Stiff Drink: Runaway Billionaires: Arthur Duet #1

by Blair Babylon

  She turned and looked at him, standing with his feet spread. “But it’s not just a house, is it?”

  Arthur looked at her a long time, his pale, silvery eyes taking on that somber tint again, before he said, quietly, “No, it’s not just a house. My family has cared for this house, for this estate, and for Britain all our lives. It’s always been something larger than ourselves or any particular building. It’s the realm. It’s the idea of Britain and freedom. We sided with the Tudors when Henry Tudor took the throne from the Lancasters in the War of the Roses. We supported the Hanover dynasty when Queen Anne died in 1714, and then we shored up Queen Victoria’s claim in the eighteen hundreds. We’ve always been for England, and for the rest of Britain now, of course. We’ve been here for well over a thousand years, working to make England the best that she could be, the most free and the most stable, trying to save lives, and trying to keep the best parts of it alive.”

  That was amazing to hear from Arthur, the lazy, money-squandering earl.

  “But your family never got the throne,” she said.

  He laughed, his seriousness broken again. “God forbid, no. I don’t think any of my family had royal ambitions, and I certainly would never have wanted it. No privacy. No choice in your life’s work. These days, it’s more like being the head show pony, and one’s influence must be wielded carefully and without politics. They can’t choose a side, even when the right choice is obvious. No, we Finch-Hattens have always been one of the silent powers behind the throne, the people who worked for good and freedom and change, and for our own power and fortune, of course. Can’t forget that.”

  “Of course not.”

  There was a disconnect, somewhere. Arthur had been a child born into this illustrious, influential family, who had worked so hard to excel at steeplechase that he had ridden for the UK in big competitions and who had gained a first-class degree at Oxford in languages.

  Now, he was a man who was frittering away his family’s fortune, a ne’er-do-well, a cad, a drunk, and a rake, to use the old words. Somehow, he had turned into a guy with too much money and too much time, and he was being stupid about killing himself with it and destroying the fortune in the process.

  What had happened to Arthur?

  Maybe being orphaned at nine years old and sent packing to boarding school would do that to a guy.

  He said, “At times, the Finch-Hattens were richer than the king or queen, and more powerful than the monarch, too.”

  “That’s really interesting.” How did one go from being the heir of one of the most powerful families in England to the Earl of Givesnofucks?

  He said, “Yes, well, all ancient history, now. Can’t do those things in today’s world.”

  Ah, there it was.

  He stepped toward her and ran one finger down the outside of her arm. “Shall we watch some television tonight?”

  Her skin shivered because, even though he might have been a decadent nobleman, he was still a hot, ripped, well-dressed, well-spoken, sexy man who was standing right in front of her.

  And she still wasn’t wearing panties.

  “Sure,” she said, her mouth suddenly wet. “Let’s watch some television.”

  He held out his hand, palm up.

  Gen reached out and clasped his hand, holding on.

  FORGET QUIRKY LOVE

  Gen followed Arthur back to the library, still holding his hand, where he locked the doors behind them with a quick flip of his wrist.

  Yes, Arthur locked the doors.

  She sucked in a deep breath and looked around herself at the books, the couches, and the coffee tables.

  That furniture was okay. There were no beds. Couches and chairs did not scare her.

  Really, she was fine.

  She sucked in a deep breath and held on tight to her panic, stomping it down.

  Arthur towed her by her hand through the library, past sky-high bookcases and conversation groupings of couches, and clicked a button on a remote control to make a television rise out of another piece of innocent-looking furniture, just like at his apartment.

  Yet another silver ice bucket holding yet another champagne bottle sticking out of the ice stood on an end table. Two slim champagne flutes and a dish of sugared strawberries stood beside the bucket.

  Okay, more booze.

  Not that she needed it.

  Her liver was in fine form lately. All those charity events with open bars had exercised it until it was almost as efficient as when she had been in college.

  She was pretty relaxed from the champagne, though.

  Relaxed was good.

  Arthur took off his suit jacket, laying it over the arm of the couch.

  A lot of the furniture in the library looked antique, made of delicately carved wood and tufted ivory moire or silk.

  This medium blue couch, however, back in this little nook between the bookcases, looked more mid-century modern, upholstered in soft canvas-like fabric over its boxy frame.

  He touched her arm, stroking her skin from her biceps to her wrist with one fingertip, and asked her, “Movie or show?”

  The grandfather clock in the corner said that it just barely nine o’clock. They had been staying up until the small hours of the morning every night for those charity events. She said, “Movie.”

  He smiled. “What kind?”

  “Oh, whatever you want to watch.” She flipped her hands in the air, indicating that she didn’t care at all. “I tend to end up watching girlie things, Hallmark movies and rom coms.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Oh, come on. You probably want to watch some science fiction special effects thing, or maybe Shakespeare or some classical music concert.”

  “No,” he said, chuckling. “I like to watch some of that, but I go to enough theater and charity events. I like comedy the most.”

  “Yeah?” she asked, almost as normally as when she was wearing underwear. She felt a little sexy, a little naughty, wearing a skirt that fell just above her knees, high heels on her feet, and no panties on her ass.

  Yet, they were negotiating which movie to watch.

  Just a movie.

  The hottie standing in his magnificent library who had just taken her out to an expensive meal and plied her with bottle after bottle of champagne wanted to talk about movies and watching TV.

  Fine.

  He said, “I haven’t seen the one that came out a year or so ago, Forget Quirky Love. It looked funny.”

  “Okay. Fine by me.” Maybe, if they got to watching the movie, maybe he would stop talking and she could suggest to him, somehow, that more might be in order.

  The champagne must be bubbling thoughts into her head.

  He sat on the couch and picked up the remote, clicking on the television and fiddling with it. The champagne and sugared strawberries rested on the end table beside his elbow.

  Okay, fine. She flopped on the couch beside him.

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, the silver of his eyes becoming glittery with mischief again. “On the floor, pet.”

  Gen frowned. “What?”

  “On the floor, at my feet, pet.” That time, his emphasis on pet was unmistakable. “You aren’t arguing, are you?”

  Oh, they were back to playing games again.

  She said, “Um, no? You want me to sit on the floor, by your feet?”

  “Yes, pet.” His voice had dropped into that low, sexy register again.

  “Okay.” She slid off the couch and sat on the floor at his feet, folding her long legs to the side. “Like this?”

  He smiled, his lips opening over his even, white teeth. “Good girl.”

  From where he was sitting above her, he could pretty much look down her cleavage, bared in the low-cut dress.

  In front of her, the television that had climbed out of the coffee table flickered to life, and boxes scrolled as Arthur worked the remote control to find the movie.

  The highlighted box stopped on Forget Quirky Love an
d flashed. The producer credits scrolled over an opening shot of a meadow covered with pink wildflowers.

  Beside her, Arthur’s legs shifted. She peeked up at him. He was leaning over to the champagne bucket, popped the cork with his thumbs, and poured the wine into the two glasses. He handed one down to her, and she sipped the sweet, fizzy wine.

  So much champagne. Were they celebrating something?

  Well, maybe they would be.

  Gen had braced herself on her arm, but her elbow was already twinging. She was, after all, a big girl.

  On the television, boy met girl, and they made jokes.

  Arthur’s legs were right beside Gen, so sturdy-looking in his dark suit slacks. He probably wouldn’t mind if she just steadied herself by resting against his legs.

  Not much. Just a little.

  She shifted her weight and leaned against his legs.

  Warmth touched her head, stroking down her loose hair.

  From behind her, she heard Arthur murmur, “Good girl.”

  So this was okay. Cool.

  During the movie, Arthur touched her hair, tenderly stroked her head, and ran his fingers down the side of her neck and over her bare shoulder.

  Every caress sapped nervous energy from Gen until she was practically draped over his legs as he touched her, her head resting on his knees like a tired cat.

  She didn’t even notice that she was doing it, but as Arthur pet her head, her fingers stole up his leg, caressing his calf and then the back of his knee.

  Again, Arthur whispered, “Good girl.”

  She peeked at his socks, emerald green and steel blue argyle. Again, she wondered what mood a nobleman had to be in to wear socks like that.

  Eventually, as the hero and heroine on the television joked and misunderstood each other and joked some more, Gen trailed her hand up his other leg, the fine cloth of his suit slacks dragging under her fingertips. Thick muscle bulged on the backs of his legs, too. He must have a trainer. That kind of muscle wasn’t an accident.

  Arthur squeezed her shoulder and then stroked her hair again.

  Damn, that felt good. Her eyes felt dry, and her blinks got longer and longer.

  Her arm looped behind his knees, and she caressed farther up Arthur’s leg on the outside of his thigh.

  On the television, the hero and heroine had their faces very close together, and they kept looking from each other’s eyes to their lips. Lens flare striped across the screen, indicating love.

  She finished the glass of champagne and passed her glass to Arthur, who poured her another half of a glass of liquid courage.

  He asked her, “Are you getting drunk?”

  “No. I’m tipsy. I might be giggly. But I’m not drunk.”

  “Good,” he said. “I don’t like drunk women.”

  “Really? Some of those pictures in the tabloids suggest otherwise.”

  He chuckled. “Things aren’t always as they seem.”

  “But you went ahead and porked them anyway, right?”

  “Not if they were inebriated.” A shudder made it all the way down his leg under her cheek. “I don’t sleep with drunk women.”

  “That still leaves a whole lot of women.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Oh, you sound like that’s such a problem for you. Poor baby.”

  “It is. Sometimes I don’t particularly feel like it, but I can’t weasel out.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re not obligated to sleep with a woman, just like she’s not obligated to sleep with you.”

  “It’s not that simple. When you spend a few thousand dollars on an evening, the woman expects something spectacular, a scene. I often can’t get out of it.”

  Actually, Gen could see that. That evening was kind of disappointing so far. Considering the fancy dinner and her lack of underwear, she’d assumed that she would be on her back with her legs in the air by now.

  A few willies at that idea seeped through the champagne.

  She turned her head against his leg to look up at him. His hand moved with her hair. She said, “That must get old, planning a ‘scene’ instead of making love, being so in charge and responsible for everything.”

  “No.” He was still staring straight ahead at the television, but he was smiling.

  “Oh, come on. It must get boring after so many. No spontaneity. No emotional spark.”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Not at all.” He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re missing the movie.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Watch the movie.”

  “Okay.” She rolled her head back. The couple on the screen were kissing open-mouthed and hard.

  Gen wondered if Arthur ever kissed like that, so passionate, so desperate. He’d always been gentle with her, but she suspected that he was holding back.

  Above her head, Arthur said, “And pull your skirt up.”

  And there was the kinky part.

  Gen reached down to her skirt by her knee and dragged the fabric up her leg. When the hem was in the middle of her thigh, she stopped.

  “More,” he said.

  She slid the gauzy fabric over her upper thigh, baring her whole leg to him, a thick ham on the bone, as her mother would have said. The dress’s hem clung to the very top of her leg, up near where her underwear would be, if she were wearing any.

  She paused, looking up at him.

  “More in back,” he said.

  Gen slipped the fabric up so that the curve of her bare butt showed.

  “Good,” Arthur said.

  Gen turned back to the movie, her head resting on his thigh and knee, stroking his leg, and his hand caressing her hair and shoulder.

  After a few more minutes, Gen felt his large hand tangle in her hair.

  Okay, this was new.

  Holding onto a thick fistful of her hair as a handle, Arthur gently turned her head toward him.

  When she looked up to where he was sitting above her, he was holding a slice of sugared strawberry in his fingers.

  Gen lifted her hand, reaching for it.

  Arthur’s smile turned more devilish, and he shook his head.

  Oh, he meant to feed them to her.

  Gen opened her mouth and waited.

  Still holding her hair in his other fist, Arthur lowered the slice of red berry toward her lips and pushed it inside her mouth, rubbing his thumb over her upper lip as she closed them on the sweet.

  His caress felt sort of like he was kissing her, but even more sexy.

  He fed her another strawberry slice, a burst of sugar and bright flavor on her tongue, and he slid his thumb over her lower lip this time.

  After a few more, with a few more rubs of his thumb over her lips, Gen moved her lips on his thumb, kissing it.

  He said, “Good girl,” and he fed her another strawberry.

  This time, as he pushed the sweet fruit between her lips, Gen kept her lips open on the pad of his thumb. Sugar clung to his skin, and she sucked it off. He didn’t look away from her, his silvery eyes intensely watching her.

  She closed her lips and chewed the strawberry in her mouth.

  Only a few berries were left on the plate.

  Without looking away from her eyes and still holding her hair crushed in his other hand, Arthur reached behind himself and picked up another strawberry. He reached forward, feeding it to her with no hesitation as she opened her mouth for him and closed her eyes.

  This time, she opened her mouth wider and sucked his thumb in up to his knuckle. She licked the strawberry juice off his skin, sucking and swirling her tongue.

  Yes, she knew that this was essentially a preview for oral sex if he shoved his cock in her mouth, and she wanted to make it good. She’d had a bad experience—a really bad one—but that didn’t mean that she was a prude or a dead lay.

  Arthur pulled his thumb from her mouth and picked up the last strawberry from the plate, still bending to look at her from where he sat on the couch above her.r />
  On the back of her head, his strong hand grasped a thick handful of her hair more tightly, holding her head.

  He held the strawberry in his fingers, but he used the last knuckle on his hand to push down on her chin, opening her mouth wide for him. His silvery eyes glittered, watching her, becoming hotter as he smiled. His lips parted.

  Gen watched him from under her eyelashes, her mouth wide open.

  Arthur pushed the strawberry slice into her mouth and thrust his thumb in after it.

  She closed her lips on his skin, sucking.

  He gripped a handful of her hair, rocking her head, and watched her as he rubbed his thumb down her tongue, nearly to her throat. He pushed it in several times, splaying his other fingers up the side of her face over her cheekbone and angling her head where he grabbed her hair. His dark pupils widened in his silvery eyes, and he was breathing shallowly in the top of his chest.

  Still, he watched her, his eyes so intent on her face and her mouth, watching his thumb plunge between her lips.

  Gen sucked on his thumb, curling her tongue around his skin.

  He pushed his thumb deeply into her mouth one more time before he pulled it free.

  She leaned back and chewed the strawberry in her mouth. Her lips felt swollen from where she had been sucking on him, and sugar and the taste of his skin coated her tongue.

  Under her skirt, the skin between her legs felt just as swollen as her mouth, like he had been rubbing her down there, too.

  Arthur breathed, “Good girl,” in a deep, dark voice. He smoothed her hair where he had been grasping it and leaned back to watch the movie.

  Gen swallowed the sweet strawberry and turned back to the television, where the guy had his arms spread and was emoting wildly, probably expounding on his love for the girl.

  Arthur stroked her hair, trailing his warm fingers down the side of her neck and shoulder as he arranged it down her back.

  He glanced down. “Pull your skirt up.”

  Gen looked at her leg. Her black skirt had fallen back almost to her knee when she had sat up to suck on Arthur’s thumb and eat the strawberries.

  She slid the black gauze back up her leg. The smooth material coasted over her skin.

  This time, she felt sexier as she revealed her leg while he was watching her.