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)
Anthony got to his feet and held out the paperback he’d been reading. “Meanwhile, I suggest you take a look at this. It’s one of those Angelique Rose novels you were disparaging earlier. Give it a skim and see what you think. You might just change your mind.”
“I doubt it,” Mason said with a grin. But he took the book.
Friday morning Mason was up by six, as always, in order to get the breakfast service prepared for those Enclave members who were heading out to work and for the trainees, who always got an early start. He’d stayed up easily an hour later than he’d intended, which was the fault of Angelique Rose. But, even sleep deprived, he’d awoken raring to go.
Mason had taken the paperback to bed with him with the intent of giving it a quick skim, just to say that he had. He’d opened the novel to a random page, his mouth already twisted into a preemptive sneer.
But then he’d started reading.
And hadn’t been able to stop.
Having never read a romance in his life, he’d expected something along the lines of the bodice rippers his mother used to keep in a stack on her nightstand. They’d sported shiny covers embossed with a muscle-bound dude with long hair blowing holding a half-fainting busty wench who stared up at him with a mixture of alarm and pouty-lipped adoration.
The Angelique Rose novel, by contrast, had a photograph of a young woman dressed in a waist cinching crimson corset on the cover, the image set against a stark black background. She was on her knees, her head bowed, her face obscured by long, flowing hair.
The prose was immediately engaging—no gushing, swooning heroines in sight. As he’d read, he’d tried to get his head around the fact that Miss Newbie Wannabe had actually written a story so compelling, so authentic, that he couldn’t put it down.
Sleeping on the idea of training Hannah hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he was more resolute this morning than he’d been the night before. It was her writing, as much as anything, that had solidified his resolve. Despite her lack of personal experience, she brought passion and a surprisingly nuanced understanding of D/s to her work. That wasn’t something you could fake. She was a natural, even if she didn’t know it yet.
He was at the table, his mug of coffee and the book in hand when Hannah entered the kitchen, dressed in one of those stupid dresses, her voluptuous body taunting him as usual with its unavailability.
“Good morning, Sir.” Hannah made her way to the coffee urn and poured herself a mug. As she was helping herself to a blueberry muffin, Mason opened the novel to an earmarked page and read aloud.
He snapped the lash sharply across the top of her left breast, leaving a line of fire in its wake.
She gasped as pain and pleasure crackled and popped along her nerve endings like fire in a grate. Again and again, he flicked the whip against her tender flesh, each stroke taking her deeper into subspace until she was trembling from head to toe, the word, “More” balanced on her tongue.
“You need this,” he murmured, running his fingers lightly over the welts that crisscrossed her breasts. He drew a sensual circle around one distended nipple, pulling another moan of raw lust from her lips before she could clamp them shut.
His laugh was low and sexy, his eyes sparkling with lust. “And still you want more, don’t you? You want me to whip your cunt.”
Mason glanced at Hannah as he read, curious to see her reaction. At first, she barely seemed to be paying attention as she walked toward the table, mug and muffin in hand. Then, pausing in her tracks, she tilted her head, a quizzical expression moving over her face.
He continued to read.
“Yes,” she breathed, caught in the thrall of his power, too far gone in the moment to resist this charismatic man in any way.
He gave the wheel another slow spin, causing her to rotate once more from an upright position. The Master crouched low beside her so their faces were level. Gently, he cupped her cheek. Looking into her eyes, he commanded, “Beg me. Beg me for what you need.”
“Please, Sir,” she begged, unable to help herself. “Whip my cunt, Sir. Please.”
“As you wish,” he said, another cruel, sexy smile curving his lips. Rising to his feet, he positioned himself in front of her. But instead of the wicked bite of the whip, he moved his fingers over her spread sex. She was so aroused by the man and the circumstance that she nearly came on the spot.
Mason glanced again at Hannah, amused at her expression. Her mouth had fallen open and a rosy flush stained her throat and cheeks. “Oh, my god,” she said, laughing. “It took me a minute. You’re reading from one of my books. Have you ever considered narrating audiobooks? That gravelly deep voice will have the ladies swooning.”