Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“And, see? You’re feeling better, right? Forget chicken soup. Give me chocolate any day.”
Rowan smiled. Maybe Brandon was right. Things weren’t so dire, surely? As Brandon pointed out, it was only her first day—her first morning. She would do better. She had to do better. There was simply no other option.
Brandon nudged the box of chocolates toward her. “You need more chocolate therapy. Pick another one.”
“No, no thank you,” Rowan replied automatically, immediately regretting her refusal as she stared down at the pretty confections.
“Come on,” Brandon coaxed, grinning. “You know you want it.”
“Okay, okay.” She managed an answering smile. “Maybe just one more. I don’t want to eat up your stash.”
“Have as many as you like. I’ve got an endless supply.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” he replied with a smug grin. “There’s a certain member here at the club who has a soft spot for me. She always requests my services when she visits, and she always gives me these incredible chocolates as a thank-you. Not that she needs to pay me, of course,” he added hastily. “I serve at the pleasure of all the members.”
“What’s that like?” Rowan shook her head, trying to imagine herself in his place, and failing.
“It’s definitely not for everyone,” Brandon asserted. “In fact, between you and me, I think Cleo might be having second thoughts. That girl is falling for Master Jack, whether she admits it or not.”
Rowan was intrigued by this new information. She’d instantly liked Cleo when they’d met just before the disastrous session began. Cleo had been so kind, instantly intuiting Rowan’s anxiety and offering words of encouragement. It hadn’t occurred to Rowan that the self-possessed sub might be embroiled in some kind of love affair. How was that even allowed?
“I don’t get it,” she said, scrunching her brow. “Isn’t Cleo owned by Master Grayson and Mistress Dominique, too? Won’t she be punished for getting involved with another Master?”
Brandon shook his head with a smile. “No, no. First of all, Master Jack bought Cleo in the fundraising auction we just held. She’s his to do with as he pleases for the five-day term. That’s why she’s not around at the moment. Second of all, that’s not how our setup with our owners here at the Masters Club works.”
He examined the box of chocolates, selected a truffle coated with a fine dusting of cinnamon and continued, “Mistress Dominique and Master Grayson are very happily married. But because they’re both dominant, they get their BDSM needs met with others. It’s a great honor to be chosen to serve them, but our slave contracts become void if or when either party wants out. They’ve told each of us explicitly that if we happen to find a one-on-one love connection with another, we’re free to follow our hearts. Me, I’m very happy just as I am, at least for now. I love the variety I’m afforded by serving all members. But Cleo’s situation is different. She has a history—a backstory—and that story involves Master Jack.”
He chuckled. “But that’s her story to tell, not mine. Let’s get back to you. First, have another truffle.” He waved toward the open box.
She really should resist, but that burnt caramel truffle was calling her name. As she bit into it, she moaned again, losing herself in its chocolaty perfection.
Brandon selected a truffle and popped the entire thing into his mouth. Jumping up from the bed, he went to the small refrigerator under the desk and returned a moment later with a bottle of chilled water. “Champagne goes better, but this will have to do for now,” he said, holding it out.
“Thanks,” Rowan replied. It was as easy and relaxing to talk to Brandon as it had been with Cleo earlier that morning. Both of them seemed so comfortable in their skin, so confident in their erotic servitude. They radiated a quiet, serene certainty regarding their innate submission. Would she ever feel that way—really feel it, deep in her bones? How long must she act “as if” before she made it?
Again settling beside her, Brandon asked, “So, what’re you here for, exactly? Did I hear correctly that your Master is considering bringing another slave into your household?”
“Yeah,” Rowan said, not bothering to hide the grumpiness in her tone. “I know a proper slave girl is supposed to be fine with the idea, but I’m having a really hard time with it,” she admitted. “I guess I thought there was a place for romance in BDSM—you know, the kisses and the flowers?” She snorted. “I know, teenage girly stuff, right?”
“I don’t know,” Brandon said thoughtfully. “I think there can be a place for that, too, depending on the couple. There are as many ways to express your love in a BDSM relationship as there are in a vanilla one.”
Rowan nodded. “That’s what I would think, too. But Master John says the romance can’t come until the exchange of power is genuine. He says he knows what I need better than I do. He says I need to accept his choices and embrace them as my own. I’m trying. I really am. But why aren’t I enough for him?”