“I want those seams always perfectly straight. If they are not, there will be consequences. You represent the office after all,” he said, his eyes glittering with amusement.
And what kind of message was he trying to send with such representation?
“Y-yes, Master.” It wasn't even seven in the morning, and she was already a fluttery hot mess. “Wait, there aren't any panties.” She had panties, but they weren't the seamless kind she'd need for skirts like that.
“Observant girl. This is why I'm hiring you. You're so good with details. Get a shower and get dressed. I'll bring up our breakfast.”
Shannon found herself disappointed he hadn't touched her this morning and tried not to think too much about what that said about her. She rushed through a shower and put on makeup and fixed her hair. Then she selected a red skirt and white top. She may as well go with the sluttiest version of this outfit before she lost her nerve. She was grateful at least that none of her scars were visible. She didn't want to go into the city for the first time looking like a mangled freak.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Lindsay was already on the balcony with their breakfast. Sausage, eggs, buttery croissants, fruit, and coffee.
He looked up from his paper and nodded approvingly. “You were born to wear that for me.”
Shannon felt herself flush from the heated way he looked at her. She sat down as he poured her coffee, dropping a sugar cube into it and a dollop of cream.
“We get a paper?” It seemed a bit risky to send a paperboy all the way out here to the big mysterious white mansion in the middle of nowhere. She'd always thought the guys kept a low profile.
“I get a paper at the office, but I only have time to read it at breakfast the next day.”
“So it's not really news anymore, is it?”
“It's a morning ritual. Eat your breakfast.”
The drive into the city was long. As much as she was thrilled by getting out of the house and going somewhere, she was glad they'd only be making this trip three times a week. Shannon absently ran her fingertips over her bare wrist. He'd taken the security bracelet off before taking her out of the house, promising it would go right back on again when they returned.
But for now, she felt strange and unreal without that little metal reminder of her captivity. Could she find a way to run? She hadn't been this close to freedom in so long. But where would she go? All she wanted was for him to touch her. She couldn't imagine the pain of the absence of his touch, his nearness. All she wanted was to be closer to him, so how could she run? Everything she wanted was right here.
Lindsay didn't touch her or tease her in any way the whole excruciating drive into the city. A chilling thought hit her. Maybe he wanted her to run. What if he was tired of her? She didn't even have a collar like the other girls. How could she be a permanent resident and his real pet if she didn't even have a collar?
“Master?”
“Yes, kitten?”
“Are you upset with me?”
“Why would I be upset with you?”
“Never mind.”
Maybe he was bored. Maybe he liked brats. Should she be more bratty? Maybe it was the scars. Maybe they did bother him. Maybe he thought that they were ugly... that she was ugly. Maybe she was his pity fuck after all.
He'd broken down the carefully crafted walls she'd put up to protect herself from anyone, but especially him. If he just threw her away now or lost interest... Maybe bringing her in as his secretary was just another way to keep her on suicide watch to appease his own guilt. Maybe he didn't trust the others at the house to watch her.
Yes, he'd paid all that money and made it official or whatever but what was three million to him? Probably nothing. Or not much. And anyway, couldn't he be getting paid back somehow in an extra cut of the profits from Anton until things were balanced again? Maybe it really was just an elaborate game. And maybe he was finished playing it.
Sometimes she wished she was a stupider person, so she wouldn't have to think so much, so she could just take this at face value like other people might.
Tears slipped down her cheeks. She wiped them quickly away, but Lindsay noticed.
He pulled the car over onto the shoulder and put it in park.
“Hey. Talk to me.”
She shook her head. “I can't.”
“We've been making such progress.”
“I am a pity fuck to you.”
His expression turned dark and dangerous. “I never want to hear those words out of your mouth again. You are not a pity fuck.”
“Then what am I?”
“Mine.”
“But I don't have a collar.” She was now the kink equivalent of the where is this relationship going girl.
He unbuckled his seat belt and turned toward her. He stroked the side of her face and held her gaze trapped in his. “I am not playing. You are completely mine. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Master.” That word still felt so strange to her. It had been years since she'd used it with a man. And the last time it had been with someone she could just walk away from any time she wanted. As long as he wanted her, she actually did belong to Lindsay.
“Good girl. I'll order your collar today.” He said it as though he'd always planned to order one and he'd just been busy.
He turned back toward the road, put his seat belt on, and started the car again.
Shannon looked out the window trying to fight the small smile of relief.
Lindsay had just gotten off the phone with the collar guy. It was the guy Michael had used for Vivian. Then Brian had used him. Gabe had used him. So they'd started to think of him as their collar guy. It hadn't been a question of who Lindsay would call.
Before making the call He'd gotten Shannon settled in, explained her duties to her, told her to call him Sir at the office and then retreated behind his closed door.
The red light on his phone came on, followed by Shannon's voice.
“Sir, your ten-thirty is here.”
So professional. He should give her a raise.
“Miss Foster, could you come into my office for a moment?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Shut the door,” he said, when Shannon walked in. She was a vision in that short red skirt. When she walked, the dark lacy tops of the stockings peeked out to tease him before retreating back underneath the red fabric. The stockings were silk and very expensive. He never skimped on lingerie. He'd bought twenty pairs.
And she wasn't wearing panties. Or she'd better not be.
He motioned for her to come closer.
She stopped a few feet away from his desk.
“Closer, Miss Foster.”
She blushed when he addressed her by her last name. It was adorable.
“Good. Now I want you to spread your legs, hike that skirt up, and lean over and rest your forearms on the desk.”
“But, Sir, there's someone just outside the door.”
She wasn't playing a game. She seemed genuinely concerned about this state of affairs.
“Yes, I'm well aware of what the phrase, your ten-thirty is here, means. They had a whole course on that in medical school. Do it.”
Shannon hesitated only a moment before doing as he asked. As she leaned forward, her top gaped to reveal her breasts pushed up and held in perfect suspension by the lacy black bra.