he could reach into his pants pocket and pull out a tiny thumb drive. He leaned over, pressing his body against Olivia, as he passed it to Thurgood. She pictured him pressing her down against the table, lifting up her dress, pulling down her panties, and driving into her. She shook her head, trying to get the image out, not sure how it got there in the first place.
When he leaned back, he pulled her back with him, keeping her pressed to him. One arm wrapped around her waist, holding her in place. Cole talked to his guest while forking a piece of tart and offered it to Olivia. She shook her head, but his free hand squeezed her thigh in gentle warning. Begrudgingly, she opened her mouth, allowing him to feed her.
It was delicious; the crust was buttery and delicate while the fruit was just the right mix of tangy and sweet. Cole handed her a glass of champagne while discussing time frames for delivery with Thurgood. She took a sip, realizing how well the drink paired with the tart and didn’t resist when he offered another bite. His hand started rubbing her thigh again, moving across rather than up and down, and his fingers nearly brushed the edge of her panties.
The next bite left behind a spot of whipped cream on the side of her mouth and Cole quickly took advantage of it, wiping it away and offering her his finger to lick clean. She sneered at it, but felt his hand squeeze her thigh again and she darted out her tongue, licking it away. I definitely should’ve picked the floor, she thought as he dipped his finger in the whipped cream still on the plate and brought it back to her. He pressed his finger to her lips, but instead of licking she bit down, hard.
Jerking his hand away, Cole continued his conversation without missing a beat, like she did nothing wrong, but he did retaliate. His hand forcefully pushed her legs apart and cupped her sex. She would’ve tried to get away, but his other hand went to her neck, gripping her in a warning. To Thurgood, the scene would’ve looked tender, like he was gently stroking her hair so she wasn’t surprised the man went on talking without any sort of reaction to the conquest happening before him. He barely seemed to notice her at all.
Cole’s fingers began to gently stroke her. Even through her dress and panties, the feeling of his fingers brushing up and down her folds caused her to shudder. Her hands went to his arm and she tried to pull him away. He tightened his grip on her neck and she instantly stopped.
“Hands on the table, my naughty little pet,” he whispered into her ear, taking the opportunity to
nuzzle her hair. “Yes, that sounds about right, Thurgood. What do you need from me?” he said, returning his attention to his guest.
Olivia did as she was told and pressed her palms into the table top to keep them from visibly shaking. Cole leaned forward as if to hear Thurgood better and used the position to press up against Olivia more. He released her neck and rested his arm on top of her hands, trapping her against him and the table.
Continuing to stroke her, he pressed his fingers harder against her center, pushing the fabric of her clothing against her entrance as his fingers dipped deeper between her folds.
The scene would’ve looked like such a nonchalant conversation, with Cole casually and absently holding her. Olivia shut her eyes to the actual voyeurism taking place. She felt her panties dampen as he continued to slowly stroke up and down. She tried to remain stoic, to not show any hint of the debauchery going on under the table. His thumb went to her clit and she jumped, suddenly petrified that he’d force her to cum in front of this man. She turned her head, pressing her face into his neck.
“Please, don’t make me…” she whispered, hoping Thurgood couldn’t hear her begging him to stop.
He stopped rubbing her clit, but kept stroking her, moving his free hand to pull her legs further apart, spreading her wide. His fingers pressed deeper, the fabric of her dress stretched as he pushed, his fingers stroking her deeper.
“So, that’s all I need from you,” Thurgood said, standing up and shaking Cole’s hand. “I’ll take a look at this and get back to you,” he said, putting the thumb drive in his pocket.
He left without so much as looking at Olivia. She sighed in relief and made a move to get up off of Cole now that her chair was vacant, but he pushed her back down on his lap.
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