Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
You could have refused, she reminded herself. He gave you an out before the contract was signed. You walked into this arrangement with eyes wide open. Take what you can from this experience and leave the rest.
And, to be fair, what he said made a certain kind of sense. He was telling her he needed the security of a safeword. It would allow him to take her deeper into the total power exchange, and that was all to the good.
If he was just using her to enjoy some kind of kinky vacation, so be it. She would capitalize on the time they did have to further hone her submissive skills. There would always be another auction. She had time to find Master Right.
“Lemon,” she said with a lift of her chin. “My safeword is lemon.”
But I’ll be damned if I use it.
They had a late lunch of roast beef sandwiches and steaming vegetable soup. Master Damon actually prepared the meal while Ellen took a shower. Lingering at the table, he said, “So, I read in your profile that you write kids’ books for a living. How did you get started doing that?”
Ellen smiled, surprised but pleased that he would take an interest in her work, given the limited nature of their arrangement.
“In college, I majored in graphic design with a minor in fine art. As part of my senior thesis, I wrote and illustrated a book to help toddlers handle their feelings. My professor was super supportive and thought I should try to get it published. She knew someone at Penguin Random House, which didn’t hurt. They actually agreed to publish the first one, even giving me an advance on the royalties. I had zero expectations, but the book sold well. I did four more in that series and now I’m branching out with some new ideas. I never thought I’d actually make a living doing what I love.”
“Wow, that’s awesome,” Master Damon said. “I don’t have a creative bone in my body. I’d love to see your stuff sometime.”
“Sure,” Ellen agreed, pleased. “Obviously, I don’t have my books here, but you can google me—Ellen Rosen. I’ve got a website. My stuff sells on Amazon and some other online sites, as well as in brick-and-mortar bookstores.”
“Cool. I’ll do that,” he replied.
Deciding turnabout was fair play, she asked, “What about you? I know you’ve got a military background and now you’re a private security consultant. What is that exactly?”
“We work with government contractors and critical infrastructure providers like water treatment facilities, transportation hubs, communication networks—stuff like that. I’m based out of Charlotte but I employ people all over the country—most of them ex-military like me. In a nutshell, we assess existing security measures, identify vulnerabilities and recommend strategies to enhance security.”
“Sounds complicated.”
Master Damon shrugged. “It can be challenging. But my military career gave me good training in critical decision making, operating in dynamic and unpredictable environments, adaptability and problem solving. I’ve had a lot of on-the-ground experience with that kind of thing.”
“How did you get involved in the military?”
“I come from a military family—father, uncle, older brother.” A sudden scowl moved over his face. “Miller men serve their country, period,” he said in a hard voice, a voice not his own. “It’s not a choice, it’s a duty.”
Ellen was startled by the sudden bitterness in his tone. But before she had time to ponder it, his expression smoothed and he shrugged.
“It was understood that I would go to West Point, and that’s what I did. After graduation, I wanted to do something that mattered. Special ops forces are often involved in missions with global impact, addressing threats to national security in various regions that ultimately affect us in the United States as well. After a stint in Germany, I was assigned to head up a group responsible for locating, capturing and neutralizing a particular high-ranking and highly dangerous terrorist leader in the Middle East.”
“Gosh. That sounds really dangerous. Did you get the guy?”
Master Damon’s expression darkened. “Yeah. We got him. Eventually.”
Ellen sensed there was a lot more to the story but she didn’t want to press. “Is that how you got that scar?” she dared. “While serving in the Middle East?”
His hand rose to touch the long silver line. “Yeah.”
Something in his expression closed, as if a curtain had just fallen between them. He pushed back from the table and got to his feet.
“Enough chitchat. We have an aborted scene that needs addressing.”
It took Ellen a moment to switch gears. “I’m sorry?”
“You know what they say about falling off a horse, right? You’ve got to get right back on if you want to succeed.”
Ellen’s stomach swooped unpleasantly. He wasn’t seriously going to force her back into the stockade for a repeat performance, was he?
Something in her face must have registered her dismay because he said, “Relax, Ellen. I’m not throwing you to the wolves. We’re going to take baby steps. And I’ll be with you for each of those steps.”