Gorgeous As Sin

brows. “Not that they’ll be penniless, but I’m getting my share.”

“Good for you.”

“I’ve earned it.”

He didn’t doubt she had. Lord Buckley wasn’t known for his charming personality. Wales liked him for his millions, and the rest of society tolerated him because of Wales. “You’ve earned a little holiday from time to time as well.”

She giggled and leaning close, kissed his cheek. “What’s your excuse, darling? You have no one to command your life.”

He grinned. “Perhaps, I just like holidays.” And today he truly needed a respite from real life.

She wiggled on his lap, gauging the extent of his readiness. “Hmm, you feel wonderful-as usual, I might add.”

He smiled. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“What do you want to do first? ” she whispered, licking his ear.

Fuck until all thoughts of Mrs. St. Vincent are eradicated. “You decide,” he said as his erection swelled. “I’m at your disposal.”

She leaned back enough to meet his gaze. “I love when you let me play the upstairs maid.”

He grinned, and instead of saying You want that again? he said gruffly, “Have you turned down my bed, Mattie? ”

Clapping her palms to her cheeks, her blue eyes wide, Clarissa whispered, “I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”

“It seems as though you’re going to require additional training, my dear. You need to better learn how to anticipate my needs. A good maid anticipates, Mattie,” he sternly said. “How many times have I told you that? ”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, so very sorry. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not happen again or I’ll have to dismiss you without a character.”

“No, no, please… don’t be cruel. I’ll be ever so good.”

“It’s not a question of goodness, my dear Mattie; it’s competence that’s required of a servant. That and knowing how to implicitly follow orders. If I give you one more chance, will you mend your ways? ”

“I’ll do anything, Your Grace. Just don’t dismiss me without a character.”

“Very well. Go over and ready the bed for me. And yourself. You know what I require.”

A rap on the door interrupted the little drama.

Clarissa was about to shout, “Go away,” when Fitz put his finger over her mouth and called out, “Come in.”

A flunkey entered carrying a tray with a bottle and glasses. Quickly averting his eyes, he hesitated.

“Set it down anywhere,” Fitz said blandly. “And thank you.”

When the door quietly shut on the servant, Fitz slapped Clarissa’s bottom. “Go. Fix the bed.”

She didn’t move. “What makes you think you can order champagne in my house? ”

“I thought I might pour it in your pussy and lick it up.”

She giggled. “In that case, how can I be angry with you? ”

“How indeed. Now, are you going to put on your maid’s cap and take care of my needs or should I go home? ”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I really don’t think a maid should talk to her master in that fractious tone.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“That’s better. Now move.”

While Clarissa scrambled to find her maid’s apron and cap in her lingerie semanier, Fitz opened the bottle of champagne and drank down a goodly portion, fortifying himself for the coming drama. Then he rose from the chair and moved to the bed, stopping to pick up the robe Clarissa had discarded on the floor. Stripping the braided-silk tie from the pink lace peignoir, he wrapped it around his fist, leaving enough tail to serve as a whip.

“You’re much too slow, Mattie,” he grumbled as he approached the bed. “You haven’t straightened the sheets.”

“It’ll be ready directly, Your Grace,” Clarissa hastily replied, setting the little lace cap on her curls. Offering him a deferential little curtsey, she dashed toward the bed. “Just one minute more, Your Grace!”

Nude except for a scrap of lace apron tied at her waist, she could have been featured on any of the lewd postcards sold on the streets of London. With her huge breasts, narrow waist, and full hips, there was no question why she’d been able to snare a man of Buckley’s wealth, Fitz decided. She was the archetype for fashionable female beauty: bounteous and shapely, a pretty face, and nothing but pleasure on her mind.

“What in the world are you doing? ” He unbuttoned his suit coat and shrugged it off. “I swear you haven’t learned a thing since last week. You know what’s going to happen if you can’t perform your duties properly.”

“Please, Your Grace-look, I’m making the bed ever so perfect!” Quickly running her palms over the bottom sheet, she was making a hash out of smoothing the linen, household duties not Clarissa’s field of accomplishment.

Fitz smiled faintly at her clumsiness. “If you didn’t have such a juicy cunt,” he drawled, “I’d fire you in a minute. You’re fortunate I like a wet little quim like yours, Mattie, or you’d be out on the street. Although, you still might be,” he growled, “if you don’t improve.”

She spun around, her fleshy breasts jiggling with her brisk pirouette. “Please, please, don’t fire me, Your Grace. I’ll do anything-anything at all!” And she licked her bottom lip like the little tart she was.

“If you’re trying to entice me, Mattie, it won’t work,” he said harshly, scowling appropriately in his role as truculent master. “I want a maid who works, not plays the strumpet. Your attempt at seduction offends me; I am a God-fearing man! Now, bend over,” he coldly ordered. “You must be punished for your impertinence.”

Clarissa turned and fell facedown over the side of the bed with lightning speed, her arms spread wide, her lush bottom advantageously positioned.

“I hope you’re just being dutiful, Mattie,” Fitz acidly remarked. “I hope you’re not looking forward to your whipping.”

“Oh no, Your Grace!” she cried. “I’m scared to death of my whipping. It’s ever so painful, Your Grace, and leaves my poor bottom sore and stinging. I can’t hardly sit for a week.”

“Perhaps you’ll learn your lesson one of these days,” Fitz testily said. “You understand, I take no pleasure in whipping you, but your incompetence can’t be tolerated. If I allow such behavior to continue, soon my entire staff will be in disarray.”

“I know that. I most certainly do,” she obsequiously murmured. “I can tell, Your Grace, how much you dislike whipping me.”

Her pink bottom was swaying from side to side, her lush sex slick and primed, and Fitz knew if he rammed his cock into her, he’d slide in like a knife through butter. “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” he growled. “Now lift your bottom higher so I have a better view of your juicy slit.”

“Like this, Your Grace. Is this high enough?” she said soft and breathy, rising on her toes and tilting her derriere upward.

“It’ll do for now,” he muttered. “And don’t forget, if you cry out, I’ll stop.”

“I won’t,” she softly panted. “I promise.”

Raising his hand high, he brought the braided silk down and whacked her plump, rosy bottom soundly, the force of his blow leaving a red welt on her pale flesh.

Whimpering, she clenched her thighs tightly against the fierce pleasure throbbing through her vagina, trying to ward off an immediate orgasm, wanting the wild, seething thrill to last. She adored this game; it always made her dripping wet, or maybe it was the way Fitz played his part. He was a natural tyrant, sweet man, although she cared less about his motivations and more about the serial orgasms he offered her.

Fitz had a rare zest for domination that day, as if physically chastising Clarissa would somehow appease or indulge his moody discontent. However, despite laboring at his task through several of Clarissa’s orgasms, her flagellation fantasy was unable to sufficiently distract him. Habitual custom failed to serve as antidote to his discontent. Softly swearing in frustration, he finally dropped the makeshift whip, unbuttoned his trousers, and resentful and surly, turned into the malevolent master he’d been playing. Without warning, he buried his cock in