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Stunned, I stare at the rings when a hand slides across my jaw to direct my eyes to our female attendant as she opens a small square box with a large blue round-shaped diamond inside.
My breath hitches.
The lady says, “This is the one, Mr Butcher.”
I knew this was coming. He proposed to me weeks ago. I was lying across his lap on the sofa in our room, and he was playing with my body. The aroma of coffee and the flick of newspaper sheets, have come to arouse me. It can be quite inconvenient at times.
This early morning, he had insisted I read to him while he touched me. But the papers he gave me to read were divorce papers signed with a kiss—a blessing—from Aurora. He then stood me in front of him, so his lips brushed my swelling stomach, and said against the flesh,
“Although I will kneel for you, sweet girl, and the children you make for me, should you ask me, I will endeavour to put you all on a pedestal, so I need not to.”
Drawn back to the elegant room, bathed in a warm hue, I watch in awed silence as Clay picks up the diamond and scrutinises the rock with obvious familiarity. The attendant is smiling at him, pinkened by the stunning diamond or the magnificent man holding it; I don’t know which.
Clay hums and then says, “Lovely.” It’s not unlike the decadent sound he makes when spreading my legs.
I press my thighs together as that deep, impressed rumble spindles through me. He told me once he would train me to be needy for him, to be ready, his, and I am. I really am. I clear my throat, but my voice is shaky as I say, “It’s blue.”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t diamonds usually white?”
“Boron.” He smiles smoothly at me before sweeping his eyes down to where my feet move against my efforts to stop my body from rocking towards his. I want that sound again. “I presume you don’t know much about diamonds, sweet girl. Most of the women I know would be fainting in the presence of this diamond.”
“Are you disappointed that I’m not fainting?”
He juts his chin towards the door, and the attendant leaves. When he leans in close, his lips hovering by my ear.
“No,” he purrs. “I’m very pleased my little deer is wet, instead. Was it the sound I made? Or the latte aromatics burning in the corner?” I flusheverywhere. I twist to see a candle burning, and yes, it’s coffee scented. Heat brims in places that throb for him.
He straightens and says, “Both, I imagine. Let me tell you about her before I spread you open on this cabinet and taste between your thighs.” I swallow, and he sets the diamond in my palm where I move her—it—around with my finger. “She is quite the enigma,” he goes on. “Most diamonds of this calibre have a long, precise history, but the reports of her are unclear. She was owned by royalty and then disappeared. We know she was dug up in the seventeenth century, and experts say she was cut from the same stone as the Hope Diamond.”
I look up at him. “The one fromTitanic?”
His chuckle is deep and delicious and not helping the wetness gathering against the fabric of my underwear. “The one thatinspiredthe one fromTitanic, yes. She is the same colour as your right eye, little deer, and if you like her, all you need to do is pick your band and clasp, and they will have her made for you.”
“For me…” The words trail to a shocked sigh. “How do I thank you, Sir? For everything you have done for me? For this”—I widen my arms— “life.”
“You don’t thank me, little deer. Not for this. It would be an insult. This is not a favour or a gift. It is your right. It is my great privilege to touch you, to take you, taste you, have your trust in all things, your body beneath mine, your watery eyes looking up at me when you suck my cock. It is mygreatestprivilege to spoil you as you do me.”
Plucking the diamond from my palm, he places it back in the box and slides it to the side.
I hold my breath as he retrieves the four rings from inside the display and places them in my hand. Exhaling, I accept them. Before I can study each clasp or band, he lifts me to sit on the display case, my skirt hiking up further, flashing him with white lace knickers. “Play with your pretty things while I play with mine.”
He twists me to lay flat along the glass case untilIam the damn display. I stare at the four rings as he spreads my legs on the counter and moves to the end.
He loosens the tie around his neck, his own greedy need for me revealed in that action. “You’re blushing across your thigh skin,” he groans, dipping down to trail his tongue from my knee to my wet centre. “So pretty.”
Moans cascade from me as he laps up the wetness trailing down my inner thigh. His nose is in my knickers now, inhaling. I sigh with relief at the heat of his breath. This manismy orgasm, has made me his in every way. Tuned my body like an instrument to his specific way of play.
I fight the roll of my eyes as he eats me through my knickers. Focused on the gold band, it instantly stands out to me, but then the rose-coloured one is also prett—God.
He slides the fabric away.
I hitch my legs over his shoulders, cuddling his head and neck into me. “I can’t pick,” I breathe, then whimper as his hot tongue circles my clit. “I can’t—” I buck when he sucks the bud in, andGod… the skill this man has. It shouldn’t be legal. “I can’t concentrate.”
“I know the one you will choose, little deer.”
“How can you? When I have no idea.”
