Cheryl Holt by Total Surrender

her reply.
    “Who is your husband?”
    This response was also unintelligible, but Mr. Stevens chuckled over whatever he’d learned.
    “What is it you would like to do for me?” He regarded the woman with a jaded, intense expression.
    The woman gawked at her feet but didn’t speak.
    “You know the rules,” Mr. Stevens advised sternly. “You have to say aloud what it is that you want.” The woman hesitated, then leaned closer to Mr. Stevens and whispered something. “Ah . . .” he murmured, a brow rising, “one of my favorites. Are you undressed under your cloak?”
    “Yes.”
    “Show me.”
    Her fingers went to the clasp at her neckline, then pushed the fabric off her shoulders but the hood remained in place. Sarah observed the woman’s body in profile. She was naked, her breasts exposed. Her nipples were a brown color, elongated, and they jutted outward.
    Mr. Stevens reached out and manipulated both of them with finger and thumb, inducing the woman to writhe uneasily, and Sarah’s heart pounded. He was arousing the woman in the same fashion that he’d handled Sarah and, conscious of how it had felt, her own breasts reacted, tinglingand hardening just from her watching. Though he was caressing someone else, it seemed as if he was touching her own bosom. Mesmerized, she was bothered and startled by how easily she was drawn in just from viewing the erotic interlude.
    “Excellent . . .” he crooned seductively.
    The sexy timbre of his compliment—bestowed on another lover—tickled down to her toes, and the realization confounded her terribly. The display was corrupt and deviant, and she understood that she should desist. Her behavior was improper, disquieting, and the outcome none of her affair. There was a shutter she could utilize to cover the hole, but embarrassingly, she couldn’t force herself to use it.
    Disgusting as it sounded, she was absolutely captivated by Michael Stevens. He was so handsome, so wholly virile, in a manner she’d never encountered before. Until they’d met, she’d had no idea there were men like him in the world, no inkling that people carried on in the shameless ways he welcomed, and a team of horses couldn’t have dragged her away.
    Like the worst sort of voyeur, she had to witness how the incident unfolded.
    He moved behind the woman and turned her toward the opposite wall—one Sarah couldn’t see—but it was clear that the couple was facing a mirror. Mr. Stevens was gazing over his lover’s shoulder, just as he had with Sarah, and he cradled the weight of her breasts as he nuzzled against her throat. Whimpering with apparent ecstasy, the woman’s eyes fluttered shut, her head tilted back, and he nipped against her nape.
    “Do you like it when I do that?” he questioned, fiercely twirling at the woman’s nipples.
    “Yes.” His lover was breathless, excited. “Don’t stop.”
    “Your breasts are so beautiful,” he declared, assessing the two mounds in the looking glass. “Just the size I like on a woman. Not too big. Not too small.”
    What!
    “Maybe I should take you here in front of the mirror, so you can see how splendid we are together.”
    Sarah lurched away from the hole, the familiar words ringing in her ears.
    “Look at us,” he continued. “Look at how exquisite we are with my hands on you.”
    The cad! Only hours earlier, he’d uttered identical statements in her very own boudoir! How dare he lavish the same praise on another! It made their rendezvous seem so tawdry and ordinary when, on her end, she’d ultimately decided that it had been the most fascinating, enchanting event of her entire life. After reflecting at length, she’d persuaded herself that he’d been as charmed by her as she’d been by him, that he’d found her to be special as no other man ever had, that she was attractive and appealing.
    Now, she simply felt like a fool.
    In a temper, she whipped away from the peephole so rapidly that the stool wobbled and tipped, dispatching