Simple Missteps
Chapter Two
Lillian K. Rockmore

Scott shut himself off in his study, trying in vain to compute the digits on the ledger sheets in front of him. Every time he breathed, the scent of her skin would assault him. The musky essence still lingered on his skin even after the bath that he'd taken, and every whiff of it sent spirals of arousal shooting through his bloodstream.

Groaning, he rested his head on upraised hands. She was like a plague, firing a fever in his blood. Even now, he could feel the fiery red lock of her hair sliding against his fingers and the moan of surrender that slipped past her lips as she melted beneath his hand.

He couldn't fathom how he could have been blind to her innocence. Perhaps it was her eyes-- the slant of it was like a feline's and so bloody sexual that it stirred a man's blood. Or perhaps it was her stature-- so tall, willowy and sculpted in a way that it was as though she was made for his hands alone.

He knew that she wasn't of noble blood, her appearance told him so. And yet, her bearing bore the stamp of finery. Her name - Tiara - was also something that didn't quite fit into the image of a slave-girl. Scott didn't know why her past irked him, but it did.

She was his captive; his to do what he wished. Scott knew that if he decided to take her again, she'd fight him for the first few minutes, and then melt in his arms like liquid, warm honey. He felt his cock stir and harden for the third time since he’d left her and knew that he wouldn't be able to keep himself away from her any longer.

The leather-back chair scraped across the stone floors as he stood and made for his chamber.

She was having the most delicious of dreams. Someone was dragging a hand through her tangled curls, tugging at the roots of her hair. The action sent sparks of pleasure and tiny amounts of pain rioting through her body. A large, silky source of heat was splayed against her belly, caressing the dimple of her navel and singeing her flesh. Floating on a cloud of warmth, Tiara arched pleasurably beneath the gentle ministrations.

She felt herself tense slightly when fingers stirred the thatch of sparse curls at the apex of her thighs. A mellow heat was building inside her, causing her to drift from sleep towards wakefulness. A single, teasing finger slipped into her sex, exploring, teasing, pleasuring and she couldn't hold back the moan that escaped her.

Her eyes flew open when warm male laughter wafted towards her ears, grating in its mockery. Another finger accompanied the one already buried inside her and Tiara gasped, trying to buck herself off him, away from his mastery of her body.  But her flesh betrayed her, quivering under his touch. His fingers began a gentle rhythm,