Page 30 of Valentine's Slave

“You’re going to get the bed dirty,” she complains, as if the bed is hers.

Leaning forward at her chest, I lick away the chocolate, moving north, licking away all the whipped cream until I close my lips around her nipple. When I run my teeth over her, she gasps.

“Slaves only speak when spoken to,” I inform her, zeroing in on her other breast, plunging through the cream until I’m sucking her other nipple, and she wiggles beneath me, her hipsbucking under my weight, arms and legs resisting but still held taunt within the binds.

When I’ve totally licked her clean, I sit there and watch her, still straddling her, my cock throbbing in my slacks. I just fucked her, and I already want to pound her all over again.

Instead, I take my phone off the nightstand and open my banking app.

“Your first payment is arriving right now,” I inform her. “Today’s plan will include some free time.”

I pull two hundred dollars out of my wallet and drop them on the nightstand. “That’s your slave allowance for the day. Buy whatever you want, food or otherwise. We have a scheduled dinner together at 6 p.m. You may use the key I gave you before to come and go from the apartment as you please. You can do what you like, but keep in mind that at any second, whenIplease, I may find you and take you right there and then. Do you understand?”

She hesitates for a second as if replaying what I just said and then nods slowly.

“Words, Ava. I need words.”

“Yes.” Her voice is defiant.

“Yes who?”

Her face turns redder than it did during our wrestling match, and I can tell she loathes my chosen title. “Yes,Master.”

I give her breast a rewarding little pinch. “That’s my girl.” But I still sense doubt in her eyes. “Do you have a question?” I probe.

“You said you can ‘take me’,” she says slowly. “Does that mean . . . anywhere?”

“Exactly.” I flash her a devilish grin.

“What if there are other people around?” She sounds horrified.

“Well, then we’ll just have to be discreet.”

“You’re such an animal,” she mutters, turning her gaze away.

“I know.” I smirk. “And you’re my next meal.” I run my finger down her chest, between her breasts, over her abdomen, to the wetness between her legs. She looks away as if not wanting to witness the deed.

I reach down and undo her right ankle and then her left.

And with that, she hops off the bed and heads to the bathroom, shutting the door. A minute later, I hear the shower going, and I carry the breakfast supplies to the kitchen.

To burn off all my unused steam, I head to my study and do my morning workout. I see Ava walk past, fully dressed, on her way to the door. She pops her head into the room, seemingly unsure if she’s free to go or if she’s expected to announce her exodus.

“See you for dinner,” she pipes up, not looking nearly as snarky now.

“Enjoy.”

As soon as she leaves, I throw on a shirt and stride out the door, five minutes behind her. I open my phone app and see her little red dot bobbing down the street. I slipped a tracker into her purse. I’m not about to let my prey get away from me that easily.

But she doesn’t go far. She settles at a coffee shop around the block and works for a solid two hours. I don’t get a look at her computer screen since I only catch distant glances through the window, but I would bet that she’s job hunting since she is still technically jobless and homeless. She also has a blog, which I’ve read. She’s a talented writer—all she needs is a focus.

She took the allowance money I gave her, but she doesn’t use much. She buys a sandwich for lunch, which surprises me. After she was so close to the edge of severe poverty, now with fifty thousand dollars soon to be fully in her grasp, I would have imagined her to have rushed to a fancy restaurant or gone and gotten her hair done. Whatever it is that she likes to do. But here she is, hard at the grind, paying no attention to the stack of cashshe’s newly accumulated. She has a good work ethic, and that says something.

After working and eating, she does take a little pleasure trip, though. She goes to the mall and stops into Victoria’s Secret, of all places. Staying a far distance back, not even entering the store, I watch carefully what items she picks up. They’re all one-pieces, body suits, mostly boring looking, and they cover a lot more skin than I would like.

When she heads towards the changerooms, I make my move, entering the store, grabbing an especially skimpy item off the shelf, and heading to the back myself. Ava just disappeared down the long hall of changerooms, and I walk past the woman at the entrance.

“I have to give this to my wife,” I say, walking past.

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