Overall, she might not be in mint condition, but for her age, she was doing okay.
More than okay if Boudreaux’s reaction was any indication.
But then, she didn’t care what he thought, did she?
No.
With a soft sigh, she let her hands drop and walked across to the nightstand to turn on the lamp before slipping into her pajamas. If Reaux was brave enough to disobey her directive and sneak into her bed, he was going to have a big shock.
Fancy silk nightwear didn’t exist in her cozy home. Why bother when she went to bed alone every night? The sleep shortsand T-shirt she wore through summer had been washed and returned to their drawer a couple weeks ago; now bedtime was all about the flannel.
Warm and snuggly, with no access for ex-Doms.
Once she was appropriately attired, she switched off the main light switch and tucked herself under the covers. Normally, the open fire would be burning, banked for the night, and she’d spend an hour reading if she was in the mood.
Tonight, however, was anything but normal, and her thirst for reading nonexistent. A quick scroll through social media videos held no appeal, so she turned off the light and tried to will herself to fall asleep.
Of course, mind and body decided now was the perfect time to reflect on the day’s events—one in particular. It was hard not to recall every stroke of Reaux’s hands on her body, the grip of his fingers on her hips, the exquisite sensation of his cock taking back what it owned.
Fuck, it was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.
Boudreaux
The couch was an excellent punishment. Not only was it several inches too short for his frame, harder than a plank sandwiched between two rocks, and just generally anatomically incompatible with the human form, the damn thing kept him away from Violet all night.
Well, technically, his desire to prove his obedience and willingness to be an exemplary submissive was the root cause of that separation, he admitted to himself. Dom Reaux never would’ve let a door stand between him and what he wanted, but for now, he was on vacation and the rules they were playing by were not his own.
Groaning, he sat up as the gray light of dawn filtered through the windows and scrubbed his hands over his face. Stubble scraped his palms with a quiet rasping sound that irritated his already jangled nervous system; he was accustomed to a sound night’s sleep, waking refreshed and ready to tackle the day, whatever it brought.
This morning, he was awake hours ahead of schedule, feeling as though he’d tumbled off the top of a high mountain, bouncing his way to the bottom and surviving, only to get creamed by an eighteen-wheeler before he could catch his breath.
Added to that, he just knew that when Violet walked out of the bedroom, she’d give him the full ice queen routine, shutting him out, reaffirming his position in her life as an unimportant, discardable pissant.
Hah, watch her try and freeze him out.
Two years apart couldn’t negate the knowledge he’d amassed during their decade together. Yes, she’d changed, but some things remained the same—it was human nature.
Carefully, he stood and stretched with no small amount of caution. Muscles twanged and pulled, his ass ached, and his morning wood was distinctly tender from a certain Mistress’s spiky massage.
God willing, she’d go easy on him today but he doubted it.
The Mistress didn’t seem receptive to being merciful. If anything, she’d probably wake up with a dozen different ways to torture him with the goal of making him surrender and retreat. Right now, he couldn’t think of anything she could dream up that would force his hand that way, but then, he wasn’t an angry woman with retribution for a broken heart in mind.
Still, she might appreciate some breakfast, no?
He thought about the little love notes he used to tuck under her plate every morning, and wondered if resurrecting that small ritual would soften her heart or send her into a tailspin of volatile emotion.
The way his luck was swinging, she’d smash the plate into his face like a custard pie, then chew up the note and spit it out for good measure.
Reaux tottered gingerly toward the bathroom, finally gaining a true appreciation for exactly how a sub felt after an anal play scene, and relieved himself without too much humiliation. He washed the sleep out of his eyes and, rather than risk Violet’s wrath by retrieving his toothbrush from her room, simply borrowed hers.
Feeling more like himself despite the lack of deep sleep, he padded back out into the hallway, almost colliding with a tall, curvy female. “Morning, Vi—who the hell are you?”
A pair of thin, pale brown eyebrows lifted in surprise. They’d been so viciously plucked, there was hardly anything left. Murky green eyes surveyed him in a slow up-down movement that set alarm bells ringing in his head. “Good morning to you too, handsome. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone; the Mistress isn’t usually an early riser… or blessed with company.”
Reaux frowned. “Ever?”
The woman shrugged. “Not in the year she’s been here. I service this section of cabins nearly every day and this is the first time I’ve ever seen a man here.”
