Free In His World: His #8 (A Billionaire Domination Serial) by Erika Masten Page B

or entirely too mutable? We had proven as much at the courthouse, in those stolen moments, regardless of the consequences.
    “Are you…?” Adrian began in that rich, low voice. His British accent had faded—with conscious effort, I was sure—to that teasing suggestion of posh, upright civility that made me weak-kneed even when he wasn’t talking dirty. I almost felt him tap down his hesitation, all the doubts worrying the fringes of his thoughts. A moment of softness passed over his face before he hardened his jaw and subtly pursed his lips, taking a second to draw a slow breath in through his nose.
    “Are you certain you want to do this right now, Miss Bloom?”
    Miss Bloom. That was what I needed to hear, that formal address made utterly lascivious by the lilting undertone, by the rakish perk of his dark brow and the enthralling movement of his lips as his mouth formed each word.
    “Yes, sir.”
    His stillness made me tense up, from the bristling tightness along my scalp to my toes curling in the rug. His tone said he wouldn’t deny me, but…
    “Fix me a coffee,” he instructed me at last. “You know how I take it.”
    I fought down a sigh of relief so explosive that I feared even the security guard outside the front door would have heard had I not contained it, and I turned and padded the few steps to the table to pour the coffee. After stirring in the sugar, I spiced it with cinnamon and a touch of cayenne. Though I shouldn’t have, I glanced over my shoulder several times, past the veil of my long brown hair. I couldn’t help it. I could hear the rustle of fabric as Adrian unburdened himself of his suit jacket, vest, tie, and I wanted to watch him.
    “Pay attention to what you’re doing, Miss Bloom. We don’t want to resort to correction so soon, do we?” And that brought a smile to my face, even if I wasn’t getting everything I wanted.
    When Adrian came to stand behind me at last, as I was finishing stirring the spices into his coffee, I felt the smooth contours of his firm chest through his open shirt and the ridge of arousal in his pants as it teased the cleft of my bare ass. In an instant, my mouth went dry, my nipples peaked, and wetness slicked the shaved lips of my pussy and my tensed inner thighs. Knight’s fingers toyed with mine as one hand traced the rim and handle of the coffee cup before catching it up and bringing it to his mouth. From the corner of my eye, I focused on the gleam of moisture along his lips as he lingered over an unhurried swallow.
    “Very nice, Miss Bloom.”
    The urge to lick that sheen of sweet coffee from the bow of his subtle smile had me swaying off balance, counting the heartbeats pounding in my ears as I debated taking such a liberty with my Dom. But Adrian denied me the opportunity when he put the cup down in its china saucer and pulled out one of the heavy dark wood chairs, upholstered in damask in several faint shades of cream and sand. He settled and motioned toward the food. “Honey cakes and some of that cheese to start, I think—cut into small pieces, if you would.”
    He’d never had me serve his food before. Such a small variation to set me on edge, to keep me uncertain and expectant. That was the point, I suspected. When I had prepared a plate just so, Adrian yanked me into his lap, and I fell against him hard and breathless, blinking in surprise.
    “We’ll dispense with these and be scandalous today,” he teased as he removed the silverware and set it to one side. Contrary to Brazilian table manners, he grabbed a piece of chocolate-drizzled cake and fed it to me by hand. Too nervous to eat breakfast this morning, I’d been hungry so long I almost wasn’t hungry anymore, until I tasted Manuela’s honey cake. My eyes sank closed as it melted against my tongue, and my stomach growled in anticipation while I worked the sweet crumbs along the inside of my mouth. “Mm-hm, that’s what I thought,” Adrian purred. “You needed that.”
    Food