He went into the small attached bathroom to get a damp washcloth and some salve. He quietly appraised Rowan as he returned to her. She was maybe five-foot-three, if that, but perfectly proportioned. She had a slender body with just enough curves, her breasts high and firm. Her skin was the rich color of honey tinged with bronze. Large, deep brown eyes heavily fringed with black lashes were complemented by a strong Roman nose and a full, sensuous mouth.
Her beauty was marred at the moment by the tip of her thumb, which was in her mouth. She was worrying what little was left of its chewed nail with her teeth.
Crouching beside her, Eric reached for her hand, gently pulling it away. Before he went any further with her training, he would need to understand why she’d had such a powerful, negative reaction to the scene. What exactly was it she was so afraid of? Or, more to the point, who?
Before peppering her with questions, he would give her a little time to regroup. In the meantime, he needed to talk to Grayson and Dominique, the managers of the New York branch of the Masters Club who had hired him for this gig.
He wished now he’d followed his gut instinct, declining the gig unless or until he could meet face-to-face with the Master, Grayson’s assurances that he’d been properly vetted notwithstanding.
John Garfield, the man in question, had dropped Rowan off early that morning on his way to the airport, not even taking the time to come inside with her.
The questionnaire Garfield had completed hadn’t raised any particular alarms. All the right boxes had been checked, the man’s desire for additional training reasonable and well-articulated. His stated goals were to help Rowan learn not only to accept but embrace adding a sister slave to the household. He also wanted the trainer to focus on Rowan’s oral skills, along with learning the classic slave positions.
Before he did anything, however, Eric needed to get Rowan back to a better place emotionally. Fortunately, her pierced nipples, though still a little swollen from the clamps, were intact. As he washed them and applied the ointment, Eric couldn’t help but admire the plump, dark red nubbins. They were especially beautiful against her honeyed skin and the gold of her nipple jewelry. Her hair smelled faintly of jasmine and freshly sliced oranges.
He had the sudden, utterly absurd impulse to lean down and kiss her cheek, or better yet, those full lips. He had an urge to bury his face in that thick, shiny tumble of curls.
He rose abruptly to his feet, disconcerted by his ridiculous and wholly unprofessional desires. Not only was Rowan his trainee and therefore automatically off-limits, but she was owned by another man.
Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out his cell and dashed off a text to Brandon, and then one to Grayson. While waiting for their responses, he went to the small refrigerator set under the counter and removed a bottle of chilled water.
He twisted off the cap as he approached Rowan. “You feeling better?”
“Yes, Sir.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
He helped her to sit up and handed her the bottle.
A moment later, Brandon appeared in the doorway. “You texted, Sir?” he queried politely, his eyes sliding from Eric to Rowan.
“Yes. Come in. Rowan’s had a difficult start to her first day. She could use a little downtime. Can you take charge of her for a little while? I’ll text you when I’m ready for her again.”
“It would be my pleasure, Sir,” the house slave replied. He wore his usual outfit of a red leather thong, his chest, legs and feet bare. Around his neck was a matching red slave collar. Cuffs graced his wrists and ankles. He smiled down at Rowan as he extended his hand.
“First days can be rough,” he said in a kind voice. “Don’t worry, though. Master Eric is an excellent trainer. He’ll help you work through whatever it is.”
As they left the room together, Eric’s phone buzzed. Pulling it out, he read the brief text from Grayson:
Sure, come on down. We’re in the dining room.
The Masters Club was housed in a four-story brownstone near Washington Square Park in New York’s Greenwich Village. Once the residence of a wealthy family, it had been converted to suit the needs of the Masters Club members. The first floor included a large dining room, audition chamber and auction room. There was a huge state-of-the-art dungeon on the second floor, with training rooms and smaller dungeons on the third. The fourth floor contained the private living quarters for Grayson and Dominique, along with accommodations for their house slaves, and a few extra rooms for guests and trainees.
Eric took the wide, curving stairs two at a time down to the first floor. He entered the large dining room, which was empty save for Grayson and Dominique seated at a table for four near the door. Alongside their coffee mugs, several file folders lay open before them. Grayson was reading something aloud to his wife from one of the files.