My Master was home.
I didn’t look up even as the shoes clicked twice, then paused for an endless moment in the doorframe, before they started up again, crossing the white and black checkered floor to me.
When his black Ferragamo loafers appeared in my line of vision, I could have cried.
He didn’t speak as he stared down at me, not even when he finally placed a heavy hand on the top of my head and smoothed it over my hair. My breath stuttered from between my lips as he stepped closer and fiddled with his shirt.
His hand fell before my eyes holding a brilliant red tie.
I swallowed thickly.
He tied it briskly around my head, over my eyes, and though I tried, the fabric was too opaque for me to see anything.
The metallic gasp of his zipper, the rustle of parting fabric and then the hot press of his erection against my cheek.
He smelled so good there, deep musk and sinful man. My tongue flicked out to lick him, and I didn’t care how depraved it made me seem.
I was empty, empty, empty, and I needed him to fill me up.
As if hearing my thoughts, he wove his fingers into the back of my hair and slowly pressed me forward onto his length, impaling me.
I groaned, and tears sprang to my eyes.
I’d missed this, the swell of him between my lips and the struggle of him in my throat. My beauty had always been my only talent, but now I had another.
Pleasing my Master.
His hand spasmed in my hair, and the other joined it, threading through the locks to use them like reins. It delighted me to melt his usually ironclad control with my mouth.
I sucked on his shaft, squeezed my throat around his length, and lapped at the plump head like a kitten with milk.
He came all too quickly, both of us groaning as if in pain as his cum landed in lush spurts across my tongue.
Finally, he pulled my still eager mouth away from his length and stepped away, breathing hard.
As my submissive high abated, my gut began to clench with unease.
Alexander had never been a silent lover. He enjoyed taunting me as he used me, making me beg as he hurt me so well.
Why was he being so quiet?
I opened my mouth to question him when the hush of the well-oiled door whispered throughout the hall.
My spine snapped straighter, and I fought the urge to run.
I was naked, kneeling in the great hall like a statue meant for use instead of ornamentation, and there was another person there who was not my Master.
“What the fuck is this?” Alexander’s voice boomed out across the hall, the echo sticking in the corners as if caught by spider’s webs. “Get the bloody hell away from my property this minute.”
I ripped off the blindfold just in time to see Alexander in the doorway, his body colossal with rage as he stared down the man standing before me.
The man who had just used me.
He was shorter and slimmer than Alexander, with mousy blond hair that curled floppishly around his ears. It was his cock that perturbed me most though, hanging half-turgid out of his opened trousers and still wet from my mouth.
Bile crashed against my esophagus, and I choked on it once before submitting to the urge to vomit over my shoulder into the massive oriental vase behind me.
From the corner of my eye, I watched as Alexander broke from his terrifying paralysis and stormed across the room, sweeping up the interloper in his cyclone wake. He took him off his feet with one hand fisted in his collar and the other at his shoulder.
I coughed and gasped, my hand over my raging heart as Alexander slammed him brutally into one of the walls. Two paintings plummeted to the ground beside them, the glass shattering into thousands of crystalline pieces at their feet.
Alexander didn’t notice.
He was utterly consumed by his rage. I couldn’t see his face as he pushed it close to my assaulter’s, but I could see the fury in every line of his gladiator’s form as he squeezed a large hand around the man’s neck.
“You dare to touch what’s mine, Lord Ashcroft?” Alexander seethed over the sound of the man choking for breath. “You dare to use the property of a Davenport man without my express permission? I will show you what is done to vile thieves in this house.”
Summoned by the commotion, Riddick appeared in one of the many doorways to the circular room and took the man in a tight grip by the neck.
“Take him to the Iron Chair,” Alexander ordered.
Lord Ashcroft whimpered. “Alexander, old chap, what the fuck is wrong with you? What’s a little sharing between brothers of the Order?”
“I don’t give a fuck about the Order. This is my home, and you stuck your miserable excuse for a cock in the mouth of my lovely slave. You’ve desecrated at my altar, and you will be punished as the heathens did, in a way that is so unmerciful, you will feel the consequences of your actions for the rest of your life.”