He shook his head. “Not because of the money. I also refuse to make the same mistake Cris made and walk out on her.”
Her face hardened. “I want to fucking strangle that asshole.”
He grinned. “I’m sure that could be arranged. As long as we get Tilly out of the house first so she doesn’t stop you.”
Loren laughed. “She wasn’t kidding that you’re a sadist, was she?”
“No, she wasn’t.”
She leaned in and dropped her voice. “This is between you and me. Are you falling in love with her?”
He didn’t care if she told Tilly or not. He nodded. “I believe I am, yes.”
“So when I ask you today if you’ll love, honor, and cherish her, you’ll mean it, right?”
“With every breath in my body.”
The women made it out the door a little after eight-thirty. They’d have breakfast on the way to get their nails done. Tilly took her dress with her and would ride to the club with Loren and Ross.
Landry wouldn’t see her again until at the club that evening.
He’d prepared a little surprise for Tilly and hired a limo to drive him and Cris to the club and then bring the three of them home. There they would begin Cris’ torture in earnest.
Tilly had told him he could unpack his things in her bedroom, and had already shuffled a few drawers around to make room. He was surprised to discover she didn’t seem to own a lot of clothes.
There were two distinct personalities in this way as well, what was obviously “Tilly’s” wardrobe and what belonged to “Mistress Cardinal.” Tilly was fond of baggy jeans and shorts, and oversized, comfortable shirts that hid her shape. She owned a few slacks and casual dresses, and a black multi-purpose formal dress, but not very many clothes, truth be told. Mistress Cardinal owned several corsets and fetish dresses, stiletto heeled boots and shoes, but again not very much. There was still a comfortable amount of empty space in her closet when he moved clothes around and pushed them closer to make room for his things.
She’s not a clothes horse, that’s for sure.
After unpacking the clothes he had with him, he wandered the house. She’d given him a cursory tour earlier, but now he had time to explore on his own before retrieving Cris. She loved books. The walls of one room, her office he guessed because of the desk and laptop, were lined floor-to-ceiling with books. She had a small room, probably originally a den, containing exercise equipment. Another room was obviously a dungeon playroom for her clients. And a guest bedroom. With a split floor plan, the master bedroom was situated at the far end of the house from the other rooms, on the other side of the living room. The playroom lay at the opposite end of the house, the last room in the hall. Then the guest room, office, with the exercise room closest to the kitchen and living room areas.
He’d have to see how far sound carried. It wouldn’t do if Cris couldn’t lay in bed and hear him fucking her brains out.
He might have to make Cris sleep on the living room floor just so he could get the full effect.
After making himself some breakfast, he picked up the keys Tilly had left for him on the counter. He studied them. His keys from California, their cars, office, and house, were on the dresser at the hotel.
He’d have to send Cris back to coordinate the move. The office wasn’t an issue because he could telecommute. Eventually he’d open another office out here, once he knew how his treatments would go.
He felt a little guilty over not revealing his cancer to Cris sooner, but only a little.
He’d learn about it soon enough.
Landry arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes early and found Cris ready to leave as instructed.
When he walked into the room he immediately unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the bed. “I want my light blue shirt,” he instructed as he walked to the bathroom to use the toilet.
In the mirror over the vanity counter, he saw Cris staring at his shoulders, at the claw marks still visible. Tilly hadn’t broken the skin but she’d dug in hard, raking her nails along his shoulders in a delicious way even he could enjoy. He smiled at him in the mirror as Cris stood there holding the shirt he’d just discarded, a stunned look on his face. “Is there a problem, slave?”
He shook his head. “No, Master. No problem.”
Slave stared after his Master when he closed the bathroom door. His heart raced in his chest. He knew damn well what Master had been up to. Master wanted him to see those marks on his shoulders.
Who the fuck had he been with?
Jealousy raged within him, forcing him to take a deep breath to remain in control and not confront Landry. When the revelation of where he must have been hit him, it startled him out of his reverie and he remembered he was supposed to be getting Master’s other shirt. As he hurried to do it, he tried to talk the idea out of his head.
Not Tilly. He wouldn’t do that to her.
She wouldn’t do that with him. Not his Tilly.
He squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath. She wasn’t his anymore. Not since the day he walked away from her and released her.
Then again, he never dreamed she’d become a pro Domme either.
His Master was a sadist. Slave knew damn well how upset Master felt over what had happened, but this…
No.
He refused to jump to conclusions.
When Master returned, slave had the shirt ready and the other put away, their luggage sitting on the floor by the door, waiting.
Master stared at him, one corner of his mouth quirked in an amused smile as he buttoned his shirt. “What’s wrong, slave?”
“Nothing, Master.”
“What were you staring at when I walked to the bathroom?”
Cat and mouse. It only confirmed slave’s suspicions. “The marks on your shoulders, Master,” he quietly replied. It wouldn’t do any good to lie or say “nothing,” because he knew his Master would draw the game out until he admitted seeing the marks.
He grinned. “Ah, those.” Master offered no other explanation, but slave knew damn well from his Master’s pleased grin that’s exactly what he’d planned. A show for his benefit and for Master’s amusement.
The slave loaded their luggage in the car. Before he could ask if Master wanted him to drive, Landry slid behind the wheel and started the car.
The slave climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.
“Did you eat breakfast, slave?”
“Yes, Master. They had a continental breakfast.”
“Good.” He slipped on his sunglasses before turning to him. “Here are the ground rules for today: you do not speak unless I tell you to. Understand?”
He nodded, hoping that was safe.
“Good.” He backed out of the parking space and headed south on U.S. 41. The slave’s heart tripped in his chest as he recognized the route they took. The same route as the other day.
He felt the fluorite pendant digging into his hip through his jeans, where he carried it in his right front pocket.
When they pulled into Tilly’s driveway, Landry got out and slave scrambled to follow. He didn’t fail to notice Master pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the front door.
“Bring the luggage,” he ordered as he walked in.
As if he owned the place.
With a deep cold settling inside his heart, slave complied. He wasn’t allowed to speak. That meant no asking any of the thousands of questions racing through his brain.
Master stood by the counter and laid his keys there in a familiar manner. “I’ll show you where to put your things.” He walked down a hallway and slave followed him to a guest room. “This is your room from now on,” Master said as he stood inside the doorway. “You will put your things in here. This door is never to be closed unless I tell you to close it. Understand?”