Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
His smile broadened to something more genuine. He had lovely, even white teeth. “And rope, I hope. We mustn’t forget rope.”
Lia laughed, some of her tension easing. “Yes. Rope is good. Absolutely.”
“Glad to hear that.”
He didn’t elaborate, instead gently dabbing the salve over Lia’s heated skin. She relaxed into his touch, a sigh of pleasure escaping her lips. Almost instantly, the salve’s anesthetic properties soothed away any lingering sting. It smelled good, too, of cloves and eucalyptus.
“There’s only one mark here that might give you a little trouble.” He ran a finger lightly over a tender spot at the top of her left buttock. “What’s your pain level, overall?”
“I’m fine. Ready for round two.”
Jesus. Had she really just said that? She sounded like an idiot. To cover her discomfiture, she reached back to touch the welt. He’d put an extra dab over it, leaving it gooey to the touch. “I’m not sure about sitting on Enclave furniture with this salve still on my skin.”
“You could always kneel on a floor cushion like a proper slave,” Beau suggested with an arched brow.
“No, thank you,” Lia said staunchly. “I’m no slave girl.”
Beau chuckled. “Is that so?” He reached for one of the robes. “While it’s a shame to cover such beauty, perhaps this is the solution?”
Lia eagerly reached for the robe.
“Not so fast,” he said with a wicked grin. “I’m intrigued by the BDSM triskelion tattoo you have right over your pretty little cunt. Is that a sign to the vanilla boys that they need not apply?”
Lia laughed. “Yep. That about sums it up.”
Before she could react, he reached down, cupping her shaven, tattooed mons. The tips of his fingers grazed her outer labia, sending a jolt of pure lust directly to her nipples. Startled both by his uninvited touch and her own visceral reaction, Lia took an abrupt step back, causing his hand to fall away.
Beau’s eyelids hooded, a dominant fire turning his green eyes dark.
Lia never blushed, but damn if her face wasn’t in flames. To cover her desire and embarrassment, she stood on tiptoe and yanked the robe from Beau’s hand. She shrugged into it, pulling the sash tight around her waist.
Beau chuckled. “Now I see why Anthony used the word feisty to describe you, young lady. I think a good, hard spanking is in order to remind you of your manners.”
“Better men have tried and failed,” she quipped, pleased she was back in control, or at least doing a good imitation.
“Mark mentioned you were in The Enclave’s slave training program, but that things didn’t quite work out. What’s the story there?”
Lia groaned. How much did Beau know? He was Mark’s friend and guys talked. “Short answer—I quit before they tossed me out. I thought maybe their full immersion training would enlighten me about true submission. All it did was end up convincing me what I think I already knew—I’m no sub.”
Beau regarded her with such a penetrating stare that she had to look away. “I wonder,” he said musingly.
“I’m starving,” she said, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “A good whipping always whets my appetite. Let’s get something to eat.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Beau agreed easily, though somehow she sensed they weren’t done with the topic of her failure.
They made their way to one of the snack tables. Lia piled her plate with savory snacks, taking a second plate for the dessert items. Beau, whose single plate held perhaps a third of Lia’s, laughed as he watched her selecting items.
“Where the heck are you going to put all that? You can’t weigh more than ninety pounds.”
Balancing her plates, Lia drew herself up to her full five foot one. “I’ll have you know I weigh a hundred pounds. All of it solid muscle,” she added with a lift of her chin. “I practice Tae Bo. You don’t want to cross me.”
Beau laughed. “I’ll remember that.”
He led her to some comfortable chairs in a quiet corner of the room. He had thoughtfully snagged two more bottles of water, which he set on the small table between them. Shrugging off his gear bag, he set it beside his chair. They concentrated on their food for a few minutes, which, as always at The Enclave, was spectacular.
“Man,” Lia groaned with pleasure, licking her fingers. “Master Mason sure can cook.”
“That’s the chef? The one who’s in love with the writer?” Clearly, Beau knew a lot about this place and the people who lived here.
Lia grinned in spite of herself, still not quite able to reconcile the idea of Mason in love. “Yep. He’s also incredibly skilled with knives and blood play. I wasn’t his favorite person, though.” She frowned at the memory. “I was too much about the erotic pain, not enough about the protocol, slave positions and the endless kneeling and begging.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking, signing up for sub training. As one of my trainers—Master Drill Sergeant, I mean Master Lawrence—so charmingly put it, ‘You can put lipstick on a pig, but in the end she’s still a pig.’”