Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

Because that was her focus. Of course it was. Master John knew so much more about the scene than she, and had really taught her everything she knew to this point. It had been a thrilling, if difficult journey. She needed to stop dwelling on all the negatives. He just wanted what was best for her. She had to believe that. Things were still good between them.

Before John Garfield had come into her life, she’d just been a player in the scene, barely sticking her toe in the BDSM water. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to go deeper. She just hadn’t found the right man.

Then he’d appeared, like some kind of romance alpha male—devastatingly handsome, charming, sexy and dominant to his core. And he’d chosen her. The most handsome guy in the room—shit, in the whole damn city—had chosen her.

As the water sluiced over her, Rowan dropped her hands to cup her breasts, idly fingering the tiny barbells at her nipples. She’d always wanted piercings, but had never had the nerve. Yet when Master John had presented the jewelry to her, nestled in a little velvet box just like a wedding ring, she’d been thrilled.

She hadn’t hesitated a moment when he said he would do the piercing. As with everything else, he was an expert with the piercing needle. Yes, it had hurt like crazy, but only for a minute or two. Afterward, he’d insisted on caring for the piercings himself as they healed, his touch gentle and loving. Back then, she’d gone to sleep every night nestled in the cocoon of his warm embrace.

When had things changed?

When had she lost her way?

The truth was, it had been getting harder and harder to please him. She didn’t want to be a worthless cunt, she really didn’t! How she hated when he used that term, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it. Would she ever get to the point where she wasn’t just going through the motions to please him, but had truly embraced her submission in her soul?

The hot water was running out, recalling Rowan to herself. She turned off the shower and reached through the curtain for one of the fluffy white towels on the nearby counter. After drying herself, she wrapped her body in the luxurious towel and left the tiny bathroom.

Still wrapped in the towel, she lay on the bed, surprised at how comfortable the mattress was. She’d just rest her eyes for a few minutes…

She awoke with a start to someone gently shaking her shoulder. As she opened her eyes, it took her a second to place the man standing above, or where she was.

“Time to wake up, sleepyhead,” Brandon said, smiling down at her. “It’s dinnertime.”

The food was delicious, the company easy and relaxed. The rest of the house staff was just as nice as Brandon, and Rowan felt immediately at home. It occurred to her then it had been too long since she’d seen her friend Sheri, or indeed, anyone but Master John. Maybe, if she was able to successfully complete this new training program, Master John would again allow her access to her phone.

Surely, once she’d achieved a proper state of submissive grace, things would be different. And maybe Brandon was right. Maybe this mystery sister slave Master John was so intent on bringing home would become her new best friend and confidante.

Or there might be a totally different outcome, one she would secretly, vastly prefer. Maybe, once Master John saw how truly submissive and accepting she was, he would forget the whole idea of bringing someone else into their relationship. She would be enough for him.

That night, despite the comfortable bed, it took forever to fall asleep. As she lay there in the unfamiliar room staring up at the ceiling, her naughty hand kept slipping between her legs.

It was the trainer’s fault, she thought petulantly. In the space of a day, she’d had more direct sexual stimulation than she’d had in weeks, and it had opened the floodgates of her desire.

Damn it, she needed to get to sleep. If only her misbehaving cunt would stop throbbing.

Who would know? It’s just to take the edge off so you can sleep.

She wrestled silently with her conscience for a few minutes, pretending to a resolve she didn’t actually possess.

“Fuck it,” she finally whispered aloud in the darkness.

She put her fingers into her mouth, lubricating them with her saliva. She slipped her hand once more between her thighs, this time with intent. With a sigh of relieved pleasure, she stroked and rubbed herself to the very edge.

“Please,” she gasped at the moment of climax. “May I come, Sir?”

It was only afterward, as she lay panting, her heart tapping against her ribcage, that she realized who she’d been asking for permission.

It hadn’t been Master John.

It had been Eric.