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Despite the way it had ended, there were lots of silver linings from the experience. It had helped her to understand her own mind and heart. After a lifetime of longing and yearning, she now knew for sure that she was indeed a submissive masochist. She craved erotic pain and loved the edgy thrill of being taken firmly in hand by a strong Dom.
But she’d also learned that her desire to submit didn’t extend past the bedroom or the dungeon. If and when she was ready for a new partner, she hoped she’d find someone who shared her sensibilities—someone who could accept that, while she adored the intensity of erotic submission, it wasn’t something she could, or even wanted, to sustain 24/7.
After the massage, Charlotte and Hannah took quick showers and then, back in their comfy robes, they were treated to hot, spiced tea and cinnamon cookies. Once dressed, they were offered complimentary makeovers. Afterward, Charlotte bought several hundred dollars-worth of makeup and creams.
“Wow,” Hannah said as they walked together into the brisk sunshine. “That was amazing. I feel like a new woman. How can I repay you?”
“Easy,” Charlotte said with a grin, touching her slave collar. “It’s Master Jim’s birthday on Sunday. He loves anything chocolate. Oh, and he loves custard, too.”
“How about chocolate éclairs with custard filling?” Hannah suggested.
“Perfect,” Charlotte enthused. “You’re the best.”
When Hannah returned home, she no longer felt like writing. Having learned from years of wrestling with her creative process, she knew it would be useless to return to the laptop until she was ready.
Instead, she opted to do a practice run with the éclairs. It had been years since she’d made them, and the choux pastry that formed the shell of the dessert could be a challenge.
She pulled out her dessert binder, which was filled with recipes she’d collected over the years, some cut from newspapers, some downloaded from the internet, some handed down from her mother and grandmother, some she’d created herself after lots of trial and error.
The éclair recipe had come from her brief tenure in culinary school. The page was stained with a circle of ancient butter grease and a few daubs of chocolate, par for the course of a dessert chef, she thought with a smile. She had everything she needed except the milk and heavy cream.
After a quick run to the store for those ingredients, she changed intoher sweats and an old T-shirt and got to work. Several hours later she had the filled pastries cooling in the refrigerator. After heating heavy cream in a saucepan, she poured it over the semi-sweet chocolate chips for her chocolate ganache glaze. As the chocolate melted into the hot cream, she whisked it until a smooth sauce had formed. Pulling out the plate from the fridge, she sat down at the table to dip the custard-filled éclairs into the ganache, licking her fingers as she worked.
She had just finished glazing the éclairs and had put on the kettle for tea when the doorbell rang for the second time that day. Wiping her hands on her apron, she headed to the front door. Pulling it open, she expected to find the package on the porch, the delivery guy already driving away.
Instead, a tall, imposing man with a shaved head and a nervous smile stood there. He wore a black leather jacket, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.
“Hey there,” Mason said.
Chapter 30
Hannah stared up at him, her mouth falling open. She looked way better than a woman had a right to, her hair glossy, her unusual silvery-blue eyes bright in her pretty face. There was a dab of flour on her chin, her chef’s apron dotted with what looked like chocolate.
After several long seconds, Mason ventured, “Uh… Can I come in?”
Still she hesitated, as if pondering whether to slam the door in his face. During those few seconds, Mason fought an internal battle, at once chiding himself for coming in the first place—he should have texted or emailed or even called to test the waters—and holding back his nearly uncontrollable desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
But then she took a step back, gesturing him inside.
Before she could change her mind, he stepped across the threshold. The scent of melted chocolate and caramelized sugar filled the air.
“Something smells really good,” he said, his carefully planned speech of apology gone completely out of his head.
“What’re you doing here?” she blurted. Then color washed over her face. He’d almost forgotten how easily she blushed. “That came out wrong,” she quickly added.
“No,” Mason said. “It’s a reasonable question. The short answer is I wanted to see you.” The longer answer was far more complicated, so he left it at that, for now. “But you look like you were in the middle of something. If it’s not a good time…”
“No. It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve been baking.” She glanced down at herself, giving a nervous little laugh. “Obviously.”
Unable to resist, he reached out and wiped at her floury chin with two fingers. She took a step back, her hand flying to her chin as if he’d burned her.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “You had flour on your chin.”
Fuck. What had made him think he could show up out of the blue after the way things had ended? She clearly didn’t want him there. He should just go.
“Look, I—” The unmistakable sound of a tea kettle’s whistle interrupted his words.
“Oh,” Hannah exclaimed. “My kettle. I should get that.”
