Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“What a bonnie, lovely lass you are,” he croons. I bask in his pleasure like a daisy raising her pretty face to the sun, soaking up every bit of warmth.
“Now, then,” he says, lifting me to my feet in front of him. He takes a moment to admire his handiwork on my bottom, spinning me around with an appreciative grunt. My cheeks flame, but when he looks at me, he gives an almost-smile. A gentling of the eyes and tipping of the lips that almost, almost makes him look happy.
“Go,” he says, his eyes burning into mine with a ferocity I’ve come to expect from him. “Try on the fucking clothes.”
* * *
Chapter Nine
Leith
Jesus fucking Christ, the woman’s a masterpiece. Her bottom and legs are striped with bright pink marks from my belt. I know I’m stronger than her, could easily overpower her, and with that knowledge, I didn’t whip her but gave her a taste of discipline. I’m not sure I could punish harshly if she earned it. The spanking I gave her had the exact effect I hoped it would.
Brought a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye, latent desire written on her features. Her breasts are fuller, nipples hardened, and I know if I touched her between the legs, she’d be soaking wet.
I watch her walk to where the bags lie waiting, and with trembling hands, remove a pair of lacy white knickers with a matching bra.
She looks at me, holds them up with eyes wide open, and shakes her head.
“You don’t like those?”
She looks at them as if they’re snakes ready to bite and shakes her head.
“Put them on.”
When she bites her lip with hesitation, I lift my belt in my hand, fully prepared to bend her over the arm of the couch and make sure she does what she’s told. But she notes my move and quickly bends, stepping into the knickers. She’s gorgeous and willowy, as graceful as a dove, and when she slides the knickers up her legs, I stifle a groan, jealous of her very own fingers touching her skin.
“They’re perfect,” I tell her, nodding to encourage her to continue to try things on. The room feels warm, my trousers tight as I watch her shimmy on a pair of tight leggings that hug every curve. She bites her lip while she lifts her arms and tugs on a soft, slim-fitting sweater in a blue a shade darker than her eyes.
It hits her hips and she lifts her eyes to me. I swallow hard.
“Aye, lass, you look fucking amazing.”
She smiles almost bashfully, as if she isn’t used to accepting compliments from anyone.
"Go on," I tell her. “Let's see some more. I see a wee bit of a stack there, don’t I?”
She looks with wide eyes to the pile of boxes and bags as if she’s just remembered they were there, and again hesitates, but when her eyes come back to me, I nod to her. I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or ashamed, or so out of her element she hardly knows where to begin. But I’ll walk her through it.
The woman fascinates me. I’ve never met a woman like her before. Even if she could talk, something tells me she’d be shy and reserved about it. She’s an observer, not one to call attention to herself, and when the time comes for her to say something, she’s deliberate and careful with how she chooses her words. I have so very many questions for her.
Was she always like this, or did she lose her ability to speak because of trauma? If she once had the gift of speech, was she classy and reserved even then?
But soon, my questions come to a stuttering halt, since she’s edging off her leggings and top and folding them neatly on the table as she goes. She points to her bra and lifts questioning brows to me. She wants to know if I need to see the others.
Jesus, I love how she defers to me without question. I love that she trusts me with this, asking me permission for what happens next.
“No, lass, you may leave those on as you dress.” I swallow as she turns away to choose another outfit. “For now.”
Her eyes fly back to mine, wide with fear or surprise. She blinks, and I wonder what she wants to ask me.
For now?
Do those words bother her? Is she afraid of what I’ll do to her?
She’s smart if she is, for she doesn’t know me from a fucking stranger, doesn’t know who I am or what I’m capable of. I nod at the clothing.
“Go on, Cairstina. Or do you intend on keeping me waiting?” My hand rests on my folded belt. I watch as her gaze shifts to where my hand lies. Her fingers come to her throat, and she shivers visibly. She shakes her head.