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I nod. I think we’ve covered that.
“And if you didn’t,” he stands behind me, crop raised, “I would punish you.”
This time he brings it down so hard I hiss in a breath. The stinging bite of the crop is more than I’m ready for. While my arousal seems to be heightening with every second that passes, the shocking pain of it makes me gasp in surprise. I’m startled by the sensations of pleasure and pain.
“Being a slave means service and obedience,” he says. “But I wouldn’t ask that of you. And I like more give and take in a relationship. Unlike other masters, I like my submissives to have a will of their own.”
Unlike other masters…
His submissives? How many has he… been with?
I bite back a response because I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
When he reaches for my hand and lifts me to my feet, I look into his eyes. “But I’m not your master,” he whispers. “And you’re not my slave, or even my submissive.” The knuckles of his fist are wrapped so tightly around the crop, it looks as if it hurts. I wonder what’s going on inside him that he continually does this push and pull, like he wants to flirt with me then regrets it, every time.
I nod. “I’m not,” I whisper back. “But I’m willing to play a little.”
His eyelids flutter closed for a brief second as if he’s trying to regain his composure before he replies, “We’ll have to, won’t we?”
I lick my lips and nod. “I think so?”
He looks up at my hair, tangled since we took the wig off, and runs his fingers through it. I like when he touches me like that. Hell, I like any way he touches me.
“We have to cut your hair.”
Of all the things he’s said to me, this one stings the most. I swallow the lump in my throat. I love my hair.
“Can’t I just wear a wig?”
“It’s too risky,” he replies, shaking his head. “It’s much safer if we cut and dye your hair.”
I look away, suddenly overcome with emotion. It isn’t just the hair, but what it symbolizes.
“You okay?”
“I need a minute.”
To my surprise, he pulls me to him. Tucking my head against his shoulder, he hugs me. “You’re doing so well,” he whispers in my ear. “This is hard, but you can do it.”
I’ve never seen this side of Thayer. I hardly know whether to trust it. I nod against his chest and close my eyes.
Is he a different person when he’s here? Is there something about my predicament that brings out his protective nature?
It’s dangerous, I realize, as I breathe in the strong, clean scent of him, as I feel his heartbeat against my cheek and revel in the touch of his naked skin against mine.
I can’t fall for him.
But how do I stop myself?
EIGHT
Thayer
It takes all my self-control not to push her up against this wall and fuck her. Claim her. Master her.
We’re in my playground, where I get whatever I want whenever I want it. She’s completely at my mercy.
And she likes it.
When she looks afraid, like this is all too much, I can’t stop myself from consoling her. Though Savannah’s put up a brave front, I can tell she’s scared.
It takes effort to ignore the raging hard-on I got just by sleeping with her beautiful body pressed up against mine.
I have to grind my teeth and force myself not to kiss her again.
When I hold her, I can feel how small and fragile she is, how easily I could crush her. When she fits into my arms like this, it’s a vivid reminder of the vulnerability she likes to pretend she doesn’t fight.
“Let’s get this over with.”
She draws in a long, deep breath, and squares her shoulders. Her jaw set, she turns to me with determination and heaves out a breath before she says, “Let’s do this.”
“If I cut your hair, you’ll look like a badly shorn sheep,” I say with a grimace.
Her eyes twinkle at me.
“You’ve got another option?”
I nod. “Have you met Cosette?”
“Nicolette’s friend?”
“Yes. She went to school for cosmetology and is willing and able to help.”
Savannah swallows. “Okay, but I don’t know if I want Cosette to see me nearly naked in your suite.”
My dick twitches. Nearly naked in your suite.
Jesus.
“You’ll wear a robe. She’ll join us after breakfast.”
“Do you have room service here?”
“Of course.”
She nods her head and bites her lip as I pick up my phone.
“Uh… Master?”
My lips quirk up. “Call me Thayer.”
“Slaves can call their masters by their first name?”
“They can do whatever their master tells them, Savannah.”
She looks abashed. “Okay then. Um. Thayer?”
“Yes?”
“How would we do the breakfast thing if I really was your slave?”
“I’d order you breakfast. Food that you like and food that serves you. I’d feed you myself.”
