Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I continue talking and washing her sweet, petite little body. “That’s right. Let go. I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to do a thing.”
I lift her arm and run just the tips of my fingers up and down her forearm, then up to her biceps. I brush a bar of pink soap underneath her armpit and she giggles and drops her arm back down.
It’s the most precious and adorable sound and I immediately want to hear it again, so I pull her arm up and repeat the motion. Her giggle is even more high-pitched this time. She squirms and splashes, trying to get away from me.
She flips like a fish in my arms but I’m even quicker, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the sides of the tub as I flip, too, looming over her. Water droplets gleam like gemstones on her eyelashes and she’s still laughing but she quickly sobers, her eyes searching mine back and forth.
“Will you take off the mask?” she asks, breathless. “I want to see you.”
If there’s one thing that could sour my mood, it’s that question.
“No, you don’t,” I bark, pulling back, but only so that I can grab her by the waist and bend her over the side of the large tub.
“Elbows on the marble. On your knees.” The tub has a wide marble lip on all sides and I indicate where she’s to position herself.
Her eyes flash back up to mine uncertainly and I narrow mine at hers. This isn’t a democracy. “Now,” I order.
She nods and gets into position, knees in the water so that just her rear end peeks out of the water, arms on the wet marble. I frown. The marble might be uncomfortable on her elbows so I reach for a towel and place it underneath them. Her breath hitches—at my nearness or because she’s thankful for the towel, I’m not sure.
Without thinking, I lay a hand on her spine and run it up and down—a gesture of comfort? No. I wouldn’t know how. I just want contact with her. Every second I go without touching her feels wrong somehow.
All I know is my own body relaxes as soon as contact is reestablished. “That’s a good girl,” I murmur. “Such a good girl.”
I grab a soft washcloth from the ledge and dip it into the soapy water. “I’m going to make you dirty, over and over. I’m going to make you such a filthy girl.”
I run the hot, dripping cloth down her perfect, peach-plump ass and her back arches ever so slightly. Always so responsive.
“And then I’ll clean you up so good.”
I drag the cloth up the inside of her thigh beneath the water, emerging right at her sex. “I’ll clean this sweet little pussy after you cum and squirt your filthy juices down your leg.”
A shudder runs down her spine and my own cock lengthens. But this isn’t about me. Not yet. I’ll take this so slow, so achingly slowly, that she’ll be begging me. And then I still won’t give it to her.
A smile curves my lips. Oh, how I’m going to torture her. And not out of revenge. No, I’m going to torture her so that I become her only Master.
I’m going to initiate her into every pleasure she never imagined even existed. I’m going to introduce her to her own body, to her own desires, and finally, finally…maybe I’ll even introduce her to me?
No. I immediately back away from the thought. It’s enough to master her desires and her body. To deny them—those who have betrayed me—and keep her for myself.
Even if she never knows who I am.
Eleven
Daphne
I wake up and I’m so warm. Gods, I’d swear I’d been cold for years and to finally be warm, snuggled in the most comfortable bed with piles of blankets on me and my face warmed by— I frown and open my eyes slowly.
It is a fire!
I snap to attention and sit up, blankets falling off me as I do. There are no fireplaces in my extremely functional city apartment.
But no, of course, I’m not in the city anymore, am I? I’ve fallen through the looking glass. I look slowly around. It’s far from the cold stone of the monastic room the Beast first thrust me into.
There’s a huge, thick Persian rug on the floor, and on the window-sill, I shit you not, there’s a legit bird just hanging out and tweet-tweet-tweeting. Um, when did I step into a fairytale movie? Then I giggle, my face flushing as I remember back to all the things that happened last night—definitely not PG.
I cover my face with my hands. Am I really at the stage where I can giggle about all this? What the hell is happening and can Dr. Daphne Laurel, PhD please return to the building?