His gaze narrowed further. "It was all due to your lordship's generosity," he said, and the words were technically respectful but carried the inflection of a man crediting a child's allowance rather than a lord's gift. "I do not have to do much work. The estate is quiet."
He meant: 'Because the lord is useless and never leaves his room, there is nothing to escort, nothing to guard, nothing to do but drink and fuck until dawn.' The development of the estate — or rather, the complete absence of it — had become Garrick's excuse to live as he pleased at my expense.
I smirked. Looked down — briefly, imperceptibly — at the desk, where Elira's eyes were rolled back, her throat convulsing around my cock, her hands gripping my calves, her saliva pooling on the floor in a spreading puddle. I pushed my hips forward. Half an inch. The head slipped deeper into her throat, and she gagged — a wet, choked sound that I covered by clearing my own throat loudly.
