He was almost entirely focused on the task at hand; he almost didn't hear the noise from outside the door. In fairness to him, there was a lot to pay attention to. He was putting a good deal of effort into pleasuring her — not one to do so lazily at any juncture, but certainly not when the whole point of doing this was to make her feel spoiled rotten as she basked in his attentions. He was paying careful attention to the way that her body reacted, either in direct response to his tongue or elsewhere on her body as her arousal continued to build. And he was listening to every noise, every breath, of course — he loved to hear the sounds she made at moments like these. He was mostly hard already, from hardly any physical stimulus — just from listening to her, and anticipating what they'd do next.

But he did hear someone call her name, distantly (— the noise wasn't so distant; his head was). Who would be interrupting? It was a woman's voice, so not her husband. Anyone else was manageable — a maid, the cook, the housekeeper, something like that. Someone that she could dispatch easily.

"Tell her to go away," he said, barely lifting his mouth from her. He expected it to be as simple as that. He even went back to what he was doing, with a mischievous look as he did — expecting that she would have to work hard to keep her voice level as she dismissed whoever was approaching the door, and then would scold him afterwards for having treated her so cruelly-sweet.

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