22. Whitley Whitt

Chapter 22

Whitley Whitt

Desperate times call for desperate measures .

“Dammit, Connor,” I whisper under my breath as I stare down at the obnoxious display of bright-red roses sitting on the buffet in the dining room.

People behind me make “aww” sounds, and my face lights up the same color of crimson. It has been days of nothing short of a freaking Hallmark movie.

“This is getting out of hand.”

Every night he cuddles me to sleep, and each morning he wakes me with soft kisses before pushing me into the shower. By the time I’m out of the bathroom, he’s handing me a coffee, just how I like it. Now roses are popping out of nowhere.

The problem is he hasn’t touched me again, not since he said he wanted to play with me. He keeps saying how he wants to make everything up to me first, but I swear he’s just torturing my pussy at this point. It’s making me want to climb him like a tree and force him to holler, “Timber!”

“Girl, those are beautiful,” Maria says, giggling lightly like the twenty-year-old she is, her costume making her look adorable.

“Very beautiful,” replies Anton, who sits next to her at the dining table in his waiter’s outfit.

He bends down to kiss her shoulder lightly, and she beams up at him. Ah, young love. It’s so sweet it makes me want to hurl. Of course they want me to be just as happy as they are, like every other couple crazy in love.

My stomach dips. That’s not what Connor and I are doing at all. Actually, I have no idea what the fuck we’re doing. I’m supposed to leave once my contract is up, and he hasn’t been totally clear about what he wants. I know he likes my company, enough to fall asleep next to me each night, but the lack of sex is making it more confusing.

If he just wanted to be friends with benefits, I think I’d find it a lot easier. Only now I’m pretty sure I want a lot more.

Maybe that’s why he’s doing it.

Nervousness skitters along my spine and my stomach flip flops. If he calls me his friend after what I have planned tonight, I may poison a cupcake for real and choke him with it.

I’m done playing.

I move from the table to start picking up plates of half-eaten food left over from afternoon tea.

“Are you and Mr. O’Doyle dating?” Maria asks in a hushed tone.

Taking a deep breath, I suck in the smell of spring as a breeze pushes through the dining room. All the windows are open, and I can just make out the sounds of birds chirping from the luscious green garden. The garden where he had his mouth on my—dammit.

“It’s not a big deal, you guys. He’s just being nice.”

Anton chuckles. “Miss Whitt, no man buys a woman a dozen red roses to be nice.”

“Exactly,” Maria says while nodding her head excitedly, a huge smile on her face.

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at her enthusiasm.

I point at them both sternly. “Don’t you two have work to do?”

Maria shrugs a shoulder. “Nope. We’re just heading to the ballroom to wait on showtime.”

“Okay, I’ll see you there,” I tell them as they leave the room, running a hand down the front of my shirt.

The beginning of the event starts tonight—the one Connor needs to go off perfectly. Everyone has been rehearsing for days for an orchestration of dances the castle staff is performing during dinner. I was skeptical at first, but now, after seeing it in action myself, I know it’ll be a hit.

I hope it goes smoothly because I need him to be in high spirits afterwards.

My friend has been touching me at the most random times for days, and I’m ready to attack him until he gives me his cock. Screw begging, I’ll take it by force if he keeps up this crazy teasing. The idea makes me groan.

I huff and toss my curled brown hair over my shoulder.

I bite my lip as I lift my phone above my head, praying I don’t look like an overstuffed sausage trying to duckface, and take another selfie. I put up a peace sign and take a few more pictures for good measure. Bombarding the man with nudes should do the trick if all else fails.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Connor has found every opportunity to graze my boob or caress any part of me he can.

I’m ashamed to say it’s taken me so long to catch on. He’s so subtle about it, catching me unaware, and usually when we are around other people.

The gloves are coming off, Mr. Connor O’Doyle.

I hurry upstairs to get changed into my costume, feeling equally determined and ridiculous as I lift the heavy dress and bend my body into it. Forcing my breasts to almost spill out of the corset contraption, for once I’m happy about how tightly it cinches my waist.

I pin my hair in place, a simple loose bun just tight enough to keep the small hat in place and apply a suitable amount of makeup that matches the cream-colored dress and the tiny, embroidered flowers that are all over it. The petticoat underneath makes me feel like an overblown princess.

After I figured out how to get dressed, I found it wasn’t so bad since we only have to wear our costumes once or twice a week. Frederick was ecstatic he didn’t have to change the design except for a better-fitting corset. The only thing I think is funny is the little white cap that I’ve deemed the Mrs. Potts hat.

Once I’m dressed, I go back down to the bottom level and step into the dining room, quickly scanning my gaze over the table covered with appetizers ready to go out at the start of the show. I look down at my phone to check the time, and notice we only have a few minutes before we begin. Oops, I cut it a little too close.

It looks like Connor hired all the village men because Anton stands in one corner with a group of gentlemen. Well, they all look like gentlemen anyway. Tuxedos up to their throats, and all with matching dark-red ties.

Anton waves when I meet his gaze, and I turn to Maria.

“Are the cupcakes ready?” she asks me.

I nod and smile.

Connor, after the first week, figured out quickly that he wasn’t going to be able to handle the entire menu. I managed to sneak in a few surprises for dessert.

The whole dinner is on a timetable. We do one dance, set down the appetizers for the guests as we do, and then the maids and waiters wait by the wall until the next bell rings.

It’s literally like something out of a historical novel I read once and makes me wonder where they came up with the idea. I’ve been picturing “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast , but with human servers, and I love how corny the idea is.

“Everyone ready?” the lead organizer calls out to the room. He smiles, and his eyes gleam with excitement when everyone murmurs that they’re ready to start the procession.

As I enter after my cue, I can’t help taking in the ballroom and how they’ve decorated it.

Fog, dense and heavy, curls across the wide space, making it impossible to see the white-and-black marble floor I know to be there. People begin to ooh and ahh as the waiters and maids come out of the thick mist dressed like something out of a demented Victorian play. The skeletal-shaped animatronic moves at the edge of the room and an obvious mechanical cackle of glee echoes from a speaker somewhere on the thing, causing startled shrieks to reverberate from the guests.

Another plastic skeleton, this one tied to a rope and pulley, drops from the ceiling overhead while a light display bathes its black shroud in an eerie red glow. I bite my lip to hide my grin when I notice George gasp and lean back in his dining chair to get away as it glides past him and around the room.

After so many rehearsals with the things, it’s hard to find them as scary, especially after seeing them in the daylight looking like crappy Halloween decorations riding a Roomba. The ting of metal clanking erupts around the room as we all place the appetizer platters on the tables and remove the heavy lids while the animatronics move in reverse back to their places.

First, the men carry out the larger trays and the maids follow with the side dishes and soups. The whole show happens pretty quickly, everyone only popping up for a few minutes at a time in each course, but it’s a lot of movement. I grip my tray with my palm spread wide, holding it easily after practicing. I place my small plate of bruschetta in front of the people who ordered it specifically, while everyone else handles their own dish type.

I make my way out the door and everyone rushes to collect our trays of dinner and line up again, waiting on our turns to enter the ballroom.

Except I don’t do that.

No. Instead, it’s time for my show.

Sliding my hand down into my skirt apron, I grab my phone and send off my first message: a photo of my lace-covered ass cheek and boob spillage. My stomach flutters with glee at the knowledge that he’s not going to be able to do anything about it.

I just pray he’s not too busy with the event and actually checks his phone like he always does. Connor never misses a text or a call in case it’s important.

I can already hear him exclaiming dramatically in an over-the-top Dracula voice, performing to the guests. From memory, his outfit is a black suit, a draping cloak with a high collar, and fake vampire fangs that kind of make him look like a terrible Halloween costume.

Now that I’ve started my devious scheme, I move to grab my designated plates and fill my serving tray. When I finally take my spot to wait on my next call, my heart is stammering in my throat with how nervous and excited I am at what I sent Connor.

The smell of the rustic potatoes paired with sour cream has my mouth watering. Even though I’m not the chef, since they hired a bunch of catering staff for the event, I’ve had a taste of everything and know it is all delicious. The jealousy flooding my veins for the food is real, but my tastebuds are still satisfied at having a sample.

Connor’s strong voice can be heard telling everyone to enjoy their dinner. It’s the cue for the guys to roll in with the big plates, while I hold one of the sides.

“Go, go, go,” Maria whispers, and the men file in by twos.

Excited chatter can be heard from inside the ballroom, and my heart rushes.

I guess it is pretty cool.

“Ready, Miss Whitt?” someone asks.

With anticipation flipping my stomach, I readjust the heavy tray in my hands and enter the room, pushing down the nervousness rolling through me. I curtsey in time with the rest of the ladies and the string quartet begins playing a light tune for the dinner round. Next, the men bow and flourish the trays above their heads, spinning as they do.

All the staff move as one, twirling and side-stepping, bending and looping around the room, serving all the guests as we go before picking up the empty platters and plates. We make the exchange neat and tidy, and we’re all probably secretly thankful no one has dropped a plate yet.

I meet Maria’s gaze from across the ballroom and her wide smile stretches some more.

A bell chimes twice, the cue for us to clear out, and we all bow, curtseying as one. The guests start clapping, and we back away as we all rehearsed toward the door.

I make the mistake of peeking through my lashes over at Connor, and my stomach dips with the perfect timing. While the guests are distracted and looking at us, he quickly checks his phone in his Dracula suit pocket. The look on his face is priceless as it hardens.

Oh, he’s seen it.

My smile spreads as I back out of the ballroom just as his eyes meet mine. His dark, narrowed, and lip-biting gaze immediately says I’m in trouble.

I can’t help but laugh as I make my way back to the kitchen.

I lift my phone to my face and click send for the second part of my plan just as the waiters are grabbing bottles to refill the guests’ drinks. I grin down at the even naughtier picture, one where my nipple is out and my lips are between my teeth, but I expect he won’t have time to look at it for a bit from the sounds of his voice booming over the loudspeakers.

Maria squeals, making me jolt, as Anton throws his arms around her and drags her away to prep the next course. I breathe out a light sigh and set about tidying the kitchen around the catering staff who helped me earlier now that they’re all gone. We’ll be needed again shortly, but I’m feeling too restless to sit still between knowing there’s work that needs to be done and the belly flutters because of my messages to Connor.

My skin tingles with excitement at what his reaction will be later. When it feels like too long has passed and I worry that he’s already seen the last raunchy picture without me knowing, I send off a third just to really drive the point home.

Shortly after, we all shuffle back inside the dining room just as Connor is going on about Dracula’s origins in his over-the-top vampire voice. He smiles and I’m happy to see the plastic fangs missing from his mouth.

“Do you know why Dracula doesn’t have any friends?” he asks the crowd, and murmurs pick up. “Because he’s such a pain in the neck.”

Everyone laughs a bit at his obvious dad joke, and I withhold a snicker as I move to place my entrée plates down, then back out of the room as soon as I’m able while calculating how much time until dessert is needed.

Our eyes meet, and I purposefully tip forward to show off my tits better despite how much the corset stabbing into my ribs threatens to break me. I deliberately lick at my gloss-covered lips and give him a wink.

In response, just as the door is about to close, he reaches into his coat again, but I don’t get to see his reaction.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me a moment,” comes his cultured voice.

My brow furrows as I watch him practically run to the hallway exit. I wince. Where could he be going? Maybe he forgot his cane or something, since he shouldn’t be leaving the ballroom just yet.

I sigh when I enter the kitchen, remembering the hours of cooking, baking, and directing temporary staff I had to do in preparation for all this—which is where most of my work really took place. I’ve been on my feet for hours, and I’m excited for this to end.

My elbow is jostled from behind and I cry out as I’m spun around roughly.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Connor’s nostrils flare and his eyes are hard as stone, like they used to be back when he hated me.

Oh shit. What did I do?

Connor O’Doyle

One glimpse of an image of Whitley bent over, her gorgeous arse in the air with white garters framing exactly where I want to put my mouth, sent me into overdrive. And the other two photos she sent to tease me with? I could barely contain myself from leaping across the ballroom and attacking her. The need to rut her, to lay her down and fuck her senseless, has been grating on me for days.

Now that she’s within reach, I grab her by the wrist and pull her along, ignoring the stacked white dishes and folded linens.

“Hey, we still have dessert,” she protests as I drag her into the pantry.

I round on her as soon as her massive skirts pass through the door.

“You think you’re being cute?” My voice rumbles across her lips as I try to deny myself a kiss so I don’t ruin her pretty makeup. Grabbing her hand, I shove it against my dick through my trousers and make her squeeze.

She tightens her hand on me as the corner of her mouth goes up. I reach out, pulling her by the back of the neck to hug her to me, but that doesn’t stop her grin. She knows exactly what she is doing.

Her ass fills my hand as I hold her still for a moment, then I slide my hand down and lift her leg so I can wedge my hips between hers, failing to get right where I want to be with so many skirts between us. Her back touches a large wooden shelf as I trail my fingers down the column of her throat and start bunching her dress in my hand.

“You make me want to give this sweet pussy what it wants so bad.”

I reach under her skirts, my cock leaping when I find her slit wet already. She gasps and arches into my touch.

“No knickers?” I moan into her ear, watching the goosebumps light up across her skin like a match to tinder. “You naughty girl.”

She squeals when I dip inside her, two fingers pumping quick and hard. I palm my hand over her mouth and groan aloud when her teeth bite into me. Her eyes spit fire as I hold her mouth shut with one hand and fuck her with the other. One rough pinch to her clit and she removes her bite.

She starts to get close, her body moving on its own, and I can tell just how badly she’s needed this by how she chases her release. She bounces into my hand, her hips grinding for me to get my fingers impossibly deeper. Her tight cunt begins to flutter, just as a muffled, cock-jerking moan starts to build.

I yank my hand away from her mouth and remove my fingers, robbing her of her release to get back at her for teasing me with raunchy photos.

“Damn you. I hate you!” she screams, her face flushed with fury at the loss of her orgasm.

She leans back against one of the wooden shelves, her lips a mess and her hair falling down. I grin and slip my fingers into my mouth for a taste of her decadence, knowing I’ve been teasing her long and hard since the other night.

I even toyed with her sweet pussy in her sleep, moving away just as she would begin to wake up. I want her messy and wanting today, because I’m done fighting it. If the universe has seen fit to bestow me a mate, and such a perfect one at that, I’m not going to snub it.

She is mine and I will win her.

“No, you don’t hate me. You only wish you did.” Snatching her wrists in my hands, I kiss her pulse, one and then the other. “Whitley, will you please go out with me?”

As lame as it sounds, they’re the only words I have. I want her any way I can get her, but I need to know she wants me too—I desire something more permanent than what she may be thinking before I finally fuck her. I need her to know it means something to me and that I’m not just being a horny bastard.

A corner of her mouth lifts, and her cute little human teeth bite into her soft bottom lip. I realize I have no idea if she will say yes or no, and the anticipation is heady. The way she challenges me—her smart mouth is my kryptonite. And her smell is like a siren’s call to my dick.

“You want me to go out with you?” Her voice is shy, like she hadn’t been expecting me to ask right at this second.

“Yes.”

Her eyes go all doe-like and soft. “Okay.”

A low sigh escapes past her lips a second later, then her mouth attacks mine. Our teeth clash and she moans, a low whimpering sound that makes me want to howl with excitement.

My hand shakes as I wrap it around her neck and break our kiss. “My dick is unbearably hard, and you’re going to make it up to me.”

Satisfaction lights up in her caramel-colored gaze, her lips swollen and heavy. They make me want to slip my cock between them.

“How can I make it up to you?” she asks, licking her lips.

I remove the box from my suit coat pocket and hand it to her, then grasp her waist firmly as I wait for her to open it. She arches a brow when she gets a look at the device I collected from my room when I ducked out of the ballroom. I know I only have a few more minutes before I need to return to the guests, even though I shouldn’t have left in the first place.

“You made your point obvious tonight. I’m going to give us what we both want and fuck you all night.”

She snorts, but glances at it again.

“Oh, so you don’t want it?” I back away, giving her space to say what she wants.

Those luscious lips of hers thin into a line as her brow creases. “I didn’t say that.” Curiosity colors her expression as she eyes the thing. “It looks big.”

With a silicone string attached, the pink egg-shaped device is about two inches wide and meant to nestle at her G-spot.

“It is much smaller than my cock, Whitley.” And many of her other toys.

She chokes a bit on a laugh. Crimson spreads along her cheeks, and down her collarbones as she lights up with it, finally tinging her bountiful breasts pink.

I trace my eyes over her, taking in the voluptuous swell of her hips, accentuated even more by the corset cinching her waist. I pluck the egg from the box, then move to grab at the many skirts beneath her dress and lift.

“You really do look beautiful in this,” I whisper into her ear as I dip my hand down under her skirt again and play with her dripping slit by running my fingers through her slick folds. “My gods, you’re wet.”

Her gaze searches mine, and I would give a lot of money to know what she is thinking.

“We are not just friends after this, Connor,” she says, as if this means anything, considering I just asked her out.

My brow furrows at the vulnerability I find in her gaze.

“No, we aren’t,” I tell her, kissing her as I sink one digit into her pussy and graze my thumb across her clit. “I’ve never been able to stay away from you, and now... you’re mine.”

I kiss her how she likes it, letting my fingers play along her silky folds before settling the pink gadget at her pussy lips. She jerks, likely at how cold it is at her entrance, but I know she’ll quickly warm it up. I pull back from our kiss and watch her eyes widen, her pouty lips falling open on a soft sigh, when I slip it deep inside.

It’s not on, but I dangle my phone to show the app I have for it and how it’s already connected. Her gaze heats and her blush deepens as she’s fixing her skirts, then turns to leave the walk-in pantry with her mouth open to say something—probably a mildly infuriating tease.

With a sharp slap to her thick ass to quieten her, I bite out, “Don’t come until I tell you to.”