Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

While she peed, he ran the water in the shower. When she came out, he said, “I’ll make us some breakfast. You okay to shower alone?” His tone was solicitous, as if she was recovering from a long illness and might be too weak to be on her own. As if he wasn’t the one who had left her locked in a dog kennel overnight, bound and gagged.

She nodded mutely, still not trusting herself to speak. She was relieved when he left her alone. She needed this time alone to master her rage. She couldn’t afford to let him see her anger. Not now. Not yet.

She brushed her teeth vigorously, desperate to clean away the sourness left by the gag. Once in the shower, the hot water soothed her aching limbs as she scrubbed away the nightmare spent in the cage.

The smell of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee reached her as she toweled herself dry. As hard and miserable as the night in the closet had been, she wasn’t really the worse for wear, at least physically.

She tried to see it from Master John’s perspective. It had to have been painful for him to hear another man’s name on her tongue, however unintentional the slip had been. He’d been hurt, and that was understandable.

But had the punishment fit the crime? Maybe she was overreacting? After all, she’d signed that slave contract giving him full rights to train and punish her as he saw fit.

If it doesn’t feel right…

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her hand moving up to the ubiquitous collar around her neck. Why did she have to wear it even in the shower? The calligraphic “slave” etched into the leather suddenly looked tacky to her.

Eric had counseled communication, and that went two ways. She needed to let Master John know—really know—how she felt. By keeping her feelings in check for so long, she’d done them both a disservice.

She would approach the situation with calmness and grace. Their wires were crossed, that was all. She’d been so enthralled with the whole fairy tale aspect of the wealthy, handsome, sexy Dom swooping into her life that she’d pushed those niggling hesitations aside, convinced he knew better than she what she truly needed. Once she explained that things weren’t working for her—for them—maybe they could start fresh.

She entered the kitchen and took her place on the cushion as Master John brought the food to the table. He had prepared scrambled eggs, bacon and buttered toast, along with coffee and grapefruit juice.

He ate most of the food himself, turning occasionally to hold out a morsel or give her a sip from his glass or mug. She was actually glad he hadn’t prepared a separate plate for her. While her stomach was empty, she had no appetite. She was too agitated by the events of the night before, and his calm assumption that everything was just fine.

She even considered refusing the food outright, but didn’t want to deal with the potential fallout. Instead, she accepted what he offered, chewing without pleasure. It used to feel sexy when he fed her, sometimes using his fingers, every gesture infused with eroticism. But that morning it was just another thing to endure.

“Permission to speak, Sir?” she finally ventured, nervous but determined to speak her mind.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not yet. You may speak after I tell you our plans. We’re going to start down a new path. It’s all clear to me now.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about, too,” she blurted, hope rising inside her. “I agree. We need to find a new path.”

He frowned, fixing her with a stern gaze. “Rowan, you’re forgetting yourself again. Another outburst like that and I’m going to be forced to gag you again.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered contritely. She would be patient. Surely, he, too, recognized things couldn’t go on as they had been.

“I made a mistake, sending you to that place, Rowan,” he began. “They’re just a bunch of amateurs. But something they said did get me thinking. That bozo trainer questioned if my training regime for you was appropriate, and it’s made me realize I was jumping the gun. You’re not yet ready for a sister slave because you haven’t learned to fully submit, not on a gut level. That’s my fault, and I’m going to fix it.”

Rowan had no idea where he was going with this. She held her tongue, waiting.

“Starting today,” he continued, “we’re going to enter a new phase of training. You’re going to devote every second, 24/7, to serving me to the exclusion of all else. No art, no outside influences, no distractions. I’m going to break you down and build you back again, bit by bit, into the slave girl I want you to be. Going forward, you won’t make a move without my express permission. Your sole goal is to obey, without question and without hesitation.”