Page 24 of Beg For Me (Morally Gray #3)

He loves this game too. I can tell because his breath has quickened, and his dick is hard and eager against my hip.

“Magnus?”

I chuckle. “Oh dear. Someone’s a little full of himself. But it fits. The loyal Magnus it is. I expect you to serve me well after supper until I’m completely satisfied, do you understand?”

Carter closes his eyes and licks his lips. “Jesus Christ, you’re going to kill me. That’s literally the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, I’m glad you liked it because I’m winging it.”

He opens his eyes. “You’re very good at it.”

“Am I?”

He takes my hand and puts it between his legs, squeezing my fingers around his erection. “What do you think?”

“I think you must eat Viagra for breakfast.”

“Your loyal servant doesn’t need chemical assistance to get aroused for you, your grace. One look at you is all it takes.”

He plants a kiss on my lips and releases me to swagger into the kitchen. I watch his tight ass as he goes.

I saw a gif once of a woman in a silk gown swooning at the bottom of a grand staircase, flinging her arm melodramatically over her eyes, then slowly sliding to a puddle on the floor.

That gif is me right now.

But I keep it on the inside, following him into the kitchen as if this is just another day, just another date, just another gorgeous younger man who’s crazy for me.

Happens all the time. Nothing to see here.

Standing behind the island, Carter says, “What would her ladyship like to drink this evening? We have a fully stocked bar, of course, along with a fine wine collection.”

“Hmm. It depends. What are we eating?”

“Home-made lasagna and garlic bread with a green salad.”

I take a seat on one of the comfortable leather stools at the island opposite him. “You made lasagna?”

“I did.”

“I don’t think I believe you.”

“I watched a YouTube thing. I made the sauce too. It’s in the fridge, assembled and ready to go. All I have to do is put it into the oven.”

“Wow. I’m impressed. Did you grow the lettuce?”

“Didn’t have time to plant seeds, or else I would have.”

“Do you do a lot of cooking at home?”

“God, no. Never. I’m strictly a take-out or restaurant guy.”

“So you’re saying you went to all this effort just for me?”

Eyes soft, he gazes at me for a beat, a smile flirting with the edges of his lips. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

The adoration in his eyes makes butterflies explode in my stomach. They flit up in a mad rush and get trapped in my throat. I inhale a slow breath to steady myself, then glance down at my hands and moisten my lips.

“I’d love a glass of red wine, please. Italian, if you have it.”

After a brief moment of silence, Carter walks around the island.

He stands behind me and pulls me against his chest, sweeping my hair off my neck.

He skims his lips from just beneath my earlobe to my collarbone, then kisses his way back up again, the gentlest kisses that raise all the hair on my arms and harden my nipples.

“You’re my Roman Empire,” he whispers near my ear.

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“It’s a viral TikTok trend where women asked their male partners how often they think about the Roman Empire.”

I try to ignore the fact that he’s young enough to be up on recent TikTok trends and focus on the conversation. “And do they?”

“Yeah. All the time. One guy said he thinks about the ingenuity of the Roman sewage system every time he takes a crap.”

“Do you think about it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Gladiators are cool.”

I turn my head and smile up at him. “You people are strange, you know that?”

Gazing into my eyes, he slides his hand from my shoulder to my throat and curls his fingers around it, gently squeezing. My eyelids flutter. My thighs clench.

He murmurs, “Does her ladyship like that?”

Leaning back against his chest, I nod. He kisses me, slow and deep, keeping his hand around my throat and the other arm around my waist. When he fondles my breast through my blouse, pinching my hard nipple, I moan into his mouth.

Against my lips, he says, “And how about her grace’s royal pussy? Does she want that to be squeezed too?”

Without waiting for an answer, he slides his hand from my breast down my waist to my bare thigh. He pulls my skirt up and puts his hand between my legs, rubbing his fingers over my panties.

“I thinks she does,” he says hotly, his lips moving against mine. “She’s already soaking wet.”

He slips his fingers under the fabric and gently pinches my labia. I moan again when he ribs his fingers back and forth through my wetness. He pinches my pussy lips again, this time more firmly.

Arching back against him, I reach up and tangle my fingers into his hair. We kiss again, taking our time, tasting each other as he lazily strokes my pussy. He slides a finger inside me, as far as it will go, then pulls it out and slides it into my mouth.

He watches with a hard jaw and blazing eyes as I suck on his finger.

The eye contact is intense. Bordering on frightening. I feel raw and exposed, peeled open, letting him see everything because I know he wants to.

He kisses me on the temple, then says gruffly, “Take off all your clothes. I need to look at you while I make dinner.”