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She didn’t want to hush, she wanted him to answer her questions. Once she had an address where to find the Marquis, she’d be gone.
“How did you know to find me?” he finally looked up and asked. He seemed saner now, not agitated, but there was a hardness and cruelty about him that got inside her. She was afraid. Not panicked, but afraid, realizing that if he was a key to finding the Marquis, he could also be one of his masters. This was real now, not the island, not the fantasy, not the pretend with Alex Greenwood, or the loving dreamlike submission she’d reveled in with Erik.
But how would she know to find him? How could she answer without revealing that she had the Marquis diary?
“You going to speak,” he asked impatiently.
“Twice, I’ve been to the Caribbean Island, Marquis’ Island. I was there by chance with my husband and some friends several years ago. But my husband died six months ago. Last month I returned to the island in hopes of finding something that would lead me to the Marquis. That is what I really want, sir. If you could help me.”
He dropped her hand abruptly and turned away.
“I have no clue to his whereabouts.”
“No, that’s not possible!” she almost came up off the chair.
He turned back, half scowling, half smiling. “But it is.” He laughed. “You want to browbeat me for an answer?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
He looked her over again; the salacious craving in his eyes was unmistakable.
Laney could not stop shaking, even as she sensed herself wet between her legs. This was the damned
est seduction.
“You offend me, Mrs. Priestly, and I’m sure you’d offend the man who gave you that bracelet. It demands your respect.”
“I do respect it. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I haven’t had this long. I wasn’t initiated. I barely know what it means, but I know that if my husband trusted the Marquis enough to give me to him in this way, then I need to find the Marquis now.”
He eyed her again, carefully going over the same flesh, the same body parts he’d examined before.
“I can see a use for you,” he said obliquely. “Stand up.”
She stood trembling as she felt the man’s warm hand move up under her skirt—she’d not defied the rules as she had on the island. She lowered herself metaphorically speaking, allowing her consciousness to take on the mantle of her station. She bowed her head, diverted her eyes, and stood with her legs apart, while he reached between them with his fingers going directly toward her vagina. He found her wet.
“You’re sopping,” he exclaimed.
He fondled her snatch with the skill of a man well-versed in pleasing women, which only made her body more aroused. Although a feeling of shame suffused her being, it was not a feeling that disturbed her; rather, she was even more fully aroused.
She began to pant, her body bursting to life, feeling as if it were dancing on his fingers.
“You have few limits?” he asked, while continuing his play.
“That is right, sir.”
“And you’re privy to the rules of behavior as the Marquis’ property?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re wearing a bra?”
“Yes, sir. It is allowed.”
“Yes, I know it’s allowed,” he snapped. He removed his hand from her crotch. “But I don’t like bras, so take it off. You can do that without removing your blouse?”
“Yes, sir.”
She’d dressed carefully that day in a knee-length skirt with a five inch slit at her left knee. Dressing sexy was not a rule she’d ever heard of; in fact, being reasonably decorous in her dress had always been what turned Erik on. He liked evidence of her slutty side, without it being obvious. Slit skirts, high heels, transparent blouses and lacy bras turned him on as much as more overtly sexual clothes. In that vein, she’d chosen a simple short-sleeved white blouse and wore a white lace bra beneath it. Decorous yes, with a hint of sexuality. She thought that as long as she wore no panties she would be properly attired for the Marquis and his masters.
