“I, er,” I attempt again. I flick through words I’ve heard in the past like a secretary with long nails and a bad smoking habit would have flicked through a Rolodex in the old days. Various words flash before me. None of them seems particularly appropriate. After several long seconds, I land on, “Fine.” When that seems a little brusque, I bow from the neck and add a slightly over-sincere, “Thank you.”
The thing that’s throwing me off my game more than anything else is how composed the lord is. He isn’t showing the slightest sign of embarrassment about our antics last night. By the look of him, he’s not surprised or taken aback by what happened. Or even particularly interested in how or why our behavior devolved as it did.
Do you have any idea how much sex a human being has to have had before they’re this comfortable talking about it?
An obscene amount. That’s how much.
Unfortunately, in my hungover state, the thought of Lord Augustus being a rampantly sexual being sinks down my body like hot oil running down skin. It pools in my lap, robbing me of a few much-needed brain cells.
“I had fun too,” he says, his smile alarmingly attractive. If ever there was a time I could do with him being a little less good-looking, a little less broad-shouldered or dark-haired, now would be that time. “Tag was my favorite game to play when I was a boy.”
Oop.
There I’d been thinking I was as embarrassed as I could possibly be. No, no. I was wrong, I can definitely be more embarrassed than that.
Can one’s eyeballs blush? Because not going to lie, it feels scarily possible right now. I’m not even joking. I think my eyeballs might be bulging out of their sockets, and I’m positive they’re blood red.
I attempt a reply, but it doesn’t go well. “Meep…ooh…tag.”
“Did you experience any worrying side effects? You shouldn’t because of my medication, but I think it’s best to check anyway.”
“Oh, no.” I gulp my coffee urgently. “No worrying side effects at all.”
Unfortunately, the lord is on a roll and appears to be far from done with causing carnage. “I’m happy to play with you anytimeyou want,” he assures me with a broad, relaxed beam. “Just let me know when the mood takes you. I haven’t done anything like that since I’ve been on my treatment, and I wasn’t sure if I’d enjoy it, but I did. I truly did. I felt useful for the first time in a very long time.” His smile softens at the edges, turning sweeter and more personable than it was. “I had a really good time last night. Thanks for being my date.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, voice lilting up stridently.
As insane as all this is, I think I know what’s happened. I’m not the only one who thinks we’ve formed a friendship. I think the lord thinks we’re friends now too.
It’s lovely, of course. It’s nice to make friends, everyone knows that. I’m not complaining about it. It’s fine.
I sip my coffee gingerly and attempt to digest everything that’s happened. It’s not all that easy because the lord is using his knife and fork, handling the silver cutlery with a mammoth pair of hands.
Thick palms and thick fingers.
Fingers that have been in my body.
His movements are slightly sluggish this morning, which, strangely, makes them appear even more graceful than they usually are. More masculine. More sensual.
He raises his fork, parting his lips and taking the food off it mindlessly. Reflexively. His lips close around the fork, tiny lines forming in the middle of his bottom lip as he chews. Soft pink flesh peeks out from under the thick mat of his beard, curling up slightly at the corners when he catches me looking.
The way he smiles at me is fond. Friendly.
The way I take it is anything but.
I see his lips move, and I’m no longer at the dining table. I’m transported back to last night. To the way my heart pounded and my dick throbbed.
To the two of us in my doorway.
To the way his lips looked when he said, “I’d be happy to blow you if that is what you want.”
I throw back the rest of my coffee and attempt to shake the memory off as fast as I can.
The rest of the day passes without incident, though it’s far from the most productive day I’ve had since arriving at Beaumont Craven House. I feel like hell and my anxiety is easily a ten. I put myself to bed early in an attempt to recover, making a firm decision to stay in my nest all night, no matter what.
I’m done with my nightly wanderings, and not only that, I’m done with my early-morning excursions to the stable as well.
18
