Clara's breath caught. She nodded back. Tiny. Almost invisible. Her hands — trembling — reached for the drawer. She pulled out a towel. Clean. White. For the lord. For after.
But also — the nod. The acknowledgment. The 'yes-I-will-follow' response that sealed something between them.
Mira saw.
Her green eyes — holding her newborn child, the baby cradled against her chest — tracked Clara's movement. The towel. The nod. The way the young maid's thighs pressed together. The wetness. The arousal.
Mira's eyes narrowed.
The perverted MILF inside her surged. The possessiveness — the 'my-husband-mine-mine-MINE' fire that had made her yell at the maids during Helena's fucking — flared. Her grip on the baby tightened. Her jaw clenched.
But she didn't act.
