Lord & Master by Emma Holly

stared at him. My desire to flee warred with my craving to fling myself at him. Maybe the worst dilemma was that I didn’t hate the idea of Jake watching. “Other people really do this? Really make a show of private activities?”
    “Some do,” Damien said.
    “Why haven’t I heard of it?”
    “You were sheltered, Mia. The people in whose care you were didn’t want you knowing.” He lifted my hand to softly kiss its palm. The brush of his lips sent a delicious frisson down my spine. “Jake and I can teach you lots of things you didn’t know before.”
    “ That I believe,” I said.
    Jake and Damien laughed.
    “May I massage your legs in front of Jake?” Damien asked politely. “And remove your riding trousers first?”
    I bit my lip. “Yes,” I said before I could stop myself.

Chapter Nine
    DAMIEN removed my garments from the waist down. He took my hacking jacket too—claiming it hung past my hips and would hamper his access. I was left with my crisp white shirt, my stock, and of course my corset and underthings.
    “That shirt will crease,” Jake predicted. “She’ll look dodgy when she returns home.”
    I exhaled noisily at him. Were Damien’s servants capable of shock? I gave in regardless. “Fine. Take off the shirt as well.”
    I remembered too late I could have unbuttoned it myself.
    Damien smiled as he undid it, dropping soft little kisses to the new parts of me he bared. How hungry I was for those indicators of affection! My reasons to be wary nattered at me unheard. My arms were soon naked, and my legs, and my bosom where my hastened breathing made my breasts swell above the tight corset.
    “You are so tasty,” Damien praised. The way he wet his lips lent sincerity to the compliment.
    Distracted by that, I wasn’t prepared for him to suddenly grip my legs and tug me onto my back on the mattress. I panted then from more than surprise. Damien loomed over me on his knees. He was less undressed than I, though he had taken off his coat. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his collar unfastened. His corded neck seemed extremely male.
    His hot gaze trapped mine like a magnet.
    “Where’s that liniment?” he asked without turning.
    “At the foot of the bed,” Jake replied. “Right where you left it.” He lifted a ladder-back chair by its topmost rung. “I believe I need to sit for this.”
    He sat on the chair backwards, so close to me I felt waves of heat beating off his body.
    “It’s all right,” he said, seeing my nervousness. “I’d never touch you without your permission.”
    “Or mine,” Damien added.
    Jake’s lips slanted as if this claim weren’t necessarily accurate.
    Damien doesn’t rule him , I thought. Not the way he assumes .
    Did this awareness cause alarm to ripple through me, or delight? Damien’s hands drove the question from my mind. Slick with lavender-scented unguent, they slid warmly up my thighs. I gasped at their strength and the pleasure that spread like wine into my sore muscles. He kneaded me so well he tugged more parts of me than he touched. Between the folds that protected it, my clitoris swelled and pulsed.
    I squirmed, too conscious of the bareness of my bottom. I didn’t know what to hold onto. If I caught Damien’s wrists, I feared what I’d urge them to.
    “Perhaps you’d like to reach up and grip the headrail?” he suggested.
    This seemed acceptable, though it pulled my painfully tightened nipples to the brink of my corset’s top.
    “Jesus,” Jake swore underneath his breath.
    “No, no,” he said when I would have released my grip. “That’s a lovely pose. Don’t change it on my account.”
    “He’d like it even better if you let him fasten you to the rail with those leather straps.”
    I’d thought the straps were a bridle that needed repairing. Apparently not.
    “May I?” Jake asked. “I’ll do the buckles loose enough for you to slip free if you want to.”
    “You don’t care whether I’m really trapped?”
    “I