"Mmm yes, wet as I like you. Beg me, whore. Beg me for my cock." His fingers worked in her, twisting and thrusting, curling, making her groan and jerk... her knees sliding outward, pressing into the arms of the chair as she thrust her hips up, forcing his thick, callused fingers even deeper. This was the Andrew she knew; dominating and masterful, playing her body as a musician would a fine-tuned violin. He knew she thrived on the rough treatment, the mild degradation at making her beg and calling. ”“Don’t get too comfortable with him.” John turned to look at his electrician—an excellent tradesman himself. “From what I hear, royals can be all chummy in one instant and cut your balls off in the next. Who’d have thought a bunch of laborers could get the best of a merchant like Ferguson? Did you read that agreement in yesterday’s newspaper? He gave in to every demand those workers made. I tell you, that Cyning boy twisted the screws on a fellow who talks all the time about going to Buxton. More

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