The soft clink of silver on china rang like a bell in Caroline’s ears.
She stood just inside the doorway, her wrists loosely bound behind her with a silk ribbon, her leash draped over Anastasia’s hand. Her hair hung in soft waves, brushed until it shone. She wore a delicate sheer slip, translucent in the candlelight, doing nothing to disguise the soft curves of her body or the red marks still fading on her thighs.
She’d been bathed, lotioned, perfumed, and even though she’d spent the afternoon curled into a ball asleep on the rug in Anastasia’s room, the exhaustion of the day lingered. She straightened, her eyes through the door on her prize. The dinner table and Ethan.
The room was warm from the afternoon sun through long windows. But now, the sun setting behind the live oaks, long candles flickered on the table, their flames casting golden reflections across crystal and polished silver. Laughter floated in and out from the dinner table. And guests of the estate, some Caroline was intimately familiar with after the ride, enjoyed a feast that filled Caroline’s nostrils and made her stomach rumble.
No one looked at her when she entered the room, her bare feet soft on the tiled floor. Except Anastasia, who clipped her leash to a brass ring on the wall beside a fern and left her there with a stern look.
Caroline didn’t speak. She barely breathed. She’d been prepared by Anastasia for this moment. Another freezing shower, her bar of soap, and then warmer water, blending to hot. Was it a kindness? Or was Anastasia yet again reminding her that nothing was under her control, certainly not her body? And most certainly not her orgasms. She drew in a deep breath and felt her aching clit pulsing between her legs. The thought of the crop sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt her nipples harden against the slip.
If only Ethan had seen it, she thought. If only he’d watched her cum…demanded it. Praised her. But he hadn’t been there, and his gaze was elsewhere now — everywhere but on his recently won prize. Didn’t he see her? Why wouldn’t he sit there waiting, his eyes boring into her as she entered the room? Feasting on her instead of that steak? Wasn’t that what she was there for? His trophy? His prize? His slave?
She’d spent the first night as a sex toy for strangers, spent the day running across his estate, pulled behind his horses from his stable into a glade that undoubtedly belonged to him, as well, and she’d performed for his guests, licked their boots clean and even — she shuddered again when the memory flowed across her mind like a wave — cum under their gaze, the crop striking her clit like a clock ticking, counting down her surrender to him. To him.
Caroline’s stomach twisted as she watched Ethan—radiant in black, laughing at something one of the men said—lift his glass to make a toast.
“To new acquisitions,” he said. “To the care and generosity of good friends. And to excellent training.”
There were chuckles, the kind that made Caroline feel naked again even with the slip clinging to her skin. Ethan didn't so much as glance in her direction.
But she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Her chest tightened, and she chastised herself for staring. But she couldn’t look away. Hadn’t he kissed her, touched her, made her cum just the day before, claimed her as his own. And then, he’d barely noticed her. Not even fucked her, giving her away on their first night.
She had thought—naively, desperately—that she would be beside him tonight. At his feet, perhaps. Kneeling, yes, but seen. Her lips and tongue supping water from a bowl, if that’s what he wanted. Would he feed her with his fingers, let the steak juices drip down her chin and forbid her from wiping it away? She watched him fork the meat into his mouth and wondered what cut he liked? What level of heat? Did he drown it in hot sauce like so many in the Quarter, or was he more refined? And yet, he didn’t look over even once.
They laughed, and she knew who they referred to. Her name, if she had one anymore, was no longer relevant. Her heart thudded once, sharp and low, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hoping the meal would end soon or he would come himself and gather her. He was only making her wait and stew and show patience. She could wait, she told herself. She could wait for whatever would come.
“Good evening, darling.”
The voice was warm Southern velvet with a steel blade hidden just beneath. Caroline flinched and knew the voice before she even turned her head.
Ms. Benedict stood at her side, dressed in an immaculately tailored black skirt suit and red heels. A glass of red wine dangled from her manicured fingers. She looked like someone who’d arrived with a quiet promise and every intention of collecting.
“You’re lovely tonight,” she said, her lips curving slowly. “I almost didn’t recognize you without drool on your chin.”
Caroline said nothing, Anastasia’s warnings still warm in her memory.
Ms. Benedict set her wineglass down on a side table and leaned in close, and Caroline felt the goosebumps crawl over her flesh as the blonde’s fingers brushed her cheek, then tucked a curl behind her ear with clinical care. “I see you waiting for him to notice you,” she murmured. “Poor thing.”
Caroline’s jaw trembled.
“You thought you’d be his treasure, didn’t you?” A pause, her lips ruby red and sliding past Caroline’s mouth to her ear. Warm breath. A whisper. A promise. “But men like Ethan don’t cherish things. They collect them.” She paused, and Caroline could feel the smile on Ms. Benedict’s face she couldn’t see. “Put them on display. And let others admire. Maybe more. Much more.”
Caroline looked down, eyes burning. She hated how right Ms. Benedict sounded. Her mouth opened, a host of words on the tip of her tongue, waiting, aching to come out, regardless of Anastasia’s warning, before she felt the other woman’s finger on her lips, silencing her.
“Shhh, pet. You think he will hear you?”
Fingers traced a line down Caroline’s jaw to her neck, slowly, seductively sliding between her breasts and over the single button that kept her slip closed. It hid nothing, the sheer cloth barely closed in front, and Caroline had never felt more naked than she did now. It wasn’t the clothing at all, but how Ms. Benedict looked at her. The emerald eyes fixed on Caroline’s own brown pools, the fire that burned there reflected in the ache between her legs.
Ethan hadn’t cast a single glance Caroline’s way during dinner, but Ms. Benedict was feasting on her.
Just then, the chairs pushed back from the table en masse, and Caroline saw Ethan raise his glass slightly—nothing more than a polite gesture of acknowledgment, his eyes darting from Caroline to Ms. Benedict and back.
“May I borrow her?” Ms. Benedict called out lightly, the way one might ask to taste someone’s dessert.
Ethan didn’t even look directly at her. “Be my guest,” he said, and he turned away, leading his entourage in the other direction while a cadre of servants appeared from the corners of the room and cleared away the plates.
Caroline swallowed hard, watching her master walk away. He hadn’t so much as spoken her name, barely acknowledging her presence, her body, her nakedness, how she waited patiently for his attention, his touch, his cock. And then he was gone, the guests with him, through a doorway, leaving Ms. Benedict sipping her wine and waiting for Caroline’s eyes to find her again.
She unhooked the leash with a practiced twist and gave it a gentle tug. “Come,” she said, not loud, not harsh—but firm. “You belong to me tonight, slave.” And Caroline followed, slipping away from the corner, her eyes lingering still on the empty doorway, to a small alcove near the tall bay windows. Shadows danced along the floor as the oaks swayed in the brisk evening breeze, the last rays of the sun painting the high clouds.
Ms. Benedict sat down in an armchair and crossed one leg over the other, the red heels dancing for a moment. Then she leaned back and surveyed her prize, let the silence stretch while Caroline stood, the leash dangling between her breasts.
Then, “Kneel. I like you better on your knees.”
