Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Escaping his touch, I walk to the bed and start removing my clothes. Gloria takes every item as it comes off and lays it on a bench in front of a dresser. When it comes to my underwear, I refuse to hand it to her. I place them on top of the pile of clothes, my cheeks burning as I stand naked in front of her while Angelo bears witness.
“Here,” she says, taking my hand and helping me onto the bed. “You can lie down.”
I stare at the ceiling as I obey, hating them both even though she’s very gentle. I’m grateful for the folded towel she drapes over my upper body, leaving me naked from the waist down.
Angelo pulls a chair up to the end of the bed and makes himself comfortable while the woman busies herself with stirring the wax. He leans his arms on the padded armrests and stretches out his legs in front of him.
I clench my teeth. “Getting ready for the show?”
He smiles. “I wasn’t seeing it like that, but if that’s what you want, I’m happy to oblige.”
Asshole. “If you’re not watching like the pervert you are, then why are you here?”
His tone remains reasonable. “To make sure you’re treated as I instructed.”
“Being tortured?”
He seems amused. “Pampered.”
I snort. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Have you ever been waxed?” I ask, letting my gaze drop to his groin. “Down there?”
He raises an eyebrow while suppressing a smile I wish I could slap off his face. The minute I thought about inflicting that violence, disappointment bleeds through my chest. I hate him for getting a rise out of me. I hate that his reactions affect me.
“No,” he deadpans. “Have you?”
I haven’t, but I don’t bother to reply.
“Gloria assured me it doesn’t hurt,” he says. “You should only feel mild discomfort.”
Right.
“Are you cold?” the woman asks. “Would you like me to turn up the temperature?”
My manner is curt. “No.”
Coming from summer, the night here is freezing, but the cabin is warm.
“What would you like?” she asks, directing her smile at me. “Just a bit of tidying up or the full monty?”
I quickly look at Angelo. He’s giving me an option?
As if reading my mind, he says, “The choice is yours.”
“Then why are we doing this?”
His voice is low and soft. “Why do you think, cara?”
“To see your mark,” I say with the anger I didn’t want to show bubbling to the surface again.
“You already understand me so well.”
I’m not sure if he’s teasing or mocking me, but I’m not taking the bait this time.
Addressing Gloria, I say, “As little as necessary.”
“Okay.” She pats my thigh. “Just relax. Like your husband said, it’s not as bad as it seems.”
I swallow the retort on the tip of my tongue.
After fitting surgical gloves, she spreads my legs a little and gets to work. First, she trims my curls and lathers my skin with a soapy liquid, and then she pats it dry and applies talc.
“I hope you’re enjoying this,” I tell my husband in a biting tone as Gloria tests the temperature of the wax before applying it.
I think up a hundred insults to hurl at Angelo, but my thoughts are interrupted abruptly when, a short while later, Gloria rips off a strip of wax. It doesn’t hurt as much as I expected it to, but it’s not comfortable either. Closing my eyes, I shut out the man in the chair and the unwanted ministrations, wishing it was over already.
After what feels like hours, she says, “All done. What do you think?”
I lift my head and look down. My curls are trimmed into a neat triangle that will allow me to wear a bikini. The mark Angelo branded on my skin is visible at the top.
He gets up and walks to the edge of the bed, inspecting the junction of my legs. “Very pretty. This’ll do nicely.” He slides his gaze to mine. “I like your pussy naked, but this look is hot on you too. No? What do you think, bella?”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. I glance at Gloria, but she’s packing away the wax, not showing any reaction to Angelo’s crass remark. “What I think doesn’t matter, so why do you ask?”
“It was your choice,” he says, brushing his fingers over his mark. “If your opinion didn’t matter, I would’ve just told her what I wanted done.”
“May I use the bathroom to wash my hands?” Gloria asks, removing the gloves and discarding them in the trashcan.
Angelo indicates a door on the side. “Go ahead.”
Silence stretches between us as she disappears into the adjoining room. I immediately regret her absence. I haven’t realized what a buffer she’s been. Closing my legs, I try to sit up, but Angelo prevents me with a hand on my shoulder.
“We’re not done,” he says.
Alarm quickens my breathing. “What do you mean we’re not done? What else do you want to do? Wax my—” I bite off my words, not wanting to give him ideas.