Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
She couldn’t deny she’d written those words. But that was fiction.
Even so, she recognized that for purposes of this immersive experiment she didn’t get to pick and choose what suited her. In spite of her shyness about her less-than-perfect body, she would obey Master Mason’s directive. If nothing else, it would help her fit in more with the other Enclave submissives.
Freshly resolved, Hannah stood tall, though that still left her nearly a foot shorter than the tall man staring her down.
“Please excuse me, Sir,” she said, not quite sure if she was channeling one of her heroines or just being herself. “It won’t happen again.”
A smile ghosted his lips. “No,” he agreed, propelling her out of the suite. “It won’t.”
Chapter 21
After lunch, Mason pulled around to the front door of the house, letting the car idle while he waited for Hannah. Since he now had full control of her schedule, he figured taking her with him for his usual provisions run would give him more of a chance to talk to her one-on-one, without interruption.
Since they would be going into town and she would accompany him into the shops, he had told her she could put on her civvies, including underclothing. While slaves went naked on The Enclave property, none of the Doms, Mason included, would ever put them in a potentially compromising position when in public.
Mason allowed the subs in his kitchen to speak freely, and Lucia had been bubbling over with eager questions and barely contained excitement as she helped plate and carry out the lunch. Hannah was smiling too—revealing those deep dimples in both cheeks that Mason found adorable.
Now Hannah appeared at the front door and walked quickly down the path toward the driveway. She wore a pale pink, short-sleeved knit top over a floral-patterned skirt that fell to mid-calf, flats on her feet. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back in some kind of twist at the nape of her neck, probably courtesy of Lucia. The only nod to her slave status was the training collar. With its O-rings, it might raise a few brows in town, but only from those in the know.
She climbed into the passenger seat, her eyes bright with expectation, nervous energy radiating from her like an aura. “Permission to speak, Sir?” she asked.
Mason smiled. “Yes. While we are running errands you have carte blanche, no need to ask, and no need for protocol.”
“Oh, good,” Hannah said, perhaps a touch too eagerly. As he drove down the long driveway toward the exit gates, she added, “I used to love going to the butcher and the various farmers’ markets and specialty shops. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to cook for.”
It occurred to Mason he knew next to nothing about Hannah outside of The Enclave, except that she was an author and a widow. “Lucia mentioned you’d lost your husband last year to cancer. I’m sorry for your loss. That’s gotta be really rough, losing your partner so young.”
He glanced at her as he made his way carefully along the dirt road that wound down the mountain. She was blinking rapidly, her eyes bright with sudden tears. Shit. Why had he brought that up?
“Yes,” she said quietly. “It was rough. We’d been together our entire adult lives—just shy of twenty-four years. I was only nineteen when we married…” She trailed off, then gave an abrupt, embarrassed laugh. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“I really do,” he asserted, surprising himself. Normally, he took little to no interest in the private lives of the slave trainees that came and went at The Enclave. He enjoyed training and playing with them, as far as it went. Then they left, and that was that.
But Hannah was different. For one thing, she was an excellent dessert chef. He hadn’t really given her a chance with much more than prep work for the main courses, but perhaps he would remedy that. For another, she was sexy as hell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so attracted to a woman. And the more he got to know her, the more attracted he became.
He glanced at her again as he drove. She was staring out her window, her arms wrapped around her torso. Hoping to distract her from sad thoughts, and also because he was interested, Mason said, “Tell me about your culinary background. You clearly know your way around the kitchen. You’re a top-notch baker. And your prep skills tell me you’ve had at least some formal training. Am I right?”
“Oh, well,” she replied with a flustered laugh. “Actually, you’re looking at a culinary school dropout. I lasted all of four months.”
Mason chuckled. “Why’d you drop out? Wait. Let me guess. Was it the insanely expensive tuition, the cutthroat competition, the ridiculous hours or the abusive chefs that got to you?”