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)
Hannah laughed. “Those were definitely factors. Then there was the fact of two little kids at home and a husband gunning for partner in his law firm, working sixty-plus hours per week. Not to mention a revolving door of nannies who looked good on paper but could never live up to my expectations. Which isn’t to say I’m sorry I tried it. While I learned a lot, the key thing I figured out was that I don’t have the drive it takes to make it in that kind of environment. Turns out, I’d much rather be at home playing with the kids or sitting with my laptop, tapping out stories, though it would be years before I actually made any money at it.”
She groaned, theatrically slapping her forehead. “Oh, god. Listen to me. Blathering on about stuff I’m sure you have zero interest in.”
Mason chuckled. “Hey, I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested.” He snorted, adding, “Blathering? Is that even a word?”
“Of course it’s a word,” she said, sounding for all the world like his fifth grade teacher. “It means to go on and on about something or, as my meemaw used to say, ‘holding forth.’”
“Your meemaw?” Mason repeated incredulously, still laughing. “Seriously?”
“What?” she demanded, affronted but grinning. “Meemaw and Papaw. Perfectly respectable Southern grandparent names. Where are you from, anyway?”
“Upstate New York,” Mason replied.
“Ah, that explains it. A Yankee,” Hannah said.
“Guilty as charged,” Mason agreed. “Though I’ve been down here since graduating culinary school.” They were entering the city of Asheville now, and he eased into the traffic that was getting worse every year.
“Were you ever married?” Hannah asked, adding quickly, “I mean, if that’s not too personal a question.”
“Nah. Turnabout is fair play, after all.” Mason shrugged. “The short answer is no. I guess I never found the right woman. Or the time. Forget sixty-hour work weeks. I was clocking up to ninety hours in some of the kitchens I worked in. People hooked up all the time, sure. But no one really had time for a relationship. We would all be so hopped up and overtired by the time the workday ended, often not until two or three in the morning. For a while, the only way I could unwind was with drugs and alcohol. That worked until it didn’t.”
Suddenly aware how much he was sharing, or oversharing, he glanced at Hannah. Based on the somewhat sheltered suburban life she’d described for herself, would she judge him regarding his casual references to hooking up, drinking and drugging?
But all he saw was interest in her expression. She was watching him intently, as if hanging on his every word. While he appreciated her listening so raptly, it also made him uneasy. Especially since he’d just opened that can of worms about his past self-destructive behavior.
Eager to head off any probing questions in that regard, he rushed on, “I eventually saved up enough to open my own restaurant, and then I was even busier. Forget a relationship, I barely had time to breathe. I was burning out by forty. BDSM was my only real release valve. It was my salvation, really. Then I met Anthony and Brandon, and the timing was perfect. They needed a live-in chef. I needed a major change. Win-win all around.”
He pulled into the small parking lot of his favorite local butcher shop and cut the engine. Hannah accompanied him inside.
He asked for her input as he selected various cuts of beef and pork. He was impressed when she made the same selections he would have. Ditto at the fish store and his favorite farmer’s market.
When the car was loaded with provisions, Mason drove to a secluded spot on the edge of town behind a boarded-up warehouse. He left the engine idling as he turned to Hannah. “As of now, we resume your training, sub girl. You will abide by the earlier rules of only speaking when asked a direct question, or first requesting and receiving permission. You will do exactly as I say during the drive. Understood?”
Hannah’s eyes had widened as he spoke. “Yes, Sir.”
“Unbuckle your seatbelt, remove your panties and hand them to me.”
She glanced quickly out the windows, looking adorably nervous. Then she did as he said, lifting her hips and sliding a pair of silky pink panties down her legs. Her cheeks flushed, she handed him the panties.
He tossed them in the back seat and directed, “Now the bra.” He watched with impressed amusement as she executed that most feminine of tricks of getting her bra off without removing her top. The knit fabric hugged her full breasts and her nipples, he was pleased to note, were fully erect.
He tossed the bra in the back seat as well, and then reached back to retrieve the small gear bag he’d packed for the trip. As he unzipped it, he directed, “Put your seatbelt back on.”