Page 34 of His Pretty Little Queen

"But it does bother me," I say smoothly.

Squaring her shoulders, she presents unwavering severity in every inch of her posed stance. "You can’t expect a woman to not be the reflection of how you treat her," she repeats, and I frown.Damn woman."You have always treated me as an equal. Don't go archaic on me now, Clay."

Panning my eyes over her flawless features, I see the resolve. She is right. Keeping her from this will only fill her with the same disdain she harboured for her father. A man who forced her to accept this life but never gave her a voice. I won't do that. I gave her my word decades ago that I would never pull rank on her.

"As you wish," I agree. "You may stay in the city. Be here to make arrangements should we not return."

"Youwillreturn, but I'll be ready if you don't." The flare of strength crosses her eyes. "I'll bring every man, woman, and child in until we find you."

"You sound like a boss." I smile at her, liking how well she wears intimidation. How comfortably it simmers just beneath her flawless skin. "And if things get messy," I add. "I need you to control the press. How is your relationship with Lorna? Can we count on her to mediate information to The District News?"

She smiles, unbidden evidence my bratty ex-lover still invokes endearment in my wife. "We still enjoy one another often. I believe we can count on her."

Excellent.

CHAPTERTEN

fawn

The smellof coffee rouses me.

I wake to Clay sitting across from me on the sofa in the corner of our room, wrapped in his suited armour, a cigar between his lips, a newspaper going unnoticed in his lap, his eyes on me.

I smile sweetly at him, happily a little daring due to the ache his lovemaking yesterday caused. It reminds me that I'm not just his but a bit of him is mine too. Something I missed these last few weeks.

"You're a creep," I taunt.

"I'm not sure I can argue with that, sweet girl," he states, the intensity of his emotional state last evening seemingly a distant condition, replaced by that smooth, controlled detachment Clay Butcher is known for.

I don't mind; I caught his sentimental butterfly.

I'll keep it safe, Sir.

He inhales the cigar, his eyes unwavering from me, the ember at the tip flaring brightly.

I sit up and slide off the bed, wincing and shifting as I feel the memory of him between my thighs. Then I remember my kitten and beam. "Can I go play with my kitten, Sir?"

Instantly, he slides the paper to the side and taps his thigh. "After I have played with yours. Lay your sweet body over my lap," he says, talking around the cigar. "I'll help you with the swelling."

A hot flush spreads across my face as I notice the glass of ice sitting beside him, so I quickly do as I'm told, sweet memories of the last time he took me hard and then soothed me after guiding me quickly to him.

Grinning demurely, I say, "Can I at least shower first this time, Sir?"

"No," he states straightaway, "you may not. You can shower after I've had my coffee, read the paper, and enjoyed you."

I crawl over his lap. Settle my head and elbows on the pillow already positioned beside his thigh. Twisting to face him, I ask, "You're going to read the paper while I lay on your lap?"

A cube of ice lands on my spine, and I shudder as it trails down before settling at the well of my arch. "Yes," he says smoothly, using his finger to slide the cube over the hump of my arse and down the crease of my backside so he can use it to circle my lips.

My pussy is puffy and tight, gradually thawing the cube in its heat. He continues his treatment of my aching core, and I bask in the lush sensation of his authoritarian touch.

He treats every slide of his fingers like his duty of care.

It. Is. Everything.

A simmering tingle. A caress that promises ecstasy but never actually builds enough to deliver the brunt of it. It's perfectly teasing without discomfort.

I'm the spoilt one, Aurora.

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