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“I don’t have a suit to wear.”
“Wear your knickers if you like.”
“Will anybody see?”
“Just you and me.” I gave her arse a playful smack before hopping out of bed to find some shorts to throw on.
When I came out of my closet her knickers were back on and she was coming out of the bathroom putting her arms through the straps of her bra, trying to do it up.
“Absolutely not.” I snatched that thing out of her hands and tossed it over my shoulder.
She squinted her pretty eyes, sending me what I was sure had to be something along the lines of What is your problem, you fucking arsehole! The feisty kitten was ready to hiss at me, and I absolutely loved it.
I palmed both of her breasts, one in each hand, and held them reverently. “Don’t ever cover these when we are alone.”
Her frown turned soft in an instant, her mouth sliding into a grin. “Why, Mr. Everley, I do believe you are enamored with my breasts.”
I gave her a look. “Not even close, my lovely Miss Hargreave.”
“No?” She frowned.
“You have the most spectacular set of tits I’ve ever had the pleasure of viewing in my
life. And enamored is a ridiculous word to describe my feelings for your tits.”
Her mouth went wide in surprise as she laughed at me.
I buried my face in the decadent cleavage I held in my hands. “Enslaved is a much more appropriate word.”
She scoffed and pushed my head away. “You’re insane.”
“Insane over your tits.”
“Well, that’s really good to know, Mr. Everley.” She put her hands on her hips. “I assume the pool house is a distance from this bedroom, and I need to wear something to cover me. I’m basically naked.”
My turn to pout.
“They are too perfect to be covered up and I want to look at them.”
“You’ve made that point abundantly clear and I get it. You like breasts—”
“—very partial to yours in particular.”
She stonefaced me again. “Are you deaf?” She pointed to her chest. “If you want me to step out of this room with you, then you’d better find me a robe, or a shirt of yours, or a sheet, or something to cover up these spectacular tits until we arrive at the pool.”
“Fine.” Well, she did have a point there. Finnegan was around, and Marjorie could show up anywhere at any time. Better not shock the help with my debauchery on a Sunday morning. I went back into my closet and dug around until I found something that looked promising. It was blue, made of silk and had a belt. It also looked like something Finnegan might wear to bed, but it was indeed a robe. I really had no idea where half of the shit in my house came from, which was why I wanted to go through decade’s worth of the accumulated crap systematically.
Hopefully get rid of most of it.
“Will this do?” I showed her.
Her eyes widened. She fingered the fabric and checked the label. “What is with the smoking jackets and this place?”
“Huh?” I asked.
“Smoking jackets. Fancy robes rich men used to wear for lounging and—”
“—smoking I gather?”
