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)
That particular morning found her once more in her creative happy place. Her fingers were flying, the characters in her novel now directing her instead of the other way around, which meant she was definitely on the right track.
She vaguely registered the sound of the doorbell, which momentarily broke her concentration. It must be the printer ink she’d ordered online, which was due to arrive that day. They could just leave it on the porch.
But as she was returning her attention to the laptop screen, her cell dinged several times in succession. Glancing down, she saw the series of texts from Charlotte.
Cancel any plans. I won two free passes for the full treatment at that new spa that opened on Central Ave! I have to use it or lose it this morning, and you’re coming with me!
Open up!
I know you’re in there.
Hannah closed her laptop with a chuckle, aware she was no match for the force of nature that was Charlotte.
Charlotte did most of the talking as they drove to the spa, eager to share some salacious gossip about two coworkers at the clothing store where she worked part time who were caught having sex in one of the changing rooms.
When she asked Hannah how she was doing, Hannah told Charlotte about her new novel, glad for a chance to keep the topic off her love life, or lack thereof.
The spa was fancy, and they were given thick terry cloth robes to change into before being ushered into a private room. Soft music comprised primarily of panpipes played from hidden speakers and the scent of lavender oil permeated the air. Once they were prone on side-by-side padded massage tables, naked under soft sheets, two young women dressed all in white appeared. As strong, oiled hands skillfully pummeled and kneaded Hannah’s muscles, her mind drifted, as usual, back to The Enclave.
Despite the way it had ended, there were lots of silver linings from the experience. It had helped her to understand her own mind and heart. After a lifetime of longing and yearning, she now knew for sure that she was indeed a submissive masochist. She craved erotic pain and loved the edgy thrill of being taken firmly in hand by a strong Dom.
But she’d also learned that her desire to submit didn’t extend past the bedroom or the dungeon. If and when she was ready for a new partner, she hoped she’d find someone who shared her sensibilities—someone who could accept that, while she adored the intensity of erotic submission, it wasn’t something she could, or even wanted, to sustain 24/7.
After the massage, Charlotte and Hannah took quick showers and then, back in their comfy robes, they were treated to hot, spiced tea and cinnamon cookies. Once dressed, they were offered complimentary makeovers. Afterward, Charlotte bought several hundred dollars-worth of makeup and creams.
“Wow,” Hannah said as they walked together into the brisk sunshine. “That was amazing. I feel like a new woman. How can I repay you?”
“Easy,” Charlotte said with a grin, touching her slave collar. “It’s Master Jim’s birthday on Sunday. He loves anything chocolate. Oh, and he loves custard, too.”
“How about chocolate éclairs with custard filling?” Hannah suggested.
“Perfect,” Charlotte enthused. “You’re the best.”
When Hannah returned home, she no longer felt like writing. Having learned from years of wrestling with her creative process, she knew it would be useless to return to the laptop until she was ready.
Instead, she opted to do a practice run with the éclairs. It had been years since she’d made them, and the choux pastry that formed the shell of the dessert could be a challenge.
She pulled out her dessert binder, which was filled with recipes she’d collected over the years, some cut from newspapers, some downloaded from the internet, some handed down from her mother and grandmother, some she’d created herself after lots of trial and error.
The éclair recipe had come from her brief tenure in culinary school. The page was stained with a circle of ancient butter grease and a few daubs of chocolate, par for the course of a dessert chef, she thought with a smile. She had everything she needed except the milk and heavy cream.
After a quick run to the store for those ingredients, she changed into her sweats and an old T-shirt and got to work. Several hours later she had the filled pastries cooling in the refrigerator. After heating heavy cream in a saucepan, she poured it over the semi-sweet chocolate chips for her chocolate ganache glaze. As the chocolate melted into the hot cream, she whisked it until a smooth sauce had formed. Pulling out the plate from the fridge, she sat down at the table to dip the custard-filled éclairs into the ganache, licking her fingers as she worked.
She had just finished glazing the éclairs and had put on the kettle for tea when the doorbell rang for the second time that day. Wiping her hands on her apron, she headed to the front door. Pulling it open, she expected to find the package on the porch, the delivery guy already driving away.