“I have something for you,” Lucien whispers into my ear when I'm in the middle of a conversation with a couple after a whole week of playing in the dining room.
My heartbeat quickens and I shoot him an embarrassed smile.
I enjoy his little whispers now and then. The heated silences and slight touches. What was that he had said about patience? There is something about the inevitable and unbreakable pull of the forbidden. I feel it when he bends over me when I am practicing alone or brushes against me.
I cannot tell if they are accidental or deliberate anymore, but I know it is working.
“Okay, Mr. Blackthorn,” I say.
I am thankful for the opportunity to be presented to others as something but his mistress. Converging with actual value and contribution to his life. Not some sort of leech
