“Well?” Jacks prompted. “What ’ave ye to say?”
Fine black hairs, sparsely coating muscles so very hard…their texture teasing her palm… “Hmmm?”
“Aurr-hmm!”
Tuned in now to Jacks’ frustration at her inattentiveness, Olivia replayed what he’d just said. Or at least she attempted to.
The semen…your dress.
Wha—?
The vague comprehension was enough.
Olivia blanched. Had to put one arm on the wall to keep from crumpling in a swoon. What had he said? “Semen?” she squeaked on a whisper. “On my dress?”
Whipping her long skirts this way and that with her free hand, to and fro and up and down with hurried, harried motions, she searched frantically for the condemning evidence.
Jacks cleared his throat. Then cleared it a second time when the first failed to gain her attention.
When he coughed so loudly a third time she was almost knocked off her feet, she halted her frenzied search. Reluctantly looked up. Paling all the more under his knowing gaze, she murmured, “What is it?”
“I said that seaman was back too, the navy man, the one from earlier. Come to pay ’is address to ye— I mean to the lady of the ’ouse.”
“He’s here now?”
Jacks grinned as if her express purpose was putting on a grand old show for his exclusive entertainment. And as though he thought she was doing a bang-up job of it. “Aye, an’ askin’ to see the lady of the ’ouse. Again.”
Again. When they both knew she was the only female he’d spoken with.
Oh Lord.
Realizing it was a bit late to petition His pardon, especially given how one of His minions currently resided downstairs, Olivia released her hold on the wall and started to slump toward the floor. Given how crumbly the rest of the abode, it wasn’t too far off to consider she might literally slink right on through…
Too fast for her own good, Jacks grabbed both her shoulders and steadied her, only easing his grip when she nodded her thanks. He rocked back on his heels. “Yes, indeed. The gent asked fer an ‘audience’ with yer ladyship, Lady Olivia.”
Well.
Well.
And wasn’t this her afternoon sins coming back to bite her on the arse?
“No, please!” Lady Juliet cried in earnest. “Do not cover it—yourself—up. Not quite yet.”
Thinking this particular erotic episode had reached its natural conclusion, though certainly not the conclusion his cock envisioned, Zeus had once again bent to retrieve his buckskins from around his knees. Deuced uncomfortable it was, standing there in the nearly altogether as she admired and issued orders while the remainder of her charms remained comfortably—for her—out of sight.
“I’m not finished watching…you,” she added softly and sweetly enough only a hardened bounder could refuse.
And Zeus’ determination to remain in control melted. A bastard, he might be. But a bounder? Never!
Rising to his full height, he vised his fingers tightly at the root of his excessively exhibited erection, hoping to stem his lingering arousal and forestall any potential embarrassing consequences. “If I’m not hearing further reasons, if I’m not to reorder my clothing, if this interview is not yet at an end”—and he actually hoped it wasn’t—“then, pray, what shall I answer next?” Or do next? Because if she didn’t issue an order to his liking and soon, Zeus figured his ballocks were about to win out over his brains. He’d be kicking off boots, buckskins and drawers and launching himself toward the settee, her confounded missish hesitations be damned.
“I… I…”
He clenched his staff harder, strove to keep his expression bland. “If you don’t want me making the decision for you, you better decide posthaste.”
“I wish for you to touch yourself again, as you were doing earlier.”
Though his mind rebelled at doing anything more without her direct participation, his mouth and body had no such reservations. “Like this?” Ordering his fist to ease the iron grip it’d assumed at the base, he scrolled his circled fingers up his entire length, stunned to see his shaft shaking. His entire arm trembling.
Hoping his voice didn’t betray how damn close to the edge the action—or more accurately, her obvious appreciation of the action—brought him, Zeus said, “Is this what you wanted?”
Her hushed, “Aye, it is,” was all the encouragement his body needed. As though it but lived to do her bidding, his hand languidly stroked over his rod, thundering the storm of desire through him with more ferocity than anything raging outside. Forcing every fiber of his being to luxuriate in the licentious act of performing before her.
The bewildered look of awe and approval taking over her expression, all their talk of licking and wickedness, only expanded his girth, roughened his breath.
“And what else?” he queried, sensing the tightening in his muscles, the imminent release advancing inexorably forward. Zeus ordered his hand to cease moving. It ignored him.
“What else?” he demanded harshly, when she failed to issue another instruction, her gaze now affixed, no wavering evident, upon his flying fist. “Dammit, what else? What other deuced thing would you have me— Aarrruuuggghhh!”
The unintelligible sound strangled from his throat as his arm defied every bit of restraint and self-control he sought to enforce upon it. His hand refused to relax its grip. His hips refused to halt their furious thrust and retreat. His dirk refused to stem the tide of its eruption, and Zeus, a grown, experienced man, one who’d never previously had any difficulty controlling his body or its urges…well, Zeus watched, distraught, as his crown blasted semen straight into the air. A jetting arc of milky-white that streamed toward his gaping audience but landed shy, painting instead his embarrassment over her tattered rug and the remnants of the dainty tea service and remaining scones still arranged on the table between them.
“Ohhhhhhh-ahhhhh,” she exclaimed on a sigh, her wide eyes streaking between his reddened shaft and the proof of his impatience.
“Bloody, sodding ballocks!” Zeus cursed, mortification sweeping through him like a tidal wave.
Whipping around, ignoring her cry to remain, he clumsily escaped toward the empty fireplace where he used the damn alluring, infernal stocking
