A/N: This chapter contains a short section of NC-17 Material. If you are uncomfortable with such material or under 18, please continue to the next.
Chapter 5
The sun was just cresting the horizon when Fred stopped the limo in front of Rossmore. Laura had already decreed she, Remington and Mildred had earned a three-day weekend in lieu of finalizing the case so quickly. Mildred had been dropped off at home twenty-five minutes ago, with strict instructions the Agency doors would remain closed this weekend unless a true emergency arose. The instant the limo door had slammed shut behind their trusted secretary, detective-in-training and family member, Remington had given Laura's hand a hard tug, until she lay splayed against him in the backseat. No sooner had he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, than they had both dozed off.
They had dispensed with all niceties when they shut the door of his flat behind them. Taking the phone off the hook, she stripped down to her teddy, he his briefs, then they tumbled straight into bed, nestling into the warm cocoon of sheets, comforter and each other.
He had no idea what time it was, room darkened as it was by the heavy drapes, when the sensation of someone watching him dragged him from his dreams. A pair of bleary blue eyes blinked opened, a smile automatically lifting his lips, when he found a pair of warm, brown eyes staring down at him and a gentle hand stroking his neck. He grasped her hips and eased her down over his hips when she straddled him, a hand sliding upwards to burrow itself in her hair when she leaned down and fastened her mouth to his.
The tenderness with which she kissed him and the whisper soft touch of her fingers behind his ears, down his neck, over his shoulders, conspired to leave his blood simmering. And when she shifted away his touch, eased down his briefs, making it clear this encounter was for him alone? He was left clutching at the sheets, her hips, her waist, his eyes rolling in their sockets when she looked up at him through her lashes, giving him a saucy little grin before her lips closed over the tip of his shaft. It was all too much: her intermittent peeks up at him; her nails softly scraping the inside of his thighs; a soft hand caressing his sacs; her soft grip; and all the while, her mouth constantly on the move. He buried his hands in her hair, rasping her name, when the orgasm left him shuddering almost violently from the bliss she freely gifted to him. Afterwards, he gathered her close, his mouth covering hers, his body still twitching in the aftermath as he savored the taste of him and her flavor intermingling against his tongue. With a final kiss and a sigh, he gathered her close, and they slept once more.
When next he woke, she was gone, a note left on the bedside table.
R –
Quick trip to the gym and a couple of errands since you seem determined to sleep the day away.
L-
His brows rose in surprise when the alarm clock announced it was nearly two p.m. Sleep the day away, indeed, he muttered silently to himself. Rolling to a sitting position, he dragged his hands through his hairs, then scrubbed at his face with the palms of his hands. There was much to be done in the course of a few hours, should he hope to act on Laura's fantasy about butlers: A meal to plan, a new dinner jacket to purchase, a trip to the market, then cooking of the meal itself. Given he'd no idea of what time Laura had left, he'd best be up and about it if he intended for preparation to be close to completion before she arrived back at the flat.
After a quick dive into the shower, then shave, he threw on a button down oxford, pair of jeans and Nike's before stopping at the front door to scribble a note of his own.
L-
Ran to the market. Be back shortly.
R-
As Remington stepped out of the kitchen, a salad plate in hand, he heard the front door close, and the unmistakable sound of Laura's keys being dropped on the credenza. He waited until she stepped into view, his eyes flickering curiously to the garment bag swung over her shoulder, but he never broke from his role.
"Dinner is served, madam," he announced in his snooty Ruggles affect, bowing at the waist as he spoke. A dimpled smile graced her face, as she dropped the garment bag over the back of the couch and she set her gym bag on the floor next to it. She allowed herself several heartbeats simply to admire the man standing in front of her: Crisp white, wing-collared dress shirt, gold brocade vest, black tails, white bow tie, black slacks and white gloves. Oh my, she thought, much as she had the first time she'd seen him in such attire.
"What's on the menu this evening, Ruggles?" she inquired as she crossed the living room into the dining room, then took her seat in the chair he held out for her.
"Salad to begin, followed by rack of lamb accompanied by parmesan and parsley potatoes, and chocolate mousse for dessert, madam," he supplied, as he eased her chair forward. The smell of her still damp hair was positively intoxicating, and he broke character for a moment to drop a kiss against her neck.
"Ruggles, control yourself!" she admonished, keeping in role.
"My apologies, madam. I was overcome for a moment. Shan't happen again, I assure you." He bowed at the waist. "I'll leave you to your salad. The main course will be served, shortly."
"Wait," she called out, and turned in her seat to look up at him. "You're not going to eat with me?"
"I'm afraid that wouldn't be a'tall proper, madam."
"Remington, I don't want to eat dinner alone," she told him, reasonably. "I think Ruggles needs take five, while you and I enjoy our meal. What do you say?" He flashed her a wide smile.
"I can think of little I'd enjoy more." Removing his white gloves and dinner jacket, loosening tie and unbuttoning his vest, he retrieved his salad from the kitchen, then sat down catty corner to her.
"You seem suddenly dedicated to a role that only two days ago you likened to the bowels of drudgery," she noted, amusement dancing in her tone.
"Hmmmm, but I've found it… inspiring… to play the role for a particular young woman," he answered, with a pointed gaze in her direction.
"So, now that you've experienced the Wellington's first hand, are you still eager to rub elbows with them?"
"In that veritable Peyton Place? Not at all. I mean, I've met some questionable characters amongst the upper elite in my day, but the Wellington's? Yeesh," he commented with more than a little disdain. "A decades long affair between the mistress of the house and the chauffer…"
"The prior hooker marrying the gay heir…"
"But sleeping with the illegitimate son of said mistress of the house and the chauffer…"
"Brother framing brother, son framing father for a murder…" she added.
"Not to mention a maid sleeping with a butler more than twice her age for financial gain," he pointed out, then added with a lift of his brows, "Gives a whole new meaning to 'the butler did it.' I wonder if he'd any idea how willingly she'd trade those… wares… to get whatever it wished when it suited her." She laughed softy at the last.
"Oh, my. That… friendly… was she?"
"Handsy," he corrected. "Handsy is the word that comes to mind,." He rose to clear the salad plates, then disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the main course and a bottle of crisp, white wine.
"Your fantasy in the flesh, huh?" she teased, as though there had never been a pause in the conversation. He gave her a censuring look.
"My fantasies have involved one particular, lovely lady for some time now," he reprimanded lightly, grinning when her skin pinkened at his words. "And yourself? At all tempted to become the kept woman of the idle rich." Her eyes widened, and she set her fork down hard on the table.
"How did you know about that?" He smirked in her direction.
"The only thing more prevalent than adultery in that household was gossip. Numerous mentions were made of Mr. Wellington's… fondness… for your backside." She grimaced with distaste
"I'm afraid I've found myself inconceivably drawn to the idle conman of late, despite my better judgement." He wagged his brows at her.
"Former conman," he corrected. "And butlers?" She set down her fork, and eyed him with open appreciation, indicating she'd lost interest in the meal before her.
"I believe…" she drew out the word, "I appreciate a very active butler." He flashed her a lopsided grin.
"And dessert?" he inquired.
"Later, Ruggles. Much, much, later."
With that he stood, straightened his clothes, and easily slipped into the role of the cool yet impertinent butler.
"How may I be of service, madam?"