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“Sounds like a good idea,” he rumbles, not bothering to glance up.
I huff a breath, consider ordering him to put the wheel back this instant, and finally about-face and stalk off.
* * *
Lor
“I’m here to see Freya,” the pompous lord announces. His voice is high and nasal, and I already want to punch the prick.
He holds out the reins of his chestnut stallion to me like I’m a stableman… which I suppose I am, given I’m here to offer service in any way I can.
I grunt and wipe my hands off the rag while staring down at him.
“What’s your business with Freya?”
His eyes widen. He’s not used to answering to the likes of me—too bad. I recognize all the signs of an interested male, and who wouldn’t be interested in the sweet omega wannabe who spent our entire conversation undressing me with her eyes?
I smirk.
I fear it comes out predatory when the beta lordling takes an unsteady step back before he remembers he’s a lord, and I’m a nobody, and puffs up his small chest.
“None of your business. But if it were, I’d say Freya will soon be my wife, and that I have a good mind to have you flogged for your impertinence.”
“Try it,” I bite out. I step up to him, fighting a smile when he nearly pisses himself. Collecting the reins from his limp fingers, I click my tongue and walk the horse forward so I can stable it. The lordly prick hasn’t moved, and the horse barges into him as it surges forward.
“The young miss was inside last I saw,” I call over my shoulder. “If I find out your hands have been on her in ways inappropriate, I’ll break your fingers one by fucking one.”
I hear him splutter before his booted feet move off, ringing against the flagstones as he makes his way to the house.
“You got the short straw with that pompous prick as your master,” I tell his fine horse, who snorts and nudges my palm. “What say we go ahead and break his fingers just to be safe?”
ChapterFive
Freya
It’s not long before I realize Lor is very bossy, at times domineering, and unwaveringly stern.
“Where are you going, little one?”
I turn, a familiar tightening in my core even as I feel cross. I’m the lady of the house and do not need to answer to him. Further, it is none of his business.
“It is none of your—oh!”
He takes me by the hand, which is proprietary and highly inappropriate, and walks me to the hall closet.
“Stay.”
I stay, confused by my compliance; angry with myself, but also curious, as he rummages within. Collecting my cloak, he settles it over my shoulder while I’m still gaping before deftly tying the first clasp.
I blush, not knowing where to look.
I end up looking at his impossibly broad chest while trying not to breathe in his scent and fighting the notion that I am a querulous child in need of a firm hand… a firm hand preferably applied to my bottom.
He has been here a matter of weeks and has already lit a fire beneath my curiosity by mentioning more than once that my bottom suffers from the need to feel a firm, corrective hand.
Lor is coarse, borderline rude, and has no filter on the words that spill from his mouth. I don’t readily know why I should covet his hand on my bottom, chastising me for whatever minor misdeed I have committed, yet I do.
My legs twitch together to ease the sudden ache as my pussy performs a slow needy clench.
