Love's Edge (A Dark Erotic Romance Novel) by Violet Masters Page B
Authors: Violet Masters
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done on the grounds. I’ve been in touch with the media about…”
“You look skinnier.” He cut me off in the middle of my sentence, his voice edged with anger. “Are you sick? Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine. I’ve just been busy,” I replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious as his eyes moved over my body, taking in the looser fit of my grey pencil skirt and blue ruffled blouse.
“It is part of your job to stay healthy,” Blake Harrison replied, his eyes flashing angrily at me as he stared me down. “If you fall apart, I will fire you.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. I remembered what had happened the last time I made Blake Harrison angry. His uncontrollable rage frightened me, and yet I felt my heart speed up at the memory of his hand smacking hard against my sore ass. I had felt the sting for days after, but I had also had several nights of dreams involving Blake Harrison spanking me. Each one had been more erotic than the last, culminating in me waking up in my bed, drenched in sweat and having soaked my panties.
When I woke up from one of those dreams in the middle of the night, I had walked to my bathroom to rinse myself off before going back to sleep and heard the same desperate, haunting cries from down the hallway that I had heard my first night. Remembering Marshall’s warning, I just climbed back into bed and spent a sleepless hour tossing and turning while I tried to block out the sound.
“Go and eat now, then get back to work.” Blake Harrison’s voice pulled me back to the present.
I rushed out of his office, embarrassed by the tears springing to my eyes. I wasn’t sure exactly why I was so upset. It might have been my anger at being treated like a child, sadness that the friendlier relationship I had been building with Mr. Harrison had come crashing down, or possibly my disappointment that he hadn’t tried to punish me like the last time he was upset with me.
I returned to the kitchen, careful to avoid eye contact with the few staff members finishing their breakfast at the long table, and grabbed a bowl of oatmeal, which I quickly ate standing up. I wasn’t in the mood to smile or fake pleasant conversation with anyone. After I finished, I rushed back to the library to continue my last-minute work on the party.
I twisted my hair tie nervously in my hands as I made what must have been the hundredth call of the day. I was working so hard that my health was admittedly declining, as Mr. Harrison noted, but it was because I wanted so much to impress him and show him that despite my lack of experience and my small town roots, I was able to put together something spectacular.
I twisted the elastic hair tie tight around my finger as the caterer droned on about the difficulty of obtaining blood oranges this season. What if the details don’t all fall into place? What if the party is a failure? My head swam with worries. I was concerned about being fired, but even more worried that Mr. Harrison would see me as a failure and want me to leave.
“Mhm, well do what you can. Import them if you have to. Let me know tomorrow,” I finally said, cutting the caterer off mid-sentence.
She was an incredibly verbose woman and had called me several times a day for the past week. Unfortunately, she was also the best-rated caterer in the area and I knew Mr. Harrison would expect me to provide only the best of everything for his guests.
I made sure to eat my whole dinner that night and go to bed early after a relaxing bath in my colossal bathtub. It turned out that despite my annoyance, Mr. Harrison had been right. I woke up the next day feeling much more refreshed and energetic than I had in weeks. I managed to get through my work much more quickly and my temper was much better than it had been previously. I caught myself laughing at one of the decorator’s terrible jokes as he worked with the carpenter to hand up the decorations in the
“You look skinnier.” He cut me off in the middle of my sentence, his voice edged with anger. “Are you sick? Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine. I’ve just been busy,” I replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious as his eyes moved over my body, taking in the looser fit of my grey pencil skirt and blue ruffled blouse.
“It is part of your job to stay healthy,” Blake Harrison replied, his eyes flashing angrily at me as he stared me down. “If you fall apart, I will fire you.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. I remembered what had happened the last time I made Blake Harrison angry. His uncontrollable rage frightened me, and yet I felt my heart speed up at the memory of his hand smacking hard against my sore ass. I had felt the sting for days after, but I had also had several nights of dreams involving Blake Harrison spanking me. Each one had been more erotic than the last, culminating in me waking up in my bed, drenched in sweat and having soaked my panties.
When I woke up from one of those dreams in the middle of the night, I had walked to my bathroom to rinse myself off before going back to sleep and heard the same desperate, haunting cries from down the hallway that I had heard my first night. Remembering Marshall’s warning, I just climbed back into bed and spent a sleepless hour tossing and turning while I tried to block out the sound.
“Go and eat now, then get back to work.” Blake Harrison’s voice pulled me back to the present.
I rushed out of his office, embarrassed by the tears springing to my eyes. I wasn’t sure exactly why I was so upset. It might have been my anger at being treated like a child, sadness that the friendlier relationship I had been building with Mr. Harrison had come crashing down, or possibly my disappointment that he hadn’t tried to punish me like the last time he was upset with me.
I returned to the kitchen, careful to avoid eye contact with the few staff members finishing their breakfast at the long table, and grabbed a bowl of oatmeal, which I quickly ate standing up. I wasn’t in the mood to smile or fake pleasant conversation with anyone. After I finished, I rushed back to the library to continue my last-minute work on the party.
I twisted my hair tie nervously in my hands as I made what must have been the hundredth call of the day. I was working so hard that my health was admittedly declining, as Mr. Harrison noted, but it was because I wanted so much to impress him and show him that despite my lack of experience and my small town roots, I was able to put together something spectacular.
I twisted the elastic hair tie tight around my finger as the caterer droned on about the difficulty of obtaining blood oranges this season. What if the details don’t all fall into place? What if the party is a failure? My head swam with worries. I was concerned about being fired, but even more worried that Mr. Harrison would see me as a failure and want me to leave.
“Mhm, well do what you can. Import them if you have to. Let me know tomorrow,” I finally said, cutting the caterer off mid-sentence.
She was an incredibly verbose woman and had called me several times a day for the past week. Unfortunately, she was also the best-rated caterer in the area and I knew Mr. Harrison would expect me to provide only the best of everything for his guests.
I made sure to eat my whole dinner that night and go to bed early after a relaxing bath in my colossal bathtub. It turned out that despite my annoyance, Mr. Harrison had been right. I woke up the next day feeling much more refreshed and energetic than I had in weeks. I managed to get through my work much more quickly and my temper was much better than it had been previously. I caught myself laughing at one of the decorator’s terrible jokes as he worked with the carpenter to hand up the decorations in the
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