Alarmed at the thought, she shoved it away for later, her worry turning to lust-tinged panic at her ability to resist him when she heard his next thoughts.
“Mistress, I’ve made it quite clear that I wish to learn from you. I believe you wish to teach me as well. I—you…”
He blushes beautifully. She sat back, interested to see where he would go with this line of thought, content to let him stammer, while she attempted to keep her libido from finding the nearest set of restraints—those curtain ties would work—and having her way with him.
He arched a brow at her recline, realizing her intent. “You know of what I speak, Mistress. I was thinking that for every five words I teach you in Latin, you could teach me something. It would not be possible to learn the whole language this summer, but I think at that rate you’d make significant progress.”
She was impressed that he’d already planned his approach and was ready to barter. However, she thrived on dickering and refused to make this easy. “And, just to be clear, what would I teach you?”
“Mistress.” He sighed out, sounding exasperated.
“William, if you cannot say it, then I daresay you are not ready to learn it.” She grinned.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Although that is quite dear. Belle would be proud.She stifled an inappropriate giggle.
“You are right, Mistress.” He took a breath. Still blushing, he nonetheless held her gaze as he finished, “You could teach me…more ways to serve you…in bed.”
She acquiesced without a fight. After Belle’s pushing that afternoon, her conscience had been attempting to wrestle her craving for this gorgeous, fervent young man back into submission. But when he presented his personal Latin primer as a gift, her desire slipped its lead and was running amok. The only thing she could control was the end date. “First, William. Let us set a time period for this arrangement. You refer only to this summer, do you not?”
He blinked and swallowed. His gaze flickered away. “I suppose I hadn’t thought that far.”
She suspected he was lying, but she’d take his statement as agreement. “I have. Whatever we decide on here, I am stipulating that it ends when you leave for university.”
He frowned before smoothing his expression and nodding.
“If you are in my bed, I expect you not to be in any others. Is that understood?”
“Absolutely, Mistress.” He sat forward, his smile eager.
“And I will offer you the same courtesy.”
His eyes narrowed.
She smirked. She would have not have done such a thing, but it was all part of the negotiations. William had not considered that side of it. He needed to feel that she was giving something up. “Lastly, absolutely no attachment. You do not fall in love, you do not fall in lust, and you do not write to me when you return to Oxford.”
“Hmm. I am not entirely sure I can control all that, Mistress, but you have my word that I will do my best.”
She considered for a minute. ’Twas not like she could hold him to any of that, anyway.
He’d also proven that he’d do what he wanted whenever he could get away with it.
She nodded. “Fine. Then for every 50 words of Latin, one night in my bedroom, although not necessarily in my bed.” She smirked.
He leaned in. “No.”
“I beg your pardon.” She arched her brows, pretending hauteur to hide her glee at his willingness to haggle. He had no idea of the extent of her skill with money and investing, the best form of bargaining in her opinion. How entertaining.
“Mistress, I wish more than anything to pursue this arrangement with you, but fifty words is too much.” He continued, “I said five because for every Latin word there are a myriad of ways to translate based on context, when it was written, and frankly, the individual reader. It’s a language that cannot be rushed to be appreciated, and I cannot wait for fifty words to touch you again.”
She loved the enthusiasm, but he should be sure about what he was signing up for. “You might be waiting longer to touch me if you do not behave, puppy. I can tie your hands each and every time and torture you to my heart’s content.”
His eyes flared at her moniker, a smile teasing one side of his mouth even as he groaned and sat back, his hand in his lap surreptitiously plucking at his trousers to offer relief for his strangled cock.
After a moment of enjoying the view, she offered, “Twenty-five.”
“Ten. Mistress, please. I beg you, ten.” His mouth begged, but his eyes said he knew what that word did to her.
Naughty rakelet. Well, never let it be said that I do not reward good behavior. He did use one of my favorite words, even if he knew it would help his case. “Done. We shall work in the library tonight.”
