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Suddenly, fingertips were at his back, making the muscles there flinch. The touch was like a match igniting every inch of Will’s body. He gasped softly.
“Pretty thing,” Mike said quietly, almost as if to himself. He pressed gently in between Will’s shoulder blades, guiding him downwards until his cheek was pressed against the coverlet.
To feel a worthy creature, as he was made to lie among the finery of this bed, seemed like a trembling impossibility, but Mike’s hands treated him with the delicacy one might handle something precious. He brought Will’s arms behind his back, gentle but firm in their restraint, keeping the rest of him stretched along the bed on his belly. He pulled at the wrists of Will’s jacket, sliding it off him, the rustling of fabric as it fell to the floor making a tantalizing harmony with the crackle of the fire.
OR: 1912. England.
Will has been promoted, which makes him personal Valet to the Lord of Mirkwood House, Mike. A person he used to call playmate, is now in line to inherit. When their master/servant relationship becomes fraught with desire, the strict boundaries that have been built for centuries will shatter, changing them both forever.
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