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She cries as she squeezes her thighs together and fans her heated face.
I lean against the door with my chin on my fist as I study her.
“Yes, the clamps. No, the plug.”
A pitiful cry escapes her mouth as her cerulean blue eyes beg me. However, she knows not to argue. Safeword or obey. Period.
I cock an eyebrow. But she lowers her gaze and sighs.
A thrill rushes through me.
I stride to her and kiss her breathless before my mouth trails kisses down her neck, along the delicate chain, and into the front of her gown. I remove the clamps and suckle the tender buds until she pants.
Then I drop to my knees and lift her gown. My tongue flicks her swollen clit, and she jolts with a lusty moan. The clamp opens, and I soothe the nub with my mouth while my fingers dive into her soaking wet pussy. A few strokes, and she cums on a strangled wail. I lap her clean, then rise and kiss her. She mewls into my mouth, sucking her juices from my tongue as she grips my biceps for balance.
I step back and adjust my girth, then place the clamps in their pouch and place it in my pocket.
Ma Petite Fille stares at me with hooded eyes as she fixes her gown.
“Daddy, I need to visit the lavatory to freshen my face.”
I nod, and we leave the conference room. I wait for her at the end of the hallway. My mobile vibrates with an email. I figure I might as well respond while she finishes. Moments later, two women approach me. I smile politely. They stop.
“Oh, duke…”
Inwardly, I cringe at her improper use of my title. But keep a stoic expression.
“It’s so good to see you in the United States and on the social scene again. Will you be here long? I’d love to invite you as my honored guest to a benefit I host next week.”
I open my mouth to decline, then notice Ma Petite Fille behind the pair. Her strained face causes concern. I excuse myself from the women and rush to her side. My hand raises to cup her cheek, then I realize the intimate touch would be inappropriate. And I wouldn’t want those two to see it. My hand drops to my side.
Blair jerks her head at the change.
“What’s the matter?”
Her eyes flick past me, narrow, then return to mine.
“What were you doing with those women?”
Now, my head jerks at her question and the insolent tone of her voice. Not wanting to give the women anything to talk about, I take her elbow and guide her in the opposite direction. I draw her inside an alcove and put my back to the hallway.
She nibbles her lower lip. I cock an eyebrow.
“Tell me.”
“In the lavatory, I overheard those women speaking ill of me… of you and me.”
She stops, and I growl in frustration at her lack of communication. Again. Her eyes widen before she continues.
“They were discussing how I’m young enough to be your daughter and wonder if we’re having sex. One mentioned wanting to ‘bag a duke.’ And since you’re a widower, you would be easy to sway. Unless you preferred little girls and not grown women…”
She ends on a whisper.
My blood pressure rises. Who the fuck do they think they are?! To question our age difference and our relationship status? How dare they hold such an ignorant conversation? And in public for anyone to hear, especially Blair. Merde!
While I fume, she watches my face intently. I want to pull her into a comforting embrace. But the sounds of other guests approaching give me pause. I run my fingers through my hair and tug the strands. Merde!
“Let’s go.”
