AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Naledi, my mother’sPA. FormerPA. Not because of me. Mum liked us dating, but she moved home to Botswana to be closer to her family.”
“How long has it been?”
He hated talking about this. Couldn’t she just push him down, get on top, and get it over with?
“Before Sandhurst,” he said. “A year? Or more?”
“Long time. You must be about to explode. I’ll be sure to put some newspapers down on the floor in case of a mess.”
“Now may I ask a question?” he said. “Please?”
“The Brat is learning some manners. Yes, I’ll let you ask one question.”
“Why me? Why did you…you know, want me?”
“I told you how handsome you are. Do you really need to hear it again?”
He didn’t need to hear it again. Not that it would hurt his feelings, but they both knew that wasn’t what he was asking. “You said you thought I was different from other men. What did you mean by that?”
She lifted her chin, gave him a half-smile. “That bothered you, didn’t it? That I said you were different. Don’t like being different?”
“I’m only asking what you meant.”
“Come here, Brat,” she said. She crooked her finger, beckoning him to move closer to the chaise. He sat up and moved closer, between her knees. She rested her arms lightly over his shoulders and around his back, as if she was going to kiss him. She stroked his hair lightly.
“What?” he asked.
She cupped his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “That’s what I meant,” she said. “You’re sitting on my floor at my feet and answering to the name ‘Brat.’ You can tell me you don’t like it, andyoumight even believe you, butIdon’t believe you.”
“I’m doing this for Charlie.”
“Right. Yes. Of course. For Charlie.” She tugged his earlobe. He found it weirdly sensual, which he didn’t like. Or he did like it, but he didn’t like that he liked it. What adult man would enjoy being treated like the spoiled pet of a pampered princess?
He moved his head aside, trying to escape the touch he found so unnerving. Surprisingly, she let him.
“Did you know when Lord Malcolm used to frequent The Pearl, one of his favorite games was to reenact erotic paintings?”
“I hadn’t heard, but I’m not surprised.”
“Ever played that game?”
“No.”
“Wrong. You are right now.” Pointedly, she glanced toward the painting on the mantel. “You’re my bird now—my bird in my gilded cage. How does it feel, getting treated like your great-grandfather used to treat his whores?”
“Knees hurt. Bit peckish. Otherwise…no complaints.”
“Peckish? Sore knees? Let’s fix that then.” She left him on the floor and fetched a small cushion off the chaise by the wall. With a sardonic bowing of her head she presented it to him. Then she turned and disappeared through another door and came out a few minutes later carrying a linen napkin and a silver bowl.
She sat on the chaise again and motioned him to move between her open knees. Arthur did as she commanded, cushion on the floor, knees on cushion, eyes lowered, not wanting her to see how much he wanted to see her. If the room were colder, steam would rise off his skin. He settled in between her naked thighs, the robe opening enough he could see all the way to her lace-edged black knickers. Casually, Regan wrapped her legs around him and locked him against her, with her ankles crossed behind his thighs.
“For my poor hungry Brat.” She lifted the linen off the bowl revealing grapes, cut pineapple, round fresh strawberries.
His mouth watered.
She lifted one strawberry by the stem. “Open up.”
He stared.
