“Your… what?”
He releases a harsh breath. “My slave.”
What?
The flare of alarm quickly fades when he brushes his lips across the naked skin at my collarbone.
I close my eyes behind the blindfold and brace against the sudden rush of heat and warmth and need.I want to be beneath him. I want to feel him slide into me. I want to feel his naked skin against mine. I want him to break me, then put me back together again, bit by bit.
Wait. Maybe sometimes I let my writer’s imagination get the best of me.
Surely, he didn’t sayslave.
As in… like, captive. Bond servant. Serf. Servant?
Property?
I must have misheard him.
“Ha! So I thought you saidslave,” I snort.
“I did.”
I open my mouth to say something else, when I hear him mutter, “Goddamn, I can’t believe I didn’t bring a gag.”
Holy hell, this guy has cast-iron rocks.
“I’m going to open that door. The second I do, you’re my slave. We’ll talk about what that means later, but for now it means you’re in complete and utter submission to me. Your one and only job is to listen and obey. Yeah, you can give me that mouthy master bullshit speech later, which I’m sure you’re just dying to do. For now, you do what I tell you without question, and you’ll make it to my bedroom without earning yourself a punishment session.”
My cheeks heat, but I have no time to process this when I hear the unmistakable sound of a door opening. I swallow hard when hushed voices welcome him in French.
Who knew the beautiful language could make even slavery sound classy?
Thayer doesn’t bother with formalities or politeness, but issues commands in a harsh, authoritative voice. Though they speak in French, I understand them easily.
“Is my room ready?”
“Yes, sir, of course, sir.”
“Thank you. Do we have any new arrivals?”
“No, sir. We have closed our doors to new visitors since we received your call and sent notifications that we will not be receiving new guests until further notice.”
He’s practically holding me beside him as we walk at a brisk pace. I shiver when a cold gust of wind tickles my neck. Without a word, he tucks me closer to him, so I’m pressed against the warmth of his body while he continues the interrogation and quick pace.
“Very good. Have all security staff been called?”
“Yes, sir.”
It’s late at night, the wee hours of the morning, I’m guessing, yet his staff members are ready to listen and obey.
Interesting.
I hear the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing. Hushed voices. The rush of falling water. My heels click on the smooth, slippery floor—marble?—before quickly muting when my feet sink into plush carpet. Classical music plays on speakers seemingly all around us, beautiful but achingly sad. The scent of mint and lavender permeates the air around us, as if we’re in a luxury spa.
“Ah, Thayer. Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Didn’t know I’d be back.” The tone of his voice gives me the impression he isn’t super cool about talking to this person.
