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)
“That won’t be necessary, Sir,” said a male voice, his tone polite but firm.
Damon turned to see a slight man of around fifty. He was shirtless, his body covered in tattoos, nipples pierced, a thick leather collar around his neck. “Thank you for your service. You can go now. I’ll handle my Mistress’s aftercare.”
Damon raised a brow, startled by this completely unexpected turn of events.
Saskia was watching them with an amused expression. “Yes,” she said. “My slave boy will handle the aftercare. You’re free to go.”
Damon wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, affronted or amused. He decided to go with amused. Offering her a smart salute, he grabbed his gear bag and made his escape. If nothing else, she’d provided a distraction for a while. It was getting late. Maybe he was finally exhausted enough to get some sleep.
As he headed for his car, he tried to focus on his upcoming trip. It was good he was leaving the country for the next five days. Traveling would provide an excellent opportunity to completely shift his focus. He’d throw himself into Marty’s project and give it his full attention. He’d put all thoughts of willing, beautiful slave girls firmly out of his mind.
Chapter 27
Ellen lifts her arms in front of her face, admiring the dark leather wrist cuffs against her pale skin. She turns her head to see Master Damon. He is lying on his back, an arm flung carelessly over his forehead, his lips softly parted in sleep.
Relief and joy fill her with equal measure. She had thought he was gone, but here he is. He’s in her bed. He never left her.
Rolling toward him, she leans up and places a light kiss on his shoulder. His skin is warm and smells of wood smoke and cloves. He turns toward her, his beautiful, cool gray-green eyes slowly opening to focus on her.
“Hey,” he says with a sleepy smile. He holds out his arms. “Come give me a proper kiss.”
She moves toward him, an almost painful, desperate need blooming inside her. But he is no longer beside her. He has rolled away, his back to her. She tries to move closer but something is hampering her movements. She thrashes, struggling to get free as he recedes farther from her reach.
“Wait,” she cries as the distance between them inexplicably grows. “Don’t go!” She can’t make him hear her. She can’t stop his disappearing before her eyes. Her words are muffled by something pressing down on her, suffocating her. She is pinned to the bed, unable to move, unable to breathe…
Ellen woke abruptly, panic blooming as she thrashed and struggled to get free. As she came more fully awake, she realized her pillow was over her face, her limbs caught in the twisted sheets.
Reality came crashing back like a tidal wave. She nearly cried out from the force of it. Damon hadn’t been in her bed. He hadn’t smiled sleepily at her and held out his arms. She was alone. He was gone. With a cry of frustration, she hurled the pillow across the bed.
At least it was morning. She could get up, get going with her day and put the stupid dream behind her. It was worse when she woke in the middle of the night, certain he was beside her, only to realize she was alone.
In the three days since they’d parted, she’d done her best to move forward—to let go. Kayla had gotten her through that first awful night. And work had been a great solace and distraction in the ensuing days. When she was painting, her mind emptied, her focus entirely on her illustrations.
The evenings were the hardest. She wanted to hate him. That would have been so much easier. But it was hard to hate what had made her feel the most alive.
Jaime had texted her several times, offering encouragement and understanding, and sending information about upcoming auctions. While Ellen didn’t yet feel ready to commit to another Dom for any length of time, she appreciated Jaime’s continuing concern. She was turning out to be a real friend.
As hard as this week had been so far, Ellen was proud of herself. She’d promised herself in no uncertain terms that she would not be the first one to reconnect, and so far at least, she’d stuck to her guns.
Which wasn’t to say she hadn’t composed a dozen or more texts on her phone.
Hey, there. Just checking in how you’re doing, Sir. I hope you are well.
Good morning, Master Damon. I was thinking about your offer to meet at the club. I’m game if you are!
I miss you, Damon. Do you miss me?
Please reconsider extending our contract, Sir. I miss you so much. I need to feel your strong arms around me at night. I long for the kiss of your whip. I want to cook breakfast for you. I want to watch movies with you on your laptop while we eat buttered popcorn and snuggle by the fire. I want you to tell me you love me. I want to wear your cuffs and your collar and your marks…