Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
He studies me a moment. “I won’t be thinking of roses,” he says softly. “I’ll be thinking of you.”
He paces in front of me, hands in his pockets. The way he looks at me makes my pussy clench.
“Um, Logan?” I tilt my head towards the door.
“That’s not what you call me,” his deep voice rolls over me. My body quivers, attuning itself to Logan the Master. Just the sound of his commanding voice is enough to prime me.
“This is a scene?”
“It is now.” He circles me, then crouches in front of me. He’s so big, even kneeling before me he’s still taller than me. “Part your legs, baby.”
Yes! “Now?” My voice comes out breathy.
He raises a dark brow.
I slide my legs open. My skirt is so tight, they can’t go far.
“Wider,” he commands and I wriggle to pull the sheath skirt up. Logan watches me fight to obey him. I get the fabric bunched around my hips and push my knees wider.
He plants his hands on my knees, touching me like he owns me. Which he does.
Casually, he slides his right hand up my bare thigh. Eyes locked on mine, he reaches between my legs to stroke the gusset of my panties. I squirm.
“Be still,” he orders. I grab the arm rests of my wheelchair, my knuckles whitening as I fight to obey his commands. My heart thumps like I'm running a race.
“You’ve been such a good girl,” he croons, still caressing me. And suddenly I’m on the edge of orgasm. My pussy is purring, as if all these months of illness, she’s been waiting, desperate for stimulation.
I half twist, rising up in the chair in an automatic attempt to avoid his touch. My arousal is on a hair-trigger. And Logan knows just where to pet me.
“Logan,” I pant.
He stills his hand. No! So close! “That’s not what you call me.”
“Master, Master, please please please—”
“Come, sweetheart.” His finger resumes brushing my pussy, butterfly light. Sensation knifes through me, snapping me in half. I bow over his arm, shaking as pleasure burns white hot.
I can barely whimper as Logan strokes me through the aftershocks, then takes out a crisp white handkerchief, removes my panties and cleans me up.
Dimly, I register him bringing the lacy scrap of my thong to his nose before making it disappear deep in his pockets. Twin red spots burn the tops of my cheeks.
He’s going to make me go out and schmooze with New Olympus’ richest without panties. I press my knees together.
“There,” Logan says. He’s not quite smiling but an air of satisfaction surrounds him like cologne. He presses a button and the elevator resumes it’s smooth ascent. “Now I can grin and bear it.”
Logan
I lurk on the edge of the garden, as far away from the milling crowd as I can get.
I glower like a brooding gargoyle at anyone who comes my way. People see my expression and detour to inflict their small talk on someone else.
I despise these sort of events, but it’s worth it to watch Daphne blossom. She’s lively and smiling in her wheelchair, sitting opposite Cora Ubeli at the very epicenter of the party. The wheelchair might as well be a throne.
She’s so beautiful. Turns my heart. Every so often, she looks my direction and directs a dazzling smile my way.
It makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and drag her away from all these potential vipers. The Ubelis might be good people, but I’d toss any other one of these fuckers off the building with no regrets. I take my station of watch seriously. Nothing will happen to Daphne while she’s away from home.
Home.
It still knocks me on my ass sometimes that I finally have one. Because of her. And I refuse to lose her, to death or any other damn thing.
Down on the flagstone courtyard, Cora Ubeli steps up onto a raised dais to make a speech. She is a striking, glittering woman dripping with jewels. There are many rumors about her rise to power at her husband’s side, but people in Olympus learned early not to gossip about the King of the Underworld’s beautiful new bride fairly early on after a couple of bloody spats.
Over the past decade, she’s only solidified she has a right to her place by his side. She stands like a queen surveying her kingdom from the raised podium, and her voice is rich and welcoming when she begins to speak. Still there’s an undertone of command that goes beyond polite matronly society.
“First of all, I want to thank Dr. Daphne Laurel, without whose research, none of this would be possible.”
There’s a scattering of applause and then Cora continues. She leans into the mic. “I knew I wanted to design a garden—a healing space where people could soak in fresh air and sunlight even while they’re recovering. But it was only through my discussions with Dr. Laurel that I realized we could do something much more special. That we could educate as well as appreciate beauty. The plants here all have medicinal uses.”