Knight's Mistress (17 page)

‘Very well.’ She took a small breath. ‘I’m good.’

He didn’t say, ‘I would have taken you there no matter what.’ He said instead with exquisite courtesy and a winning smile, ‘Thank you.’

As if she actually could have said no
, she silently admitted, when Dominic Knight dispensed pleasure beyond the limits of any measure known to man. And not just sexual pleasure – the full gamut of creature comforts and joy.

‘They’re bringing up coffee at eight, along with some other food I ordered. Do you want anything?’ He had what he wanted; he was willing to indulge her every whim. He smiled. ‘Bacon sandwiches, perhaps?’

‘Bacon sandwiches sound
wonderful
. I’m starved. You worked me like a field hand last night.’ With all the vexing issues of wanting someone too much dismissed, she stretched lazily like a cat in the sun, satisfied and content.

Don’t touch
, he warned himself, as she sensuously arched her back and her large, luxurious breasts rose in flagrant display.
Not yet.
‘We could argue about who worked whom harder,’ he said with a smile. ‘But I enjoyed myself, Miss Hart. I just want you to know.’

‘Thank you, Mr Knight,’ she said, lowering her lashes coyly in play. ‘I thoroughly enjoyed myself as well.’

He chuckled. ‘Very tempting, Miss Hart. Virtuous maids are in short supply.’

She gave him a seductive little glance. ‘Please be gentle, sir.’

He dragged in a breath, slowly blew it out, reined in his libido. ‘We’ll have to wait on this game. Unfortunately, I have too many calls to make, too many messages to retrieve. And,’ he added with a grin, ‘if you don’t mind my mentioning it, you
could
use a shower.’

‘It’s not my fault,’ she said with an answering grin. ‘You were the one who came in me all night.’

‘With great delight, I’ll have you know.’ Giving in to temptation, he rolled on his side, slid his hand between her legs, slipped two fingers up her sleek cleft. ‘Ummm … nice and wet.’ He shut his eyes, called on every shred of will-power he possessed, then rolled away with a grudging sigh. ‘You have an incredibly tempting pussy, Miss Hart. But I’ve probably forty emails by now that need answering. So duty calls.’ Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and came to his feet. ‘Let’s say breakfast in my suite at eight.’ He started to walk away. ‘It’s the corner one down the hall.’

‘Would you care to join me in the shower?’ She wanted him every minute, every second. It was awesome and terrifying.

He turned and glanced up from scrolling down his messages. ‘Next time.’ His voice was distracted, his gaze returning to his phone. ‘Dammit. I thought I dealt with that yesterday. If you’ll excuse me.’ And he strode away, indifferent to his nudity, the phone to his ear.

*

He called his driver next and made plans to have them driven to the launch. ‘I’ll call you back when I know the exact time.’

After that, he spent fifteen minutes dealing with the most pressing of his messages.

Then he called the concierge for a number and at seven-twenty he made one of the calls he needed to make before they left the hotel.

‘I apologize, Mrs Hawthorne, for ringing you at home so early in the morning, but I have a rather urgent request. I’m Dominic Knight. If you could accommodate me, I’d be most grateful.’

It came as no surprise when he heard a warm, cultivated English accent say, ‘How may I help you?’ Money always talked.

‘I understand your shop is the best in the territory,’ he pleasantly said. ‘And I need your help. I have a guest staying at my house and I’d like to supplement her wardrobe. Let’s see.’ He glanced down at the open folder on the dining room table. ‘She’s five foot five, 110 pounds – that’s about … what, fifty kilos – and – ah – here it is … she’s an American size eight or nine. Does that help? She has very large breasts, by the way, so bring whatever you have in those sizes.’

‘I’m not quite sure what you want. Could you be more precise?’ Her male clients were generally unaware of anything other than they wanted something black and risqué.

‘Whatever women wear under their clothes, Mrs Hawthorne. You’d know that better than I.’

‘A full selection of lingerie, then?’ That was unusual.

‘Yes, and some nightwear too. Robes, pyjamas with buttons. Bring whatever you have in your shop. I’ll buy it all. And come alone. I don’t want any gossip.’

He didn’t ask about price, but price probably wasn’t an issue to someone who said, ‘I’ll buy it all.’ ‘When would you like me there?’ Mrs Hawthorne inquired. No one in Hong Kong had to ask where Dominic Knight lived. He owned the original governor’s mansion on The Peak.

‘Say ten thirty? Is that time enough for you to collect the things we need?’

We.
If her livelihood didn’t depend on complete discretion, that word would have been broadcast around Hong Kong within the hour. Dominic Knight was notorious not only for his wealth and the latitude of his vice, but for his lack of interest in normal female relationships since his wife’s death. ‘I’ll be there at ten thirty’
Anxious to meet this paragon of womanhood who had wrought such a major upheaval.

‘Thank you,’ he said crisply, and punched in another number.

A number that rang and rang and rang. Frowning, he dropped the phone on the table, picked up the folder and strode to the main bathroom in the four-thousand-square-foot suite. Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and
dressed, he was on the phone again. This time the call was answered and a man he’d dealt with many times before wished him a good morning in Mandarin.

Dominic replied in the same language, and apologized for calling so early. He politely inquired about the man’s family, expressed interest when the man told him of his son’s imminent graduation from UCLA, offered help with a position if the boy wanted to stay in the States and gave him Max’s number. With the amenities dispatched, he quickly dictated a list of items he wanted. ‘I need them delivered immediately,’ he said. ‘Can you get someone out early this morning? Good. Excellent. No, not the garden retreat. Send everything to my house. Yes, that’s right – my
house
.’

Dominic turned and saw Kate standing in the doorway. ‘Ah, you’re finished.’ Abruptly ending his call with his thumb, he smiled at her. ‘You look lovely, but then you always do’ – his brows flickered – ‘dressed or undressed. Is that Greta’s? I like the colour.’ Kate wore a simple, long-sleeved wool dress in a pale shade of lilac.

‘Who else’s would it be?’

‘I like the buttons down the front. Handy.’

‘I thought you might like that.’

He smiled. ‘Do I detect a more accommodating stance on your wardrobe this morning?’

‘I’m not completely averse to being obliging.’

‘I like the sound of that word “obliging”.’

‘I wasn’t
unobliging
last night, was I?’

‘No, you were quite, shall we say, amenable. I expect your breasts are tender this morning.’

‘Perhaps a little. My nipples particularly. But this dress is lined in silk so it’s not so
very
uncomfortable.’

‘I’m sorry. I should apologize.’

‘Don’t. I could have said no.’

And if she had, I would have stopped.
‘Just to be clear, you can always say no. It’s only a game.’

She smiled. ‘A very pleasurable one – awesome in fact. Like everything about you.’ She made a small moue. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t be dressed yet.’ He wore dark slacks and a dove-grey V-neck sweater, the sleeves pushed up, his wet hair slicked back. He was barefoot.

‘I’m afraid we have to leave right after breakfast.’ He’d rearranged his schedule to allow him six days with Miss Hart and he had some pressing business matters to wind down this morning. ‘I wish we didn’t. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

‘When?’

What a charming little fretful pout. His cock twitched in recognition of Miss Hart’s insatiable appetite for sex. A quick glance at his watch; there should be time before Mrs Hawthorne arrived. ‘Say in two hours?’

‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling shyly.

He smiled an altogether different smile. ‘My pleasure.’

‘Thank you again. I seem to be addicted – to constant orgasms, to the phenomenal bliss.’ Another smile. ‘I blame you.’

‘I willingly take responsibility. And I’m more than happy to take care of your every desire.’

That simple promise simply stated shouldn’t make her body open in welcome but it did. Instantly. As if he’d flicked a switch and every shameless nerve breathlessly responded. She could feel the flutter of arousal in the pit of her stomach, the damp, melting heat, the small ache of longing.

He gave her a knowing, half smile. ‘Are you getting wet?’

She nodded, embarrassed and flustered. Not sure how to answer.

He crooked his index finger. ‘Come. I can see your nipples swelling from here.’ His voice took on a cool briskness. ‘Come, Miss Hart.
Now
.’

‘Be nice,’ she whispered, struggling to maintain some independence against his rough authority.

‘Oblige me, Miss Hart,’ he said gently, in response to her small rebellion, ‘and I’ll unbutton that nice row of buttons on your dress and suck on your nipples. Would you like that?’

With a satisfied smile, he watched her capitulate. And a few moments later, when she came to a stop before him, his voice was hushed. ‘Very obedient. I like that.’ He slid his fingers down the row of jewelled buttons on the bodice of her dress. ‘But then you want sex again, don’t you?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Not even an hour since you came last. We’re going to have to teach you some restraint.’

‘Don’t,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Do this to me. Play this game with me.’

Something in her voice gained his attention, her earnestness perhaps or maybe the wistfulness. Both rare in his world. He softly sighed. ‘I don’t mean to be difficult,’ he said, when in fact he had been, ‘but we have very little time. Our breakfast will be here in ten minutes.’

‘Postpone breakfast. Please, Dominic?’

She’d not used his Christian name before. It startled him. Disarmed him. ‘If I do,’ he said, a smile beginning to warm his eyes, ‘you owe me.’

‘Yes, yes.’ She dipped her head. ‘Anything.’

His cock surged at the possibilities. But his tight schedule didn’t allow him to act on impulse. ‘I can’t postpone breakfast,’ he said, his voice subdued. ‘I have a dozen calls to make, people waiting to hear from me.’
Before I disappear for six days.
‘But I don’t have to open the door right away. How would that be?’ He slid his finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. ‘Would that do?’

No
, she wanted to say. But not yet lost to all reason, she nodded.

Competent and perhaps more familiar with expeditious sex than most, he rapidly unbuttoned her bodice, and gently cupped her breasts in his hands. ‘A quick orgasm to take the edge off?’ With her eyes shut and her breathing rapid, he didn’t wait for an answer. Bending his head, he drew a nipple into his mouth.

She gasped, went rigid.

‘Should I stop?’ he asked, raising his head. ‘I should,’ he said, after taking one look at her.

‘No, no, don’t.’ She met his gaze, exhaled slowly. ‘I’m fine.’

‘We should wait until there’s more time, other options.’

‘Please, no, it doesn’t hurt that much.’

Softly swearing, he swiftly moved to plan B, shoving her skirt up with his left hand.
No panties. A pleasant surprise.
His cock immediately took notice. A very short internal debate occupied his thoughts before he dismissed impractical considerations. They were pressed for time. His satisfaction would have to wait.

Sliding his right hand between her legs, he slipped two fingers up her hot, slick sex with a technical flair that focused on her G-spot and heard a different kind of gasp. A good one. At which point, capable of working blindly, he let her skirt drop, deftly located the holy grail with his left index finger and knew this wouldn’t take long. Her engorged clit was hard as a baseball bat.

As a matter of fact, Miss Hart probably would have broken the
Guinness Book of Records
for orgasms if one existed. He barely had time to slide in another finger before she climaxed like some wind-up sex doll. Seriously, she was going to kill him before the six days were over. Although fucking himself to death wasn’t a bad way to go.

When her tremors ceased along with her soft moans, he withdrew his fingers, and grabbed two napkins from
the table – one to wipe his fingers, the other to put between her legs. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her, soothed and satisfied, to the table. Depositing her gently in a chair, he brushed her cheek with a kiss before seating himself to her right at the head of the table.

Lounging back in his chair, he put his fingers to his nose, softly inhaled and smiled. Jasmine soap and Miss Hart’s fragrant scent, redolent of horniness and lust. Pouring himself a glass of water from a bottle on the table, he dipped his fingers in it, wiped them with a napkin and fondly regarded the flushed, over-sexed beauty who was going to amuse him for the next six days. He expected she’d give him a great deal of pleasure – once he’d cleared the press of events from his calendar. One of which, was getting out of here. He glanced at his watch. ‘Five minutes before breakfast, Miss Hart,’ he softly warned.

Eyes shut, her head thrown back, she nodded.

Her dress was still unbuttoned, her full breasts attractively framed by lilac wool, her soft, pale flesh a lush counterpoint to the pastel fabric, the amethyst buttons a glittering flourish to the succulent display. He’d have to thank Greta again for so quickly assembling a wardrobe. And Miss Hart for so picturesquely showcasing Greta’s designs. He was tempted to take a photo but neither he nor Miss Hart could afford such carelessness. A shame. She was definitely a tantalizing sight.

A brisk knock on the door curtailed his scrutiny.

‘Button up, Miss Hart,’ he said briskly, coming to his
feet. ‘The servers are here. I don’t want them ogling my tits,’ he added only half in jest.

He was suddenly looking into snappish green eyes.