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An Alpha Male, BDSM, Master and Slave, Erotic Romance

Part One of the

‘Submissive to Her Master’ Series

Author: Simone Leigh

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Copyright (C) 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, mechanical, electronic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.

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Part One


I stare down at the roiling waters far below. They swirl, dark and threatening, drawing me in, like one of those visual puzzles they give you on the internet to play mind-games with your eyes.

Will I jump? Yes, probably. I just haven’t screwed myself up to it yet. Adjusting my position slightly, I move, my feet to a more secure position. Even as I am, I don’t want to fall accidentally.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” comes a voice.

I startle, and almost tumble. A hand grabs me by the arm, yanking me back from the brink.

“Y’know, if you’re going to do it, that’s really not a good way to do it.” continues the voice.

I turn to see the owner of the hand and the voice; a man, perhaps in his forties, although with one of those ‘lived in’ kind of faces that makes it hard to judge age. He looks pretty rough. Definitely not from the better end of town. Wearing shabby but clean jeans, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a leather waistcoat, he looks sharp, in a roughed-off-at-the-edges kind of way. Leanly built, keen grey eyes look from a weather-beaten but not un-handsome face.

The stranger keeps a firm grip on my arm. “If you change your mind on the way down, it’s not a good situation to be in.”

Despite myself, I laugh, but my laughter has a bitter edge. “No I suppose not. You have a better suggestion?”

“Well you could come down off that rail and have a drink with me instead. You can always come back later if you still want to.” He pauses as I hesitate. “The bridge and the river aren’t going anywhere.”

What have I got to lose?

Carefully, I clamber down from my spot. The hand never lets go of my arm until I am safely on the ground.

The stranger eye-points down to a bench. “That your bag there?”

“Yes, it is. Didn’t think I’d need it anymore.”

“Well you need it now. If we’re having a drink, you’ll be paying. I’ve no money.”

I gape a little at this and he grins, holding a hand out. “I’m Brin by the way.”

I take the hand and shake, still speechless at the man’s audacity. He cocks his head at me. “That was sort of an invitation for you to introduce yourself.” He exudes charm and his accent helps. Irish perhaps?

“Oh, yes sorry. Rude of me. I’m Martha.”

He smiles and offers me his arm. “Shall we Martha?” He waves his free hand down the road.

We walk to a bar. It’s not a long walk and Brin locks his arm around mine all the way. Once inside the bar I wonder what to have. I don’t drink a lot, white wine usually. Brin beats me to it, hailing the barman.

“I’ll have a whiskey please.”

The barman looks at me.

“Oh, er. I’ll have the same.”

Both men look at me with a slightly disbelieving expression, but the barman asks “Ice?”

“Yes, please.”

“Me too.” says Brin. “On the rocks.”

In a quiet corner, we settle with our drinks. Brin gestures down to my glass. “That your usual?”

“No. but I thought….” My words trail away.

“Dutch courage?”

I nod and he takes a deep breath.

“Come on then. Give it to me. What’s so terrible that jumping off that bridge would have made things any better?”

I sip at the whiskey, then gulp down a couple of mouthfuls. As he says, Dutch courage.

“There just doesn’t seem to be… anything…for me…. Anything at all.”

Brin cocks his head, looking me up and down. “You’re a good looking woman. Judging by your clothes, your shoes, that expensive bag, you’ve got money. Why not ‘anything’?”

I don’t know what to say and my words dry up.

“Husband knock you around?

“No. I don’t have a husband. He died two years ago. but he was always very good to me.”

“You’re missing him a lot.” He states it rather than asks.

As I try to speak, my breath trembles and breaks. I want to cry. “Yes. No. I mean yes. I mean…. Yes, I miss him, but…. somehow, not as I should. When he died, I just felt... empty. Like there was a hole. But somehow, the hole had always been there.”

He cocks his head again, but doesn’t speak, leaving me to fill the silence. Somehow, the words suddenly tumble out of me to fill the gap.

“He was a good man, but he was never very exciting and, well, he was always at work. Always giving all his time to that company he worked for. I mean, we had everything; the house, the car, expensive holidays, beautiful clothes, but….it all felt… hollow.”


“No. We couldn’t. We tried everything. Eventually he seemed to lose interest in trying. He kind of put me on a pedestal, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I felt like a kind of satellite to his life instead of living my own.”

“How about holidays now? Travel. Something new? Meet new people. New friends. New…. lovers.”

“I tried that. Cruises, tours. They were all the same. I only ever seemed to meet the same kind of people. All talking about their work, their big house, the price of property in the best areas. Everything felt so, samey, so safe.”

He puts his empty glass down on the bar and I gesture to the barman to fill it again. Then mine too.

“So what you’re saying…” says Brin. “Is that you’re bored of being rich, warm and comfortably off?”

I look down, feeling ashamed. This man clearly has very little. He must despise me.

“So bored that you can’t stand any more of it.”

My throat tightens in shame.

“You see,” he continues. “It might surprise you to learn that I do understand that. I was ‘Corporate Man’ once. Monthly salary, pension, car, wife, house. Worked every hour God sends to pay for it. Unlike you, my wife didn’t stick it out. She went for a divorce and took most of the money with her. Left me just with the work. That felt pretty hollow too. I bowed out of the rat race and now I do what I do.”

Despite myself, I am intrigued “Which is, what?”

“Oh a bit of this. A bit of that. There’s always something comes up. I live from day to day. But d’you know…” He leans forward, staring me in the eye. “I never get bored.”

He sits, staring at the table top, turning the glass in his hands, playing with it, thoughtful. “Your life’s been too safe Martha. You’d appreciate it a bit more if you had some uncertainty. Something unexpected.”

“You’re probably right. But what?”

He slams the glass down on the bar again. “Dunno. Gotta go. Nice to have met you Martha.” And he stands and leaves.

His exit is so unexpected, that for a moment I just sit and stare at the door. Then, miserably, I gulp down the rest of the drink and reach for my bag to pay the barman. I keep my purse in the front pocket.

It’s not there. Exasperated, I try the back pocket. It’s not there either.

My purse has gone.

How could I have been so stupid? To fall for a con-merchant who simply steals my purse. All my money. My credit cards. I’ll have to cancel them all now.

Feeling an idiot, I scrabble around in the bottom of my bag to find loose change to pay for the drinks. Luckily, there is enough, but thoroughly annoyed at myself now, I stamp out of the bar to my car, only a little way down the street.

Then I make another nasty discovery. My keys are gone too. Did he intend to steal my car as well?

I don’t even have the money for a taxi and I have to walk back home. Luckily, it’s only a couple of miles, but I have to walk past Friday night revellers and drunks. I don’t feel safe. This isn’t my end of town and I don’t generally meet such people. I step out smartly to get home as quickly as I can.

Retrieving my spare house key from under the pot where I keep it for emergencies, I unlock the door, stepping inside into the blackness.

Flicking on the light-switch, immediately I see that something is wrong.

Things have moved.

Shoes that normally are neatly arranged in the hall have been knocked to one side. I would never leave them lying untidily like that.

In the lounge, drawers are half open. Books are disturbed.

I’ve been burgled.

He has my keys.

He stole my purse.

Oh my God! He has my driving license. He knows my address.

What if he’s still here?

Before I have chance to act on these thoughts, I am grabbed from behind, an arm immobilizing both of mine behind my back, and a hand wrapping around my face. It claps over my mouth and I hear Brin’s voice close by my ear. “Don’t scream. No-one can hear you anyway. They’re all out next door. But don’t scream and I’ll let you talk.”

My heart pounding, I nod. The hand relaxes and releases my face, but I am still held at the back.

“You stole my purse. My keys. I had to walk all the way home. I had to come past drunks and louts….”

“Two hours ago, you wanted to jump off a bridge.” he hisses into my ear. “Why are you so worried about louts and drunks? They might have finished the job for you.”

“I… I…. don’t want…”

“That’s right.” He speaks close to my ear again. “You don’t want to die. In fact,” He releases me and spins me around to face him, backing me up against the wall. “In fact, you want to live...”

He grins. “…And now you know it.”

He’s right. I do want to live. But I want… I don’t know what it is that I want. Except that I want a life.

Brin leans over me, arms against the wall over my head, caging me with his body. “Heart pounding?”

I nod.

“You’re panting too. Frightened? Frightened of me?”

I am panting, but am I frightened? A little yes, but mainly…

“You’re not frightened of me at all. You’re excited. I can see it. You’ve got eyes like saucers. Your pupils are huge.”

He drops a hand, one finger extended to stroke down from my lips, down my chin and neck and below. It hovers at the top of my cleavage and a surge runs through me, stabbing down through my body and my sex. My panting grows heavier.

“No, you’re not frightened of me. When was the last time you felt like this?”

“Like what?”

“Don’t lie. Not to me and certainly not to yourself. You’re aroused. How long has it been?”

It’s been years.

“I can’t remember.”

“Can’t remember? That’s sad.”

Abruptly, he fastens his mouth around mine, forcing my lips open, almost bruising me with the force of the kiss.

I should fight back, resist this. this man is forcing himself on me, uninvited. It’s not right.

My panties are wet.

Tom never made me feel like this, not ever. Even in the very early days when we were ‘courting’. All the books talked as though we should have been fucking like mink. Instead it was only after we were married that we ever made love; Friday night, on the bed, on my back, in the dark.

Brin’s hand is cupping a breast and my breath is shuddering. I want him.

He pulls back for a moment, looking me squarely in the face, weighing me up, then he grabs me, spins me and bends me over the settee. Pinning me on the back, face down with one hand, with the other he hikes up my skirt over my waist, massages my butt for a moment then slips his fingers between my legs.

My breath is ragged, juddering, but not from fear. He feels at the sodden fabric of my panties then starts fingering my sweet spot through it.

“Yeah, you’re not scared of me. Or if you are, you like it. Your cunt is gushing.”

I startle at his language, unused to the coarse tone. No-one ever spoke to me like that before. but he’s right. My pussy is hot and swollen. I ache inside, wanting to be filled. I don’t remember ever feeling like this before, certainly not with Tom.

“Please…” I gasp the words out. The fingers continue work at my swollen bud.

“Please what?”

“Please…. oh God!”

“When’s the last time you had a really good fucking?”

My voice is breathy and broken. “Not sure. Can’t remember. Years……”

“D’you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, oh God yes.”

“You want me to fuck you hard? Stick my cock in your cunt and fuck your brains out?”

I know he is playing with the words, deliberately winding me up. He knows exactly what he is doing to me and is playing me like an instrument.


His fingers slide aside the sodden crotch of my panties, then start to work directly on my clit. He no longer needs to hold me down. I’m not going anywhere

Now his second hand moves in on me, a finger stroking my engorged pussy lips, probing my entrance.

“If you want me to fuck you, you have to ask nicely.”

“Please, please fuck me.”

“You have to do better than that.”

“Oh God, please. I want you inside me. I want… I want….”

“Do you know what you want? What have you had? Him on top? Lights turned out? Wham bam, thank you Ma’am. Was that it?”

“Yes.” My hips are twitching uncontrollably and I can feel a hot flush spreading out from my breasts.

“How often did you cum?”

“Not sure.” I’m lying and I know it.

“Not sure? Everyone knows when they orgasm. That useless prick of a husband didn’t get you there did he……?”

I hear movement, shuffling. There is a sort of dull thud and I realise that Brin has dropped to his knees behind me.

“…… but I will.”

There is heat on the back of my thighs; Brin’s hot breath flowing over my flushed and sweating skin. Even as I realise his intention, he pushes my ankles apart, spreading my legs further. With one hand he tugs at my useless panties. The side straps snap apart and the panties fall away. Brin opens my pussy lips with his fingers.

I start to protest. “No, I can’t…”

He slaps me on the rump. “Did I ask your opinion? That husband of yours might have put you on a pedestal, but I won’t. Real women don’t want pedestals. They want to be bent backwards over the kitchen bench and given a table ender.” And with that he plants his mouth over me, licking me out, drinking my flowing juices.

The rush stabs through my sex and I cry out in a kind of wailing triumph. Half of me is indignant at his treatment of me, but the other half would weep if he stopped. He licks upwards through my pussy lips, from clit to cunt, in great sweeps, taking in the whole of my sex. Lingering over my clit, he slips back the hood, circling it with the tip of his tongue, flicking, almost vibrating the tender nub.

The pleasure is exquisite and I moan helplessly as fire brims my loins. A tension rises, builds and explodes through me. My first orgasm takes me by storm and I scream as Brin tongue fucks my pulsating cunt. On and on it goes, my knees almost giving way as I thrash and writhe, my hands blundering around, trying to hold onto something, as though I would be swept away without a hold on something.

Eventually it subsides and I sag, shuddering and panting, still hanging over the settee back.

Brin stands, leaning against the back of the settee, wiping his mouth and looking down at me.

“Never done that before have you?” Again, it is a statement, not a question. “It didn’t take long. You must have been absolutely desperate.”

I shake my head, still descending from the glory I just experienced.

“Why not?”

I struggle to rise from my position. Brin, unceremoniously, hooks me under the arms and pulls me upright. “Why not? Why have you never done that before?” he repeats.

I struggle for words. “I don’t know. I thought it was me…” I am oddly reluctant to decry my dead husband.

“Yeah, well that’s what men tell women when they’re useless in the sack. There’s nothing wrong with you. You went from a standing start to screaming orgasm in about a minute flat.”

He pauses, thinking for a moment. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

I pick up on his phrasing. “Yet?”

He sniffs, reflectively I think. “Let’s talk about that. Why don’t we have another drink?”

“Err... I’m not sure I’ve got any in the house.”

“Brin jabs a finger at a cupboard. “There’s half a bottle of whiskey in there.” Then he sees my expression, and is entirely unembarrassed.

“Yeah, yeah, I went through your stuff before you got back. Wanted to know a bit more about you.”

Pouring two drinks, my third this evening, I reflect on the implications of Brin’s words. I should feel indignant, even violated at this man’s casual raiding of my house, my body, my sensibilities, but I don’t. Instead I want more.

Perhaps he senses my thoughts. Looking at me with a calculating eye he says “You’re trying to figure me out. Am I your knight in shining armour? Or am I some con-artist who’s going to take you for what you’ve got?”

He lifts my chin with a finger, forcing me eye to eye with him. “I’m a bad boy I am. I’m no maiden’s payer, but you know what? You’re still alive. You should have been dead three hours ago, and yet here you are, sweaty and honeyed up after the best sex you’ve ever had. And I’ve barely touched you.”

I gulp at the whiskey. He’s making a lot of sense in a ‘Down the Rabbit Hole - Wonderland’ kind of way.

“As I see it, “he continues, “there’s three ways this could go from here.” He counts off on his fingers. “One. I walk out of here. You never see me again, and in, oh, about a week, you’re standing on the edge of that bridge again, wondering if it was all a dream.”

I swill down another mouthful of whiskey.

“Two.” He counts off another finger. “You and me get all lovey-dovey and hitch-up.” He cocks his head at me. “That’s never gonna happen. You and me. We’re like chalk and cheese, and I’m a rolling stone.”

I stare at the ground, feeling a little sick.

“Three.” He pauses, staring straight at me. “Three. You do what I say for the next few days, and I’ll show you a side of life you’ve never seen. I’ll stretch you in ways you never dreamed of, or maybe you did dream, but thought you’d never do.”

He comes close. Really close, his chin resting on the top of my head as he speaks, one arm lightly around my shoulders. “You don’t really want to die. You want to live, but you don’t know how. I’ll show you, if that’s what you want.”

I nod. “Mmmm.” That is what I want.

“There’s rules.” he says. “It won’t be half and half. If we do this… If you do this, I’m in charge. You do as I say, or the whole thing’s off. I’m not going to be made a fool of by a woman who chickens out when she’s tested a bit.”

That Dutch Courage I was looking for, finally filters out from the alcohol. Right now, I’ll agree to anything he says if it gets me a repeat of the mind-blowing orgasm I just experienced.

“I’ll do it. You lead the way. Just tell me what to do. I’ll do anything you say.” I toss back the last of my drink. “I wish I’d met you years ago.”

He laughs; a short, sharp cough of a laugh. “You know what they say. Be careful what you wish for… I’ll take you on the ride of a lifetime, but make no mistake.” He jabs a finger at me. “You might not like it all. But that’s the point. You’ve lived too safely. You’re jaded. You need to live on the edge a bit.”

I don’t understand him, but I don’t care. “I’ll do whatever you say.” I repeat.

“Okay. Well you can start by finishing me off.”

I stare blankly at him. He looks pityingly at me. “I tongue-fucked you ‘til you came. So come over here and now it’s my turn.” He crooks a finger at me. I move close, standing in front of him. The finger twists and points down. “On your knees.” he says quietly.

The front of his jeans are bulging. “Come on then.” he says. “You just told me you’d do anything I say. Get it out and start sucking.”

I unbelt, and then with some difficulty, unzip the jeans, the zip made tight by the tension of his erection.

Extracting Brin’s quivering cock, I test it with my lips, wrapping my mouth around the head. I have never done this before either and am a bit unsure about how to go on. But the skin is silky and warm and it smells alive, musky, male, enticing.

Brin sees my uncertainty and takes the lead. Pulling away from me for a moment, he shrugs off the jeans and kicks them to one side, then shoves his cock at my mouth. “Open wide.” he says, grabbing me around the back of the head so that I cannot move, then pushing inwards.

Struggling with the thick and pulsing shaft shoved between my teeth, I have trouble sucking it. My jaws don’t seem able to open wide enough. My lips and tongue can’t manoeuvre.

He pulls out a little, guiding me with a hand entangled in my hair. “Use your tongue. Around the head and on the ridge.”

I try to obey, lapping and mouthing at the thick shaft, and beginning to enjoy myself. There is a thin seeping from the tip and I lick it away, sucking like a kid with a lolly.

Never would I have done this in my previous life, but now, the sheer dominance of Brin over me seems like a kind of permission to enjoy myself.

He strokes my hair. “That’s my Girl. Just keep that up. Use your hands as well if you want to.”

I see what he means. Using both hands, I hold his erection at the base, steadying it enough that my lips and tongue can concentrate on savouring this satiny flesh. His scent grows stronger, a perfume of arousal and sex. A little sweaty but not unpleasant.

The seepage grows, flowing across my tongue; a briny, bitter-sweet flavour like nothing else I have tasted, and I lap eagerly at it.

“You’ll get the full load in a minute.” he says. “You’re going to take it and swallow.”

He begins to tremble around the hips, a shaking tension that transmits through his cock. I can almost taste the mounting pressure. Abruptly, he seizes my head more tightly, twisting his fingers into my hair. He starts to thrust, forcing his way in, towards the back of my throat. Panicking, I wonder how far he will force himself in.

“Don’t lose your cool.” he says, his voice tight with self-restraint. “I won’t take you too far yet, but you’ve got to learn to go with it. You are going to swallow my cum.” He sounds raggy and strained, struggling to maintain control.

With a gasp and a heave, he judders, grinding his hips and balls against my face. Hot cream shoots into my mouth, flooding my tongue, dribbling a little through my lips. I can’t swallow with his cock so deep in my mouth, my throat, and I start to cough and splutter, but as his orgasm subsides, he pulls partly out, leaving the still seeping head between my lips. “Finish it off.” he says. And I swallow hard, licking the escaped cum from my lips.

“Now clean me up.”

Licking his still erect shaft clean and silky-dry, I lap up the sticky fluid still oozing from the head.

He nods his head in acknowledgment. “Pretty good. You’re not done that before either have you?”

I shake my head, trying to wipe my own mouth clean.

“It shows,” he continues. “But don’t worry. That wasn’t half bad for a first effort.”

He offers me a hand, helping me to my feet. “You still up for it? Want to see some real life instead of the sham you’ve been living?”

Do I? Oh my God. Yes!

“Oh yes, but I’m not sure what you expect of me.”

“You’ll do anything I tell you to do - and I will be telling you, not asking.”

“You will tell me? You want me to be your…. your slave?”

He stares up at the ceiling. “Yes, I suppose that’s it. I will be your ‘Master’. You will do whatever I tell you, when I tell you. Or… you can go back to the way you were. And the next time I won’t be there to stop you jumping off that bridge.”

I am scared, excited, aroused, all at the same time.

“You won’t… you won’t hurt me?”

He pauses, clearly choosing his words. “I’ll test you. And I’ll make you do things that you wouldn’t have done otherwise. And some of them will be things that you don’t want to do, at least at first. But…”

He jabs a finger at me. “Some of them will be things which, I think, you probably secretly wanted to do, and I am giving you permission to do them. And you will feel free to do them, and to enjoy them, when if the ‘previous you’ would not have considered them, even been forbidden them. Do you understand me?”

Dumbly I nod. “Yes, I understand.”

He grins. “Don’t look so serious. Come on, admit it. You just sucked off a man for the first time in your life and you loved it.” His hand probes between my legs. “Yup, as I thought. Dripping.”

And he’s right again. His hand between my legs sends an electric bolt up through my core. Involuntarily, I gasp a breath and my heart is suddenly pounding again.

Brin whispers, close by my ear. “Yeah, you’re not done yet are you? Didn’t think so, but I’m going to take a bit of a back seat now.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t….”

He sits, almost sprawls on the settee. “You, on the floor where I can see you.” He points to the carpet in front of him.

Puzzled, I sit at his feet.

“No, not like that. I said I want to see you. Lie back, legs up by me. Now spread ‘em. I want to see your pussy. Get rid of the skirt.”

Torn between flushing with embarrassment, and flushing with excitement, I obey him.

“Knees wider.” He grabs my ankles, hiking one up either side of him, then passes down a cushion. “Put that under your hips. You’ll be more comfortable and I’ll have a better view.”

I obey him, then accept another that he passes down to me. “Shove that under your head. I don’t want you looking at the ceiling. I want to looking at me, or at what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re still ready to get off again. I’m going to watch while you do it. I might decide to help. Or I might just watch.”

Unbelieving, “You want me to… “

He leans forward, staring me in the eye. “Masturbate, fuck yourself, get yourself off. I don’t care what you want to call it. I want to see you doing it. You can start by opening yourself up. Show me your cunt.”

Quivering as I do so, I peel apart my pussy lips, displaying my glistening core. Brin leans back, hands up behind his head, watches intently, holding my gaze.

“Play with yourself. Play with your clit and your pussy.”

My clit doesn’t need a lot of attention. Already hot and swollen, it throbs at his words. A little self-consciously, I start to finger myself. My engorged bud pulses as my finger slip by, then again as I glide circles around it, easing it from side to side, sending frissons of pleasure rippling through my belly and thighs.

My breath is becoming ragged and my blood beginning to pound. Brin smiles at me, eyes soft. “Come on Girl. That’s the way.” Leaning forward, as I work my bud, he slips two fingers inside my pussy, circling my inner muscles, stretching me. Pulling out again for a moment, he sucks his fingers clean…. “Sweet as honey.” …then slides them back in, this time angling them to rub up against my front inner wall.

I almost explode. I have heard of the g-spot, but never really knew it existed. Certainly, no-one else, Tom, ever seemed to know that I had one.

I yelp and arch my back, my hips frantically bucking as Brin massages my inner muscles. Having trouble controlling myself, my hands trying to keep up the attention on my bud, I writhe and twist, hearing to my own pounding heartbeat pulsing through me.

Now Brin starts to pump me. his two fingers become three, then four. First easing gently in, he pumps harder and harder, stretching me, opening me up, plunging in deeper.

My orgasm wells up again, blooming outwards in waves from my core, rippling out over thighs and belly like heat and tension together.

My head flung back, eyes tight shut, Brin continues to pump as my climax takes me. Lost to the world, I scream a triumphant scream, a declaration to the world that I am alive.


“You need a shower. So do I. Come on. You can wash my back.”

To my mild surprise, Brin treats the shower strictly as an exercise to get clean, scrubbing my back with an almost mechanical efficiency. Afterwards I don a robe, finding an old one of Tom’s for Brin. We sit by the fire, drinking coffee.

“So what happens next?” I ask.

“What do you want to happen next?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I want more of… of… this.”

“I told you my terms.”

“I do everything you tell me, even if I think that I don’t want to do it. I become your slave.”

“That’s it. You become my slave.”

“How long for?”

He shrugs. “Til I get bored with it. Or you do. Or until I think you’re not getting anything out of it anymore.”

I sip my coffee. “Will you stay the night?”

His eyes slide sideways to me. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

He leans back, stretching and yawning. “Good. Then I will.”

The Story Will Continue in ‘Enthralled’

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