Page 8 of Claiming Hannah


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“There’s Lawrence over there,” Marjorie said, thankfully breaking the spell. “I’ll introduce you to him next.”

Hannah could almost feel Mason’s gaze following her as they walked away. It took an act of will not to look back to check.

Thrusting him from her mind, Hannah followed Marjorie toward a nondescript guy in his late thirties or early forties. He had a slender build, thinning sandy-blond hair and narrow shoulders. This unprepossessing guy was The Enclave’s disciplinarian?

Head down, he sat in a large wingback chair, his legs resting on something, or was it someone?

As they got closer, Hannah saw it was indeed someone. A naked young woman with long, pin-straight shiny blond hair was on all fours, apparently serving as his footrest.

The Dom was on his cell phone, thumbs flying. He didn’t look up as they approached. “Lawrence,” Marjorie said. “I want to introduce Charlotte’s guest for tonight’s festivities. This is Hannah.”

Finally, the man looked up from his phone, fixing Hannah with pale blue eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he said, his voice warmer than she’d expected.

“You, as well,” she managed, unable to stop staring at the crouching woman at his feet.

Following her gaze, Lawrence lifted his legs from his human ottoman and leaned over the naked girl. He wrapped his hand in her hair, using it to pull her head up.

The girl, probably mid-twenties, was absolutely gorgeous, with high cheekbones, dark blue eyes, a small, upturned nose and full lips. Hannah’s immediate thought was what the hell was she doing withthisguy?

“This is slave Danielle, my proudest possession.” As he said the words, his face was transformed with happiness, his eyes lighting up as a tender smile lifted his lips.

Danielle also smiled, fixing her gaze on Lawrence with such open adoration it took Hannah’s breath away. Silently, she chided herself for judging a book by its cover. Love could find its way into the most unlikely places, and flourish there.

“Danielle,” Marjorie said, smiling down at the girl. “You might be interested to know Hannah writes under the pen name Angelique Rose.” To Hannah, she added, “Danielle’s read all your books.”

The girl’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open as she stared up at Hannah. She looked back to Lawrence. “Permission to speak, Sir?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied, stroking her cheek.

Still holding her position on hands and knees, she gushed, “Iloveyour work, Ms. Rose. I’d heard you were local. I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

Her face now warm with both embarrassment and pleasure, Hannah replied, “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” Had everyone at The Enclave read her books? The thought was both thrilling and unnerving. She had always just assumed her primary fanbase consisted of people like her—intrigued by BDSM, but with limited or no actual personal experience.

She remembered Marjorie’s remark about the slave girl, Lia, chained to her bed. While she was burning with curiosity, she couldn’t quite find the nerve to ask Lawrence what the girl’s transgression had been.

As they continued to make the rounds, Hannah had to make a conscious effort to keep from gawking, open-mouthed, at everything and everyone she saw. The scent of lust and power permeated the air. So much smooth, bare flesh, some of it freshly marked from recent whippings, accentuated by collars, cuffs and chains. Dominants in repose, a casual hand on the back of a kneeling slave’s neck or loosely holding the leash attached to the kneeling sub’s collar, was a constant reminder that she wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

Unfortunately, Hannah was so visually distracted and just plain thrilled to be there that most of the rest of the names went in one ear and right out the other.

Once they’d completed the circuit of the room, Marjorie brought Hannah to the sofa nearest the large fireplace, where she saw Anthony. As they approached, he rose to his feet, his face warm with welcome.

“I’ll leave you here,” Marjorie said, giving Hannah’s hand a friendly squeeze. “The ceremony is about to start.”

Anthony looked dashing as ever, dressed that evening in a charcoal-gray cashmere sweater over black leather pants. In his sixties, he was still quite handsome, with a full head of silver hair, dark eyes and an athletic build. He exuded a natural dominance that was extremely sexy.

“Hannah,” he said, taking both her hands in his. “It’s a pleasure to see you again after so long.” Still holding her hands, he examined her faceas if he could see past it into her soul. “I know it’s been tough this past year,” he said gently. “I’m glad you came out tonight.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said, blinking back sudden, unwelcome tears. “I’m very honored to be here. Truly.”

Letting her go, Anthony turned to a woman beside him. “This is Lucia, my slave girl and my true love.”

Lucia was a petite woman with an olive complexion, dark eyes and thick, straight black hair. With the grace of a ballet dancer, she rose from her cushion. She was naked and shaved smooth, as all the female submissives at The Enclave seemed to be. Around her neck was a beautiful slave collar made from strips of artfully woven burgundy leather, a gold O-ring at its center.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hannah,” the woman said with the hint of a Spanish accent that was pleasing to the ear. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She glanced at Anthony and back to Hannah. “As two people who were also widowed, please know it is possible to find love again, even if you don’t think so now.” She slipped her small hand into Anthony’s much larger one.

Hannah was at first taken aback. So self-absorbed in her own grief this past year, she had almost forgotten others had experienced the same loss, or worse. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, both humbled and encouraged by Lucia’s kind words.

“My slave has been looking forward to meeting you,” Anthony said, smiling. “She’s a big fan.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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