Page 20 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

W hen are you going to fuck me?

The question managed to shock Murdoch, even though the two of them had been engaging in seriously shocking behavior for a while already.

His cock pulsed and throbbed in his trousers, and his mouth was dry. The kiss the day before had been remarkable, but this one—along with its accompaniment of roving hands and questing fingers—was spectacular.

He liked how eager and needy she’d become, a far cry from the occasionally intimidating woman he’d first met.

She surrendered to him so quickly, so readily, he wanted to see what else he could demand from her.

He wouldn’t do anything she was uncomfortable with, but it felt as though she’d respond with alacrity when he told her what he wanted.

And now she was demanding something from him.

“I’ll fuck you,” he said, the words coming slow and firm, “when I am ready to.” He noticed her gasp at his reply, how her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. She likes that.

“I’ll fuck you,” he said again, “when that is all that is left to do.”

“You mean—?” she began, sounding completely breathless.

He didn’t know why or how he knew being in control of this situation would make it that much more pleasurable, but he did. If only to hear how pleading she sounded, when they both knew that she could tell him that wasn’t what she wanted and he would comply.

“I mean,” he began, now shocked by his own words, “I want to taste you, Drusilla. I want you to taste me. I want to show you what I like, and I want you to show me what you like. After all,” he added, seeing how she shifted, as though she was edgy and wanting, “we will be spending time together until Emily settles her future, and we wouldn’t want to get bored. ”

“Dear God, no,” she said fervently. “I can’t imagine we’ll be bored. Murdoch,” she added.

“Good.” He knew this interlude with her would be providing fuel for many future nights alone with his hand.

It couldn’t last, this thing between them.

It had a firm end date, since the Season would conclude within a few months, and there was no possibility she would be content to live in Scotland—never mind that she had already stated she wished never to be married in the first place.

But while it lasted, he should explore as much as he could. He imagined she would want the same, given the parameters of their relationship. That meant, to his mind, learning what she liked and giving it to her—but not until she was begging for it.

“Do you”—that hesitant voice again—“do you want to go upstairs to my bedroom?”

He paused before replying. “No, Drusilla. I want both of us to wait, to anticipate it, to crave it until that is all we can think about.” He let a wicked smile curl his lips. “Won’t that be more fun?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice strained. “I haven’t...I like when you tell me what to do.”

“I do also,” he said. “It feels as though it’s real and honest. If you think it isn’t, let me know.”

“I will,” she replied. “But right now—goodness, I have never felt quite like this before.”

“Nor have I,” he admitted. His previous arrangement with the widow had been one of mutual need, which they’d satisfied fairly easily.

This felt like torture. Exquisite, delicious torture.

“You haven’t?” she asked, cocking her head. “But your whole self changed when”—and she gestured in the air—“when things began to happen.”

He shrugged. “That is just what the two of us together is like, I suppose. I’m not going to question it—I just want to enjoy it while it feels good. That seems like a reasonable enough wish, doesn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm,” she agreed. She looked down at her disheveled gown and the port that had spilled on the floor. “I think I’m going to have to ask Joey to come in and clean.”

“Will she ask how it happened?” Murdoch said.

She met his gaze. “I imagine so. And I will tell her. If you have a problem with that, then we don’t have to do anything more. I will not keep secrets if I want to discuss them.”

The idea of another person besides the two of them knowing anything made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t forbid her from speaking on it. That much was clear.

Nor would he want to; he liked that she was so direct, so honest in her dealings with others. It was different from how he’d imagined a Society lady would be, though it was fairly clear that she herself was different from the usual Society ladies.

He rose, adjusting his erection, noticing how she looked at him there and then licked her lips.

He nearly pulled up her skirts and fucked her on her intimate sofa, but he had promised they would wait. Even though every bit of him wanted that satisfaction now, and parts of him were screaming at him to get it.

Parts of him could wait, just as he could.

And then at some point, he promised himself, he would fuck her on this sofa. Her arse high in the air, him behind her. Her holding on to the sofa back as he drove into her.

“I’ll go to my room, then,” he said. “Think of me when you’re in your bedroom later tonight.”

Her breath caught, and she gasped aloud. “I certainly will,” she replied. Her voice was husky. “I’ll think of you when I—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I don’t want to know now.” He used a deliberately commanding tone. “I want to know later. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

The thought of her pleasuring herself was another salacious image he would keep forever in his mind.

She smiled, a wicked, knowing smile that made his knees weak. “I will.”

He nodded, then turned to stride out of the room before he succumbed to the surging need roiling in his blood.

D rusilla sat staring at the door after he’d gone.

Had all of that happened?

Her bruised lips and swollen breasts told her it had.

Who knew the earl would be so...forceful? It was what she had hoped for but hadn’t expected. Something in her wanted to cede control, to let him tell her what to do and precisely how to do it.

Previously, she’d had to be the guide with her various lovers, since several of them weren’t all too clear on where her pleasure centers were. The fault of a British education system, she supposed.

She was delighted at the unexpected thrill she had when he demanded things.

The door opened, and she started, wondering if he had returned to finish the job, so to speak. She would be pleased at that, but also disappointed, because she was already anticipating their next meeting.

It was only Joey, though, who paused when she saw Drusilla’s expression. “Well, you don’t have to look so excited to see me,” she said dryly, shutting the door behind her.

Drusilla colored, and Joey’s own expression changed to one of amusement.

“I see. Been getting up to things while Priscilla and I were hunting for Other Tina?”

“Oh, that is why you were in the hallway just now,” Drusilla said, hoping she sounded at least somewhat normal. “But that means Priscilla is up exceptionally late. Bertha will be upset.”

“Priscilla said the kittens have taken to sleeping with her, and she came to find me when Other Tina wasn’t there. I thought if we found it soon she’d have a better chance to get back to sleep.”

“And did you?”

“Yes, but that’s not important right now,” Joey said, going to sit in the spot the earl had just vacated. “You have to tell me everything.”

Drusilla nodded toward the port bottle. “You’re going to have to give me some of that,” she said.

Joey raised her eyebrows, then glanced at the carpet. “Looks like you’ve already had some.”

“Yes, I am sorry now for having to ask you to take care of the mess,” she said. “Things got a bit out of control.”

The eyebrows went up even further. “That is you speaking? The Dru who’s been sampling all sorts of sexual mayhem over the past ten years is out of control?”

Drusilla’s breath quickened, and Joey chuckled.

“I see it is you speaking. Now I am even more intrigued.”

When Drusilla had finished telling Joey everything, it was past two o’clock, about when she usually headed to sleep.

She swallowed the last of the port—somehow they’d managed to finish the entire bottle—then rose from her seat.

She felt her knees wobble, the combination of the alcohol and the interlude with her Scottish ram.

“Steady there,” Joey said, getting up to grip Drusilla’s arm. “Can’t have you hurting yourself before you’ve even gotten to shear the wool, so to speak.”

Drusilla glared at her friend, who merely laughed in response.

“We’ve got to start planning Miss Emily’s party,” Drusilla said, trying to sound absolutely staid and not as though thoughts of wool shearing—what did that even mean?—were dancing through her head.

“Tomorrow,” Joey said, nudging Drusilla’s arm. “You should go to bed now. There’s plenty of time for all that.” She met Drusilla’s gaze, her expression serious. “I’m happy you’re happy. Just be careful you don’t get in too deep.”

“Have I ever?” Drusilla retorted.

Joey shook her head. “No, but this one seems different. You seem different. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I promise, I won’t,” Drusilla replied. “How can I, when there’s already an end date for all of this?”

An end date. When her Scottish ram would return to Scotland, and she would continue being a meddling spinster who tried to make life better for other people.

It would be enough, she reminded herself. It was enough.

“Just mind you don’t,” Joey warned, as though reading Drusilla’s thoughts.

“S he’s in her study,” Miss Joey said as Murdoch descended the stairs the next morning. “If you want breakfast—”

“I don’t, thank you,” he said. “My niece is there also?”

Miss Joey nodded. “Yes, they’re already planning the party.” She gave him a pointed look. “You might want to have something before going in there. I’ve got a bit more of that whisky, if you want it.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” Murdoch said, trying not to sound like a country lout.