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I snap my fingers at the guards. “Who told her she could sit at the table?”
“No one, my lord,” one of the guards answers. “It was of her own will.”
I march over and stand in front of him. Instead of raising my voice, I lower it to a whisper.
“She is not a guest.” The guard’s eyes widen in fear. “She is my property. And you will treat her as such.”
The guard nods and swallows.
“Good.”
I turn back to her. She stands up from the table.
“Smart girl,” I say.
I look her up and down. The silk of the dress clings to her in the most sinful ways. Her hips are wide, her breasts full, and her nipples stand out from the chill in the room.
In my head I’m thinking of ways to have her. On the floor, right here, in front of the guards. Or maybe outside in the garden, like animals. Or I could take her to my bed and fuck her on sheets she could never afford.
My pants tighten as I become aroused. She would be so wet inside, so warm. Her mouth is a wet, warm, red hole for me to fuck. She already knows her way around a pleasure house; I could fuck the worth out of her.
The way humans think is clouded by their attachments. If I fuck her for long enough, she will grow dependent on me, maybe even fall in love with me. And it will hurt when I banish her from my mansion and my life—at least for her.
I am not human, so why do I feel this way about her at all? Why am I consumed by the thoughts of having her, of tasting her, of seducing her? It makes no sense why she is all I think about.
“What are you looking at?” She tilts her head in confusion at me.
“I saved you,” I say as I move around the table to her. “You should show me some respect.”
She glances down. “Yes, my lord.”
As I step forward, she visibly shivers. Because of what, though? The anticipation of me touching her? I move my hand to her chin and clasp it, my hold gentle but firm.
A gasp forces her mouth open and I am once again struck by the softness of her mouth and the warmth of her breath on my hand. Is she thinking what I’m thinking? Does she want this, too?
I swipe my thumb across her bottom lip, as slowly and gently as I can without losing myself in the movement. Another gasp forces its way out of her mouth. Her breath gusts over me, smelling fresh and sweet.
As I push my thumb into her mouth, I hold her chin as forcefully as I can without hurting her—too much. She moans but keeps her mouth open wide.
“Good girl,” I say, and let go.
9
DIANE
Heat pulses through me at his praise, and when he retracts his thumb, I find myself embarrassingly eager for him to grab me again. Instead, he just observes me, and I decide to dare asking him a question I’ve been dying to know.
“Did my mother and brother receive the money?”
Instead of answering, Duke Carmichael walks around the room. His gaze wanders as though he is already sick of looking at me. Shame burns through me at displeasing him, my cheeks hot and my eyes prickling.
“Can I do anything for you, my lord?”
He turns to me with a sigh as he takes a seat at the table. I breathe my own sigh of relief and take a step towards him.
He puts up a hand to stop me. “You can sit there.”
“Where?”
