“I feel responsible. Because I should have questioned him further. I should not have turned a blind eye. Because of my shortcomings as his Master the first time around, apparently I failed to instill in him the ethic that a Master never abandons a slave, especially without explanation. Ever .”
Her knees gave out and she heavily sat in the chair as Landry stood there. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. “I told you about my cancer returning,” he said, barely more than a whisper, so softly she knew slave couldn’t hear him.
“I have a business proposition for you, Mistress Cardinal. I am worth a helluva lot of money. I have no wife or children. If you will marry me, and stay married to me for at least three years, I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars for every year you stay with me for those three years. If I die before then, you get everything I own, including my business. If you wish to stay married longer we will, and I will at that point sign over everything to you.
“Please consider my offer. I owe you more than I can ever repay you, for more than one reason.
I need to start that restitution now. I will be back for slave at the end of the hour. Be vicious. Take your pound of flesh and then some, literally. He will take whatever you dish out.”
With that he turned and walked out the front door.
Leaving the money on her table and slave kneeling on the floor.
She’d never fainted in her life, but she felt close to it. She leaned forward and put her head between her knees and took deep breaths like she’d learned in nursing school. When she realized she gasped for air, she knew she was close to hyperventilating and tried to slow her breathing.
Fuck!
After what felt like forever, she sat up and looked at the man kneeling on her floor. Her feet felt numb, her legs shaky as she stood and slowly walked around the coffee table.
He didn’t look up, didn’t move.
She stood over him, her breath ragged. “Look at me, goddammit,” she finally said.
He slowly tilted his face, familiar brown eyes staring into hers.
Over the years she had imagined many things. At first, that if he ever darkened her door again she would take him back even though she’d been hurt and pissed. As the months, followed by years, rolled by, that fantasy changed. She imagined running into him and spitting in his face. Laughing at
him. Pretending she didn’t recognize him. Acting friendly but cool, as if his leaving hadn’t ripped her sanity from her soul.
Prayed he’d grow ugly and fat and bald.
He still looked like her Cris, although his brown hair was much longer, down to his shoulders.
He’d always kept it short and neatly styled when they were together.
Her handsome Master was Landry’s slave.
She stared for long, countless minutes as blood throbbed through her temples, her pulse
pounding.
Then she turned on her heel, walked to her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. After a second, she locked it.
She screamed.
After ten minutes her body shook and her throat felt raw and hoarse. She snatched a riding crop from her closet. When she almost tripped on her heels, she ripped her boots off and then unlocked her door and threw it open so hard it bounced off the bedroom wall.
Landry’s slave still knelt on the floor, where she’d left him.
Barefoot, she ran over to him and with ragged, wordless screams, she began beating his
shoulders, his back.
He never cried out, never moved, made no effort to protect himself.
After five minutes she stood there, staring at him as her chest heaved. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt like she was choking, then she realized she was crying again. She dropped the riding crop.
“You fucking son of a bitch!” She circled the living room and came up behind him, kicked him in the ribs. As large as he was, it probably didn’t hurt him nearly as much as it hurt the fuck out of her toes. She dropped to her knees next to him and beat her fists against his
Her knees gave out and she heavily sat in the chair as Landry stood there. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. “I told you about my cancer returning,” he said, barely more than a whisper, so softly she knew slave couldn’t hear him.
“I have a business proposition for you, Mistress Cardinal. I am worth a helluva lot of money. I have no wife or children. If you will marry me, and stay married to me for at least three years, I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars for every year you stay with me for those three years. If I die before then, you get everything I own, including my business. If you wish to stay married longer we will, and I will at that point sign over everything to you.
“Please consider my offer. I owe you more than I can ever repay you, for more than one reason.
I need to start that restitution now. I will be back for slave at the end of the hour. Be vicious. Take your pound of flesh and then some, literally. He will take whatever you dish out.”
With that he turned and walked out the front door.
Leaving the money on her table and slave kneeling on the floor.
She’d never fainted in her life, but she felt close to it. She leaned forward and put her head between her knees and took deep breaths like she’d learned in nursing school. When she realized she gasped for air, she knew she was close to hyperventilating and tried to slow her breathing.
Fuck!
After what felt like forever, she sat up and looked at the man kneeling on her floor. Her feet felt numb, her legs shaky as she stood and slowly walked around the coffee table.
He didn’t look up, didn’t move.
She stood over him, her breath ragged. “Look at me, goddammit,” she finally said.
He slowly tilted his face, familiar brown eyes staring into hers.
Over the years she had imagined many things. At first, that if he ever darkened her door again she would take him back even though she’d been hurt and pissed. As the months, followed by years, rolled by, that fantasy changed. She imagined running into him and spitting in his face. Laughing at
him. Pretending she didn’t recognize him. Acting friendly but cool, as if his leaving hadn’t ripped her sanity from her soul.
Prayed he’d grow ugly and fat and bald.
He still looked like her Cris, although his brown hair was much longer, down to his shoulders.
He’d always kept it short and neatly styled when they were together.
Her handsome Master was Landry’s slave.
She stared for long, countless minutes as blood throbbed through her temples, her pulse
pounding.
Then she turned on her heel, walked to her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her. After a second, she locked it.
She screamed.
After ten minutes her body shook and her throat felt raw and hoarse. She snatched a riding crop from her closet. When she almost tripped on her heels, she ripped her boots off and then unlocked her door and threw it open so hard it bounced off the bedroom wall.
Landry’s slave still knelt on the floor, where she’d left him.
Barefoot, she ran over to him and with ragged, wordless screams, she began beating his
shoulders, his back.
He never cried out, never moved, made no effort to protect himself.
After five minutes she stood there, staring at him as her chest heaved. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt like she was choking, then she realized she was crying again. She dropped the riding crop.
“You fucking son of a bitch!” She circled the living room and came up behind him, kicked him in the ribs. As large as he was, it probably didn’t hurt him nearly as much as it hurt the fuck out of her toes. She dropped to her knees next to him and beat her fists against his
Similar Books
