Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I cleared my throat.
Leo and Tomas whirled around at the sound, their faces draining of color as they caught sight of me on the massage table. Hervé, still working on my shoulders, chuckled softly.
“Oh, shit,” Leo breathed, his eyes wide with horror. “Lucas, we didn’t… I mean, we weren’t…”
Tomas jumped in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “We’re so sorry, Lucas. We had no idea you were here. That was completely inappropriate and disrespectful.”
I slowly sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the table. Hervé handed me a towel, which I draped across my lap. I fixed Leo and Tomas with a steady gaze, enjoying their discomfort for a moment before speaking.
“You know,” I said, my voice deceptively calm, “my mother always told me that eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves.”
Leo’s face flushed a deep red. “God, Lucas, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean any of that. Well, I mean, I did, but I shouldn’t have said it. It’s none of our business.”
Tomas nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. We were way out of line. It won’t happen again, I swear.”
I held up a hand, silencing their frantic apologies. “Relax, boys. I’m not angry.” I felt a small smile play at the corners of my mouth.
I leaned back on the massage table, studying my teammates’ anxious faces. The air in the training room felt thick with tension, the scent of liniment and sweat mingling with the nervous energy radiating from Leo and Tomas.
“Come here,” I said, gesturing for them to approach. They shuffled forward hesitantly, exchanging wary glances. I could see the muscles in their jaws working as they clenched their teeth, bracing for whatever punishment they imagined was coming.
“You’re right, you know,” I said softly, my eyes flickering between them. “Alice is… different.”
Leo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Tomas tilted his head curiously. Even Hervé, who had been pretending to busy himself with arranging massage oils, paused to listen.
“Different how?” Leo ventured, his natural curiosity overcoming his caution.
I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing Alice’s face. The way her cheeks flushed when I praised her, the defiant spark in her eyes just before she submitted to my will. The soft curve of her lips, the delicate arch of her neck. When I opened my eyes again, I found all three men watching me intently.
“She’s intelligent,” I began, my voice taking on a warmth I rarely allowed others to hear. “Not just book-smart, though she certainly is that. She has a quick wit, a sharp mind. She challenges me in ways I didn’t expect.”
Leo glanced at the other two, then back at me.
“It’s… serious, then?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“It may be,” I told them.
Alice
I sat in the seminar room, my wavy chestnut hair pulled back in a messy bun. The soft fabric of my skirt brushed against my thighs, a constant reminder of the plug nestled in my sensitive bottom. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t send jolts of sensation through my body with every movement. The cool wood of the chair pressed against my bare skin, Lucas’ command to forgo panties echoing in my mind.
Professor Durand’s voice droned on about the social hierarchy of fourteenth-century peasant communities, but I found it nearly impossible to focus. Lucas Moreau had shattered my usual determined concentration, replacing it with an acute awareness of every sensation in my body. The plug seemed to throb in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of my submission to the man who kept me.
I bit my lip, desperately trying to keep my expression neutral as another wave of arousal washed over me. My thighs clenched involuntarily, and I had to stifle a gasp as the movement caused the plug to shift inside me. Heat flooded my cheeks as I imagined what my classmates would think if they knew what was hidden beneath my demure exterior.
A sudden movement to my left caught my attention. Louise Montreuil, one of my fellow students, was staring at me intently, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. Her sleek bob framed her angular face, giving her a sharp, sophisticated look that always made me feel slightly frumpy in comparison.
Professor Durand called for la pause—the mid-seminar break. As I reached into my bag for the end of a baguette I’d brought for a snack, I saw that Louise’s eyes had remained fixed on me.
I tried to avoid that dark gaze as I pulled out my piece of beloved, perfect Parisian bread, but I could feel her eyes boring into me. The crackle of the paper bag seemed deafening in the quiet room as students began to file out for the break. I took a small bite, the usually delicious bread tasting like sawdust in my dry mouth.
“So.” Louise’s crisp voice cut through the air, making me jump slightly. “You’re the one.”