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Partly because I love my niece. Also partly because where she goes, so does Miss Bell.
And right now, Miss Bell's touch has sent a shiver up my arm, down my chest, and straight to my cock.
Not now.
I'm not an out of control monster. I just have a problem, and that problem is shaped like Miss Bell.
Even now, when she's clearly not dressed for attention. She's in black trousers, probably with enough stretch into them thatshe can run after a five year old,or have them be shoved down around her hips so—
Stop.
Her button-down blouse is plain too, gray this time, to hide dust and dirt but not black so she looks like a damn caterer.
And her hair, that cascade of deep brown hair, is held back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
I'm not even going to bother pretending I don't want to grab it and use it to wrangle her to do whatever I want.
Because I'm not a liar. Most of the time.
I breathe out and the driver pings over the intercom, the lightbong bongof him needing our attention the only sound in the car.
It means we're here, and I glance out the window. It was faster than if we'd been forced to drive on the same roadways as normal people, but one of the recently passed laws in the last two decades as car travel increased and so did congestion, was a dedicated lane for members of nobility. And emergency vehicles of course. But mostly for us.
I help Madeline out of the car and then offer Miss Bell a hand but she blushes. Demure, she looks away.
She wouldn't be out of place at a debutante's ball, I swear, but she isn't high-born. She just acts prudish like one that's been scared witless by her matchmaking mother and grandmother.
Maddie takes one look at the red carpet entrance, and shakes her head so hard it threatens to pop off.
"We don't have to," I say to her patiently, and then gesture to the step-and-repeat that shields the second walkway from prying cameras. We're in the drop-off area, a circular drive, and most of the cameras aren't pointed in our direction. They're focused on the stars walking the carpet, and the lords and ladies who've come to see and be seen.
Most, anyway.
I see the dark circular eye of a camera lens, and step in front of Madeline to shield her from it.
"We can go in that way, where we won't be bothered. Alright?" I ask, and straighten up as Maddie slides her hand into mine, looking more confident.
I glance at Miss Bell. She stares behind me, past me, and I follow her gaze. There's a photographer taking pictures of us.
"Ignore it," I say, "we're wallpaper. Let's go."
Miss Bell wordlessly follows us, as we're greeted by a woman in a sharp red suit, skirt grazing the bottoms of her knees. She's pretty, strawberry blonde, and normally I'd grin at her and try to snag a number. My black book can always use some new entries, right? Even if not for me, for a friend, or two.
But not today. Maddie smells popcorn, and there's a whole inside playground area filled with shrieking, well-to-do children putting to the test the gel their nannies used on their carefully combed hair.
Maddie's blue dress, frothy with a petticoat and so many ruffles they could choke a goat, goes flying as she leaves my side with a gleeful squeak.
Well, I'm not one to waste a fucking opportunity when it's handed to me.
"Do you want something to eat?" I ask as I turn to Miss Bell, who's stopped beside me, watching Maddie with hawk eyes.
"No," she says, distracted, finally looking up at me. "But thank you, my lord."
"You know this is just a big cattle call," I say, "there's caretakers in the movie theatre. It's not even the kind with real seats. It's got beanbag chairs for all the scrots. Want to join me in the lounge where the real fun is?"
Her lips part, and she moves forward toward me, just an inch, like she's thinking about it.
"No," she breathes, "that wouldn't be right. And Lady Madeline's been talking about this since I woke her up this morning. I want to watch it with her."
