Free Lord & Master by Emma Holly Page B

frame was iron, painted white but peeling. A strap I assumed was part of a bridle draped the head rail. Perhaps Mr. Reed had been mending it?
    Damien dropped me abruptly, causing my bottom to bounce on the mattress.
    “Jesus,” he said, shaking his strained arms.
    I tried not to laugh at him.
    “Sorry,” he said, seeing my expression. “You’re really not heavy.”
    “It was a long journey,” I acknowledged solemnly.
    He crouched in front of me. His gaze met mine, and my heart gave a funny swoop. Though he seemed to understand I spoke in jest, he answered with sincere warmth. “I forgot to carry you over our threshold.”
    “Consider it done then.”
    My voice was soft—caressing, I could have said.
    Hearing this, Damien’s breathing deepened in a new way. I remembered that sound from last night, when we’d been making love. As if he were recalling the same events, he wet his erotic mouth. I wished then we’d been alone, that we could have repeated our previous activities, perhaps at greater length. Damien’s hands covered both my knees and stroked.
    “I’ll get that liniment,” Mr. Reed interrupted distantly.
    Damien’s eyes darkened. I couldn’t prevent myself from squirming beneath the smolder in his gaze.
    “Don’t,” I whispered.
    “Don’t what?” my husband teased.
    “Look at me like that when we’re not alone.”
    “Jake knows what married people get up to.”
    It was Jake now, was it? “He doesn’t need to watch us get up to it.”
    Damien’s dark gold lashes fell, his gaze dropping to some part of me I probably didn’t want to think too hard about.
    “Are you sure you’d hate that?” he asked so softly I thought I must have misheard him.
    I didn’t get a chance to ask. Mr. Reed returned with a squat glass container of liniment. He handed it to Damien, who unscrewed the lid and sniffed. I expected a strong smelling, nasty concoction. To my surprise, the scent that emerged was pleasant.
    “Lavender,” Damien said.
    “Mrs. Sweets mixes this balm herself.”
    I don’t know why, but something in the stable master’s tone led me to believe he knew our housekeeper in a Biblical sense. Without thinking, I sent him a sharp look. Jake crossed his arms and grinned. Was he always this smug? Actually, it occurred to me he might be flirting. The gleam in his intense blue eyes certainly suggested it.
    Naturally, I tore my gaze from him.
    “All right,” my husband said. “Let’s get these boots and trousers off.”
    I gasped as he clasped my left calf to help him tug the boot firmly. He was too quick for me. I fell back onto my hands as my footwear came free.
    “Stop that!” I demanded when he repeated the process on the right.
    “Don’t be silly,” Damien reproved. “I can’t massage your muscles through your clothes.”
    “I’ll massage them myself. At home .”
    “Massaging them yourself isn’t nearly as entertaining.”
    He absolutely knew what he suggested.
    “Mr. Reed is right behind you,” I hissed sotto voce .
    “I told you, darling. Nothing married people do will horrify him.”
    “You’re horrifying me,” I protested.
    Damien had no pity. He leaned forward and kissed me. The deep wet penetration stole my senses—as I’m certain he intended. Even as I let out a tiny moan, I wished this pleasure weren’t new to me. If I’d been used to it, perhaps I could have resisted. As it was, my hands fluttered to his big shoulder blades, across which his muscles moved sexily. My toes were curling, my core molten. I felt dazed when his lips finally released me.
    “You promised to honor and obey,” Damien reminded.
    “You promised to cherish,” I retorted.
    He smiled and rubbed my waist. The soreness in my thighs jumped upward, magically transferring to my sex. Abruptly, the ache there was unbearable. All I could think was that I wanted his hands rubbing between my legs. Very hard, preferably.
    “How do you know cherishing you isn’t exactly what I’m