Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“This isn’t the escape room,” I tell her.
“It isn’t?” She looks around at the table set up with paper and pens, then at the one to the left. That one has a water station with disposable cups so people can get a drink before they enter this room since they might be locked inside for an hour if they don’t solve the puzzles.
I gesture to the liability waiver my family’s lawyer insisted on having the guests sign. “You’ll have to sign one of those before we go in.”
Her eyes widen and snap to my face. “What?”
“Just saying you won’t sue for any emotional distress or possible injury you might sustain in the escape room.”
“I’m not signing anything,” she informs me. “I don’t even want to go into this escape room thing, but certainly not if there’s a risk of emotional distress or possible injury.”
I smirk and grab her hand. “You run a risk of that anytime you hang out with me.”
“I don’t want to hang out with you, either,” she mutters.
I laugh and haul her over to the entry doors. I don’t care if she signs the waiver or not. “You ready?”
“Nope.”
I nod and push the door open anyway.
When we step through the door, it’s like stepping back in time.
Sophie gasps as she steps forward and the floor beneath her feet is no longer even. Massive gray stones cover the shiny hardwood floor beneath this construct. The new floor is dusty stone with walls made of wood and clay.
Mouth hanging open, she walks over and lightly touches the wall. She looks around at this room that looks like a hulking Viking could actually reside here.
“There are four rooms,” I tell her as she runs her fingers across a round shield hung up on the wall. “We have an hour to make it through all of them.”
“How do we get out of this one?”
“We have to solve the puzzle. Look around at all the stuff in the room and try to figure out what will open the door to the next one.”
Her lips curve up faintly. I get the impression she likes it. “All right.”
Sensibly, she grabs the wooden box of trinkets on the table and starts rummaging through it. The box houses kitchen supplies— wooden ladles and dishes, but no eating utensils since Vikings didn’t bother with those.
When she notices I’m just standing here watching her, she looks back at me. “Aren’t you going to help?”
“Not yet.”
Her eyebrows draw together in a frown, and her full, pretty lips press together in a pout that sends a rush of blood straight to my cock.
She doesn’t bother arguing with me, though. She gets to work, turning back to the box, then opening and closing drawers, searching for something useful.
In the corner of this room is a wood chair with a fur thrown over it for comfort. I take a seat, lacing my hands together behind my head and relaxing like the master of the house while my pretty slave girl does all the work.
As soon as she notices, she rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t cease searching for whatever the hell she’s supposed to be looking for to complain about it.
I haven’t made it easy for her, but I wanted to get a feel for how she handles struggle. The partygoers who play in the escape room later will get clues heading in to make the search faster so we can get people in and out of here. It’s not meant to be an impossible escape room, but it’s a hell of a lot harder when you do it the way I’m making her do it.
She’s not a natural leader, she doesn’t seize control, but she’s smart, observant, and definitely a hard worker. Even without being given a fair toolbox to prepare her, she tenaciously seeks out the key to the next room.
“Finding anything?” I ask.
“Nothing useful,” she replies, kneeling on the floor and searching through the contents of a wooden toolbox. She pulls out two axes and flashes me a mischievous smile. “Well, these could prove useful.”
I cross my arms over my chest and settle my gaze on her, amusement tugging at my lips as I lift an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
She nods, her eyes glinting with merriment as she subtly threatens to maim me. “I think so.”
The axe is a prop, so she wouldn’t be able to hurt me with it, but feeling the role-play, I tell her, “If I were you, I’d think better of it. Unruly slave girls who attack their masters are bound to be severely punished.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I was your slave girl now.”
“You’re serving me, aren’t you?”
Her tone is lightly acerbic but in the damn cutest way. “I suppose so, master.”
Her sweet tone and playful sarcasm stir my desires.
I shift to accommodate my hardening cock as she flings a braid over her shoulder and carefully runs her fingers along the prop axe, searching for anything amiss. I watch her test their weights to make sure they’re the same, then her lips purse and she looks back at the bin they were kept in with a thoughtful frown.