Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Whoa,” she breathed. Then, quickly recalling herself, she added, “Permission to speak, Sir?”
He continued to stroke her ass, more of the soothing ointment on his hands. “Granted.”
“What is that stuff you’re using?” It had a lovely fragrance, too—eucalyptus, clove and something else—sage? “It’s amazing.”
“Mistress Aubrey, our resident doctor, developed this salve for impact play aftercare,” Mason said, still stroking her. She liked the feel of his hands moving over her skin. “There’s a compounding pharmacy in town that makes up large batches for our private use. I don’t know what all’s in it exactly, but I do know that medical-grade CBD oil is one of the key ingredients. Our slaves swear by it. As you might imagine, given our lifestyle and our training program, we order it by the case.”
Finally, he gave her bottom a perfunctory pat and got to his feet. Wiping his hands on a cloth, he said, “Punishment over. Slate wiped clean. There’ll probably be some bruising, but that’s to be expected.”
Bruising! Hannah wasn’t sure if she was horrified or thrilled. Maybe a little of both.
He held out his hand. “We need to head down to get lunch ready for the hordes. Up you go.”
Feeling suddenly nearly overcome with fatigue, Hannah would have much rather stayed right where she was on the comfortable bed, her ass now tingling pleasantly. She very nearly begged him to come back—to stay beside her and keep doing what he was doing. His touch had felt so good. She’d been bereft of touch—of intimacy—for too long.
What if, instead of her trainer, Mason was her lover? Would he lie down beside her and pull her gently into his arms? Would she rest her head on his chest as he stroked her hair and murmured sweet things in her ear?
Whoa. Come back to planet Earth. Mason is not your lover. He’s not even your type. Not with all those tattoos and that shaved head, not to mention his gruff manner and swaggering arrogance.
Hannah accepted his offered hand and let him pull her upright. She swayed, suddenly dizzy.
“Take it easy,” Mason said, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder.
Hannah’s head cleared. “Thank you, Sir,” she said, glad Mason couldn’t read all the tumultuous thoughts tumbling through her brain. “I’m fine now. I just need to use the bathroom real quick.”
“Not a problem.”
Mason’s bathroom was large and well appointed, with two sinks set into marble countertops and a huge Jacuzzi -type bathtub. There was a toilet and a bidet, both of them ultra-modern. She realized as she looked around that Mason had followed her into the bathroom.
“Uh, I’m good, thanks,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint and give her some privacy.
He didn’t, instead moving to one of the sinks. Turning on the water, he grabbed the bar of soap and washed his hands. As he reached for the hand towel, he gave her a quizzical look. “Why are you just standing there?”
Duh. Did she really have to spell it out?
Apparently she did. “I need to pee, Sir,” she said, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.
Mason raised a brow, a sardonic smile on his face. “Permission is granted, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” He gestured with his chin toward the toilet. “Go on. Get a move on. We have work to do.”
A test. That’s what this was. Hannah bit back a sigh as she sat on the toilet. Thank goodness she only needed to pee. She stole a glance at Mason.
Hands on his hips, he was staring directly at her, one brow lifted, a smirk on his face.
Looking away again, Hannah finally managed to pee. Finishing as quickly as she could, she flushed the toilet and jumped up to wash her hands, all the while avoiding eye contact.
Then she hurried out of the bathroom, making a beeline for her dress, which she’d left in a heap in the play area.
As she bent to retrieve it, Mason appeared suddenly beside her. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting my dress, Sir,” she said, stating what should have been obvious. “So we can get down to the kitchen and get lunch served.”
But before she could slip the dress over her head, Mason plucked it from her fingers. “Have you already forgotten? Slave girls don’t cover themselves. The only thing I want to see you wearing right now is this.” He hooked a finger into the O-ring at the center of her collar.
“Your body belongs to me now, at least for the next few days,” he said, using the O-ring to pull her closer. “While I will respect your hard limits”—he made a face as he said those words, as if he smelled something rotten—“I’ll use and display your body as it pleases me.” He let go of the collar and took a step back. “You said it in one of your own novels, Angelique,” he added with a grin. “There is no place for modesty in a slave’s repertoire.”