by Kathryn Moon
Focus, I reminded myself, cheeks hot again as Booker set me on my toes and began to march me toward Magdalena.
"Is it your wards?" I asked. Were they failing again? Had Ezra found his way back inside? If he had, would I let him coax me back into bed with him?
Or will he go and find another girl to charm? a hissed voice in my head wondered. Maybe I wasn't even the first, just the first to be caught.
"I…don't know," Magdalena murmured absently, and she drifted past us without another glance.
Booker barely let me walk on my own, although he wasn't rough. I let him carry me to my door, and we stopped together there. Inside, my fire was burning in the hearth, crackling pleasantly. There was no hint of Ezra's campfire scent that I could find in the air, and I cursed myself for holding out hope. It was just a bit of sex. I'd had plenty before and I'd have plenty more soon enough. It would be nice if I got to enjoy the man again, but there was no point sighing over him in the meantime.
Booker remained outside my door as I stepped inside, and I debated briefly on inviting him in. The company might be nice, but I doubted I'd be able to keep my hands off him, and I wasn't really up to another rough fucking so soon after my last.
"See you in the morning?" I asked, turning to face him.
His expression was stony, but he nodded, and when he bowed to me, he grazed cool, firm lips over my cheek. It was almost enough to change my mind, but he stepped back with a simple, "Goodnight, Esther," and shut the door between us.
I sighed and turned back to my room, fingers raising to the buttons of my dress to get ready for bed. The curtains of my room were mostly shut, the door to the rest of the suite closed, and the room was warm from the fire. My sheets would still smell like my time with Amon, and the thought of sleeping naked was appealing.
I slipped off my dress, fingers moving to the snaps of my corset, when the hairs on the back of my neck began to tingle and rise. A slow cascade of goosebumps rose on my skin, and my fingers slowed, the metal snaps parting with an audible click in the quiet of the room.
There was no reason to feel watched, but there was no denying the awareness of my skin either. I continued to undress, my lips parted and muscles tense, waiting for that first tease of fingertips or the clap of a hand over my mouth.
Was Ezra here? Would he make good on his promise of fucking me in my sleep? Taking me over the arm of a chair when I wasn't expecting it?
I bit my lip, prepared to stifle my own scream, as I set aside my corset and rushed to pull my slip off over my head, standing totally naked at the heart of the room. My skin was flushed from the fire, prickled and sensitive with awareness. My feet shuffled apart, exposing my sex to the air, and I held my breath.
No touch came. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the soft pant of my breath.
I walked slowly to the bed, but there was no indentation of a body in the sheets, and no warmth as I lay down on the mattress, legs spread in invitation.
I teased fingers over my breasts, my nipples puckering to little peaks, and then down between my legs, waiting. Waiting and hoping.
Finally, my body teased to a gentle simmer, I whispered to the room. "Ezra?"
There was no answer, and the exposure began to feel eerie, uncomfortable. I didn't feel alone, but I was beginning to realize Ezra wasn't in the room either, and the sense of safety evaporated. I sat up, snatching the covers from the foot of the bed and curling beneath them on my side, squeezing my eyes shut and wishing for sleep.
The morning sun the next day made my nighttime paranoia feel silly and wishful. My room was bright as I woke, the fire was damped down, there was a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table, and a heavy weight denting the mattress.
I opened one eye and grinned at Booker in his tidy uniform sitting at the edge of my bed and staring vacantly out the window. I was surprised he didn't tip the whole bed over. The sun was warming the tone of his marble skin to an almost golden shade, and I had a sudden impulse to push my covers down and then pull him over me in a new kind of blanket.
I stretched, testing how my body felt, and Booker spoke before I could issue the invitation. "Mortimer wants to see you."
I groaned and rolled onto my stomach, hiding my pout against my pillow. Figured she would interrupt my plan to defile the butler.
"Visitor for you," he added.
His lips quirked as I sat up suddenly, not minding being bare in front of him as I reached for the tea. It was cool enough to guzzle down, and Booker rose from the bed, moving to the closet. He shuffled inside, and my eyes widened as he pulled out a simple blue dress. Had Booker just picked out my clothes for me? Why was that a little thrilling? It wasn't a provocative dress, but that just made me like his choice even more.
"Are you going to dress me too?" I teased.
Booker only stared back at me, the dress in his hands. It really wasn't fair that I hadn't taken an opportunity to fuck him yet.
He let me put on my shift, but when I reached for my corset, he grunted and tugged on the hand, pulling me toward him.
"Softer without," he said.
My eyebrows rose up at that declaration, and Booker dropped the dress over my head, shrouding me in a dark blue curtain. His hands were efficient and gentle, manipulating my arms into the sleeves as if I were a child and couldn't do it myself. This dress buttoned up the front as well, and I thought I caught another flicker of a smile as Booker tugged me closer by the waist, helping himself to the buttons.
His fingers pressed and grazed against my stomach as he worked each button, touching more than was strictly necessary, traveling higher until my chest was heaving as he closed the dress around my breasts.
"Booker," I moaned, lifting my chin for his kiss and resisting the urge to giggle as his stare remained on my breasts. He finished the buttons all the way up to my collar, one smooth fingertip brushing up my throat.
And then those fingers were around my throat, not squeezing but holding me firmly in place. My eyes widened at his grip, but Booker was too busy bending, reaching another hand beneath the hem of the dress.
"Oh!" My hips bucked at the sudden touch between my legs, body held in place by the hand around my throat. Booker's touch was cool and undeniably solid, two fingers sliding through the lips of my sex. I shivered at the contrast of temperature, my gaze fixed on the living statue's blank expression.
Booker didn't ask if I liked the touch, just continued to rub as I trembled in his hold until his fingers were slippery against me. Obviously, he knew enough to know that fluid now coating his fingers was a sign that I did like it, very much.
"Booker," I gasped, only breathless from arousal, "Booker, please."
One side of his mouth curled up, and then the two fingers were pushing up inside me, still cool, and so thick and hard, it was as good as a cock. Except no cock felt chilly and dense like this, so shocking inside of me.
I cried out, trying to rise to my toes, and then whined when I realized I couldn't. Booker held me right in place with nowhere to go as his fingers began to fuck smoothly inside of me, a comfortable pace, fast enough to know he wasn't just teasing me but not so much to overwhelm me. He wanted me to feel him rubbing inside of me, fingertips taking gentle care to curl and stroke every sensitive inch.
"Every morning," he said, and I blinked back at him before realizing his meaning. My knees trembled at the promise.
Yes, every morning. Booker should absolutely dress and then finger me every morning. It was better than breakfast.
His hand twisted, and then his thumb was circling over my clit. It was something between mechanical and intimate, the touch so matter of fact. There was no exploring. Booker had already made his mind up, and I had a sudden, possessive worry that he'd tried this on another girl.
And then his fingers inside of me focused forward, rubbing me directly between thumb and forefingers, and I didn't care in the least who he'd practiced with. I came with a happy shout of his name, my knees sagging, body held simply b
etween the fingers around my neck and the hand between my legs.
Booker grunted, eyes on mine, a smile growing slowly as he continued to work me determinedly on his fingers until I was sure my release was dripping down his wrist. One contrasting spiral of pleasure settled directly over the first, and Booker drove me to another quick finish, my cry more ragged and my eyes slamming shut. His fingers stroked up, giving my cunt something to clasp and tremble around, still cool, and so solid, the sensation could only echo back into me.
Booker caught me as I sagged into his chest, releasing my throat and wrapping that arm around my waist. His other hand pulled free of my sensitive sex with a wet sucking sound. He pulled it out from under my skirt and lifted it to the sunlight, studying the coat of slick on his fingers. My mouth fell open and I leaned back to watch as he raised the middle finger to his lips with the clink of stone on stone, and then sucked it clean with a low rumble of approval.
I whimpered and opened my mouth to ask how I tasted, but it was quickly stuffed with Booker's second finger. My eyes widened, and I accidentally bit down on the digit at the shock of the tangy, musky flavor, but Booker didn't seem to care and my teeth barely made a dent on him. He turned me so he could stare down at me, those ghost blue eyes waiting. I began to suck, my tongue stroking against Booker's smooth finger, more curious about how he felt in my mouth than my own flavor. His eyes hooded, and I fought my own smile. I hoped his cock would be just the right size for me to suck because there was something dangerous and delicious about the weight of marble on my tongue.
"Good," he grunted, pulling his hand away before I was ready.
I laughed and wiggled against him and then paused, suddenly worried by what I felt. Rather, what I didn't feel.
"Booker…how do you…" I slid a hand down his chest, over the front of his trousers, eyes widening at what I found. He definitely had a cock. And it seemed…significant, although not outright shocking, with an interesting kind of texture to it. But while it was as hard as marble, it was flaccid.
Booker blinked at me, and I felt a minor sinking. Was his cock just for show? That seemed a shame, although he was certainly talented enough with his fingers for it to not matter.
Just as I'd resigned myself to missing out on a proper fuck with Booker, the cock under my hand stirred to life, bucking into my palm. It didn't grow thicker, but it did rise to my call. A moment later, it sank again.
"I'll be ready when you need it," Booker said.
My lips formed a small 'o.' That was…
"For as long as I need it?" I asked, just to get the details right.
Booker rumbled and nodded. I patted the cock under my hand and waggled my eyebrows.
"Now is good," I suggested.
Booker released that rare huffing, crumbling sound that was his laugh, and then took me by the shoulders and spun me to face the door. "Mortimer."
I grumbled, but I couldn't really complain. He'd gotten me off twice already. Any more time on the matter would be greedy, and I didn't put it past Magdalena to 'accidentally' come barging in again. Or worse, Amon, who probably would object regardless of his begrudging permission regarding Booker.
Booker guided me downstairs to Magdalena's office, even though I knew the way well enough by now. She was puttering around inside, still dressed in last night's dress and robe, her hair a little more limp now and dark circles under her eyes. Whatever was going on with the manor, it was obviously not as simple as I'd previously expected.
Magdalena paused in her rifling as she caught sight of me, eyes narrowing. "Yes?"
I blinked, turned to a blank Booker, and then back to her. "You wanted to see me?"
She stared at me for a few moments, before the dark annoyance evaporated and a hand rose to flutter in front of her eyes. "Lord, you're right. I did. Come, sit down."
Except there was nowhere to sit, every chair filled with books and papers and bones and herbs. So I stepped a little farther into the room and remained there.
Magdalena pulled one scrap of paper, frowned at it, and then snatched another. "Ah, here. There's a visitor coming this afternoon."
"For me?" I asked, eyebrows raising. I'd been bemoaning my free time, it was true, but I'd gotten the impression that three men was plenty, and many more was rare. With Booker and Ezra slightly on my plate, adding a sixth gentleman seemed a little much.
"He's not a member of our house, but another, and is traveling through. It's a rare case, but he's paid dues and made the appropriate requests," Magdalena said, eyes scanning the letter absently, before blinking and squinting. "It's a little unusual, I'll admit."
"What if Amon tries to visit?" I asked.
"I'll send word to him if you'd like to take the client," Magdalena said with a wave. She paused, and her head tilted as she finally met my gaze. "You don't have to, darling, of course. You just seem to be the most welcoming girl at the house lately and…"
"What kind of gentleman is he?" I asked, lips quirking. I couldn't help myself. My curiosity was too high, and if there were more kinds of men and cocks to enjoy—like the ones I'd seen in the paintings—I didn't want to miss the chance to try them out.
"Water demon," Magdalena said, smirking back at me. "You'd meet him in the grotto below the house. And as always, it's entirely—"
"My choice," I finished for her, nodding. I could meet the water demon in the grotto—there was a grotto beneath the manor? I wasn't even rightly sure what that meant. But I could meet him there and still decide not to have sex with him. Not that that was likely to happen, given the way things usually went.
"It's a one-time thing, and to be honest, I could probably see to him myself, but everything's been so off and I have this funny little feeling…" Magdalena trailed off back into that vacant place I'd found her in.
"I'll do it," I said, shrugging. "Might be fun."
I didn't understand the odd feeling turning in my stomach, but I was surprised to find it wasn't excitement.
Chapter Twelve
In the Grotto
As much as I liked the dress Booker had picked out for me, it didn't seem the sort of thing to wear while meeting one of Rooksgrave's gentlemen. I considered the red dress from Dr. Underwood, and even—very briefly—the beaded one from Amon, but they reminded me of my men, and it seemed wrong somehow to wear them for someone else.
There was a dress from the Rooksgrave seamstress I hadn't worn yet, thin and black with slits up either leg and next to nothing on my shoulders. I had a black demi-corset to go with the dress, as well as some elaborate stockings, but Booker's voice calling me 'soft' echoed in my head, and I decided to forgo either. I looked dramatic enough with my dark hair and red-stained lips, and extra garments would only get in the way in the water.
Booker was difficult to read if he wasn't offering a smile, but I thought he approved of my outfit. He didn't help himself to my pussy again, but he did cup my hip a little possessively as he escorted me down later that afternoon.
We passed a room I hadn't seen yet, a dark library with a piano and harp inside, and Mary was there, lifting her head from her lounge on a couch.
"Not again?" she asked me. "Mortimer's overworking you."
"I don't think so," I answered with a shrug.
She only rolled her eyes and collapsed back with a huff.
I turned to Booker, leaning into his side a little more as we headed for a dark stairwell that led down. "Do you know what the other girls do during the day?"
Booker didn't answer at first, but I was used to his slower pace of speech by now. Magdalena didn't seem to ask him questions so much as give him orders, and he always took his time with his answers when I asked.
"Practice accomplishments," he said, just one crease of concentration on his brow. "Polish," he added, brushing a finger over my cheekbone. "Sleep."
"I'm not very good at being idle," I admitted. "I never really liked to work, but at least it kept me busy, and I don't have any accomplishments. Now that I'm not a maid…" I got bo
red. Bored and lonely.
The stairwell was growing cooler the deeper we traveled. Oil lamps turned into candles held in stone fists reaching out from the wall. Our own shadows were swooping over the walls like dark wings, spinning as we turned and turned down the steps until I was almost dizzy.
The grotto, as Magdalena had called it, wasn't just in the basement like the kitchen or the staff quarters of a proper house, it was buried deep in the earth. My arm was clinging to Booker when we finally reached the deepest, darkest part of the stairs, a faint bubble of water sounding in the black.
"And the gentleman is already here?" I whispered, trying to see any form ahead of me as Booker walked smoothly forward.
"The water," Booker said.
Cool, damp stone brushed against my shoulder, Booker's voice echoing eerily. We were in a corridor, I realized. There was a faint glow ahead, not the orange of the candles behind us, but a shimmering blue like moonlight.
The grotto was a stone cavern as vast and complicated as Rooksgrave Manor itself. There was a luminescence to the stone cathedral walls and ceiling, just enough for me to see by, to see where the water in front of me was shallow and where it grew deep and black.
"Are you going back upstairs?" I whispered to Booker, a thread of panic twining around my heart, growing tighter as my eyes searched the hollows of the cave. It looked like there was a network down here, not just one room. Wherever the water demon was coming from, it wasn't the same direction I had arrived.
"By the steps," Booker said, jerking his head back over his shoulder.
I released a slow, wavering sigh. That was all right then. I could hear the water by the steps, so Booker would certainly hear me if I—
I stopped the wild trail of my thoughts. Why was I frightened? I had met Auguste. Amon. I'd ventured alone to Harley Street to meet Dr. Underwood, and I hadn't quailed when Mr. Tanner appeared. This was just another gentleman. Just another exotic seduction.