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I chose to get official permission for this rather than relying on magic. My energy reserves still haven’t quite recovered from the strain of changing so much straw into gold, or from dealing with Rupert Diggs. I must be careful about my use of magic.
As Juliette and I walk through the halls of the House of Bounty, I maintain the bland, stoic expression of a bored servant escorting a concubine. The kitchen is empty when we arrive, but thanks to my new friend the cook—Mistress Moorne, as I now know her—the ovens are still hot, the lamps are still lit, and an array of bowls, spoons, measuring cups, and ingredients are laid out along the huge central table.
Juliette squeals with delight as we enter the enormous kitchen. She stands there for a second, both hands clasped over her mouth.
“Impressed?” I smirk a little, as if I’m solely responsible for the wondrous contents of the room.
“Goddess,” she breathes. “I’ve dreamed of a kitchen like this, but to actually see it…”
I close the double doors behind us. They can lock from the outside, but there’s also a bar for the inside, probably a security measure in case the House is invaded by enemies of some kind. There’s dust on the wooden bar—it hasn’t been used in ages, but I blow the dust off and set it in place.
“No one will disturb us,” I say quietly. “You have official permission to use this space for two hours, and I am your assigned supervisor for that time. We can do anything in here.”
“Baking,” she says, with a pointed look. “You said I’m to bake a treat for the King. I’m guessing this is part of your plan?”
“It is. Like I said, I need a little practice with targeted spellwork before I attempt to charm the fennisley. There’s a spell I’ve used before, which may prove useful both for practice and for making tomorrow night more pleasant for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I need something on which to place the spell, and it must be crafted by your hands in order to have the best effect. How about muffins?”
“For a King?” She makes an uncertain grimace, then brightens. “Cupcakes! A step up from muffins, and I can make them fancy.”
“Perfect. Tell me what you need.”
“An apron, and then some space.”
“Space?”
“I like to be alone when I’m baking.”
“Not tonight you don’t.”
She smirks. “Is that so? Why don’t you fetch me an apron, and then we’ll see.”
I grab a clean apron from a row of wooden pegs by the door and settle it over her before fastening the ties. I let my hand linger on her hip, then travel down to cup the curve of her ass.
She sucks in a breath. “Stop being naughty.”
“Can’t help it, sweetheart.”
“I need eggs. Make yourself useful and find some.”
Grumbling, I head to the cold cellar and return with the eggs. She’s already measuring flour, humming to herself. I don’t know the song, and I suspect she’s off-key, but her happiness warms my heart so thoroughly that I can’t stop smiling.
“For a while I really thought you had spelled me,” I say, watching her add scoops of sugar to the bowl.
She raises an eyebrow. “But I don’t know any magic.”
“I couldn’t think of any other reason for how strongly I’m drawn to you.”
Her eyes sparkle mischievously, and she tugs her full lower lip with her teeth. “Really? No other reason?”
She’s standing there, so plump and blushing and beautiful, so joyful and bright-eyed and luscious—and I can’t hold back any longer. My balls are swollen tight with need and my cock is painfully hard—my nipples are pebbled, my blood roaring with lust.
I’m behind her in a second, reaching around her to shove aside the bowl and spoons. There’s flour on the table but I push her down onto it anyway, her big breasts smushed against the polished wood. With one hand I hold her there while my other hand rips down the silky lounge pants, baring her bottom. Between the creamy cheeks of her ass I can see the plump lips of her pussy, swollen and wet and ready for me.
She stays bent over the table, ass out, her face aflame and her breath quickening. With one hand, she reaches back and pulls on one cheek of her bottom, opening herself a bit more to me.
