flighty_dreams: (bashful)
[personal profile] flighty_dreams
TITLE: A Scotch for the Road - Part 18
AUTHOR: [info]flighty_dreams
WARNINGS: Slavefic. NC-17.  F/m.
WORD COUNT: 5,217 (this chapter)/ story so far (over 60K)
SUMMARY: A slave enduring a party encounters the mistress who once abandoned him.
NOTES: Much thanks to [info]aurila for her assistance as always. And I know, finally a proper update, right? More Spliced sometime soon.
FEEDBACK: Always welcome, even if it's just to say that you read it.

“Ready to go, Jen?” Jason asked.

“Almost. Give me a minute,” Jenna told him, retrieving her shoes from the bedroom. She sat down on the living room couch to put them on, listening to Jason’s awkward attempt to converse with Brett.

“Do you like football?”

Brett shrugged. “Not really, sir.”

Jenna smiled, not surprised. Although she’d seen him watch some other sports on TV, he’d never paid any attention to football.

“Suppose it’s better for you that you don’t,” Jason commented. When Jenna gave him a look for saying so, he added, “I mean since he’s not allowed to go to games.”

“Unfortunately.” She glanced at Brett, sad—and annoyed—about that fact. All of the popular sports prohibited slaves from attending; free citizens unable to get tickets would resent slaves taking up seats in sold out games. On top of that, the Bureau of Slave Affairs supported the policy, claiming such frivolous activities unsuitable, encouraging sloth and confusing slaves about their proper place.

Another simple pleasure he’d been denied. If it were up to her she would have taken Brett, at the very least to experience a game once. She hadn’t yet dismissed the idea of sneaking him in sometime.

Jason cleared his throat. “Should be an interesting game today.”

“Yeah,” Jenna agreed, rising and receiving her purse from Brett. Their city’s team, the Setis Panthers, were in the playoffs and playing their longtime rivals from the west coast. “Both teams are strong this year, it’s a shame they can’t both progress to the finals.”

“I know,” Jason said, shaking his head. “Wish they hadn’t made the league changes. We’ll never see the Panthers and the Wolves battle it out for the championship ever again, though it would be hard to top the last one. Now that was an historic game. Wish I could’ve been there live watching that.”

Jenna laughed. Men. Obsessing about games that had happened decades earlier. “Will you ever get over that?”

“No,” Jason said, unrepentant.

Even Brett smiled now, amused by Jason’s enthusiasm too.

“That was the game,” Jason continued, “how could you expect me to dismiss it? It-”

“Come on, Mr. Obsessive, let’s go,” Jenna said, prodding him towards the door. “I’m sure the others are wondering where we are.”

“Shaun’s probably on his third drink already, he won’t notice a thing,” Jason protested, even as he allowed her to guide him out.

Jenna silently agreed. A law school student on a limited budget, Shaun would be happy to use his birthday as a legitimate excuse to accept free drinks from their circle of friends from university. And it was good for Shaun to let loose, in Jenna’s opinion; while his father was an influential city judge, his mother had been a slave, and Shaun took life very seriously, driven by a need to prove himself to those who would disparage him for his mixed background.

Once Jason was in the hall, she turned in the doorway, eyes instantly going to Brett. For a moment she reconsidered going, simply because he looked sad there in the foyer, left behind. But no, she’d been neglecting her friends lately, and she couldn’t miss Shaun’s birthday.

She beckoned Brett over, giving him a quick kiss. She promised herself that she’d give him extra attention later. He’d seemed quieter since she told him about the ball and her decision not to take him.

He smiled for her. “Have fun, Mistress.”

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing her thumb along his lips before departing.


The slam of the door and distant voices woke Brett.

He sat up, blinking as his eyes adjusted. He’d left the bedroom door open and the hallway light on for Jenna so she wouldn’t stumble around in the dark. He debated whether to rise; she’d told him not to wait up for her, and she wasn’t alone. While normally he’d feel obligated to see if she needed anything, since he was awake anyway, he wasn’t eager to watch Hathaway panting over his mistress. Especially if they were both drunk.

“Shh,” came his mistress’s voice then, too loud in the quiet apartment. “You’ll wake Brett.”

A laugh from Jason, faintly heard. “It might be too late for that already.”

A murmured word he didn’t catch, and then: “Stay there.”

Her footsteps approached, and he had only a moment to decide, remain sitting up or pretend he slept? Conflicted, he wasn’t able to choose quickly enough.

Seeing him, she stepped into the room. “Did we wake you?”

He shrugged in answer, aware he should greet her properly. Pushing the sheets back, he moved to the edge of the bed. Her hand lifted, but she was still too far to reach him. “It’s o-”

He slid to his knees, legs apart and arms behind his back, the open posture coming naturally to him in his nakedness.

She halted, staring at him, partially draped in the light from the hallway. “Brett.” Her voice was huskier now. “You didn’t need to get out of bed.”

He licked his dry lips. “Did you need anything, Mistress?”

“Ten seconds ago I didn’t,” she said, her tone wry.

Pleased, he ducked his head so she wouldn’t see his smile. He didn’t want to appear smug.

Stepping up to him, she tucked his chin upwards. “Now, none of that.” Her lips devoured his, but the overpowering smell of alcohol that clung to her breath made him flinch. Owners were always more unpredictable—and often crueler—when drunk. He trusted Jenna, but old lessons were hard to ignore.

Sensing his lack of enthusiasm, she pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

The direct question pushed him to find the answer. It wasn’t that he thought Jenna would hurt him; it was not knowing how intoxicated she was that left him uneasy. But she couldn’t be dangerously drunk if she had not only noticed his hesitation but also stopped because of it.

“Nothing, Mistress,” he said, seeking her lips again. Returning his kiss, she let his hesitation go easily, the only sign so far that her judgment was impaired.


Mouth still on hers, he froze. Hathaway sounded close enough to be in the hallway. Jenna stroked his cheek as she straightened. “Wait for me in bed.”

He obeyed, slipping under the sheets again as she left the room.

“I take it he was awake,” Hathaway said from the hallway. Brett smiled; the man didn’t sound happy about that.

“Somewhat,” she said, already sounding farther away. Their voices grew fainter, the conversation no longer intelligible.

Several minutes dragged past. A personal need making itself known as he waited, Brett rose and strode to the bathroom. After he finished he paused opposite the bedroom doorway. They were likely in the kitchen; their voices were too far away for the living room. If she’d not already ordered him to bed, he might have been wracked with indecision. Did they really not require his services?

Jenna was probably making tea for them herself. He scowled, the urge to check tugging at him.

Instead he lay down again, but knew he’d be unable to sleep. Not with Hathaway there, alone with his mistress. From what he’d seen of him, he didn’t believe it likely Hathaway would do anything against his mistress’s will—and even if he did Brett didn’t care what the later cost might be, he’d put a stop to it—but an intoxicated Jenna, already put into the mood by Brett’s kisses, might finally see Jason as more than her little brother’s friend.

No, she wouldn’t do that, especially not with him in the apartment. He was mostly sure of that, but his pessimistic nature couldn’t help expecting the worst. He wished she hadn’t ordered him to wait for her here. She was less likely to do anything with Hathaway if he were right there, though that wasn’t impossible either.

He touched the collar at his neck, a reminder. Hers. She could do as she wished.

The resignation with which he usually faced that reality remained out of his grasp tonight. His hands fisted in the sheets, his chest suddenly unbearably tight. Releasing the covers, he pushed himself up to his knees and punched the pillow before him. Wrong he knew, not allowed to feel any of it, so he took a deep breath, fighting to repress it.

It could be worse, he told himself. You could never have seen her again. Be thankful for what you have.

But it was hard. It always had been.

“Brett? You okay?”

Startled, he turned. He hadn’t even heard her come back. “Mistress.”

Switching on the lamp, she closed the bedroom door. “What’s wrong?” She smiled, still flushed from the alcohol. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he said, seizing on that easy answer. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yes,” she said, approaching him. “It was good to see them.” Her hands slid over his shoulders, caressing his bare chest. Something inside him loosened.

“Undress me,” she said into his ear. A far more tantalizing tension awakened between his legs.

Rising on his knees, he slipped the blouse she wore over her head, the rest of her clothes following soon after it. It was rare to be allowed to savor her nakedness, taking in her curves with his gaze alone, before she gave him another command.

He didn’t mind the delay at all. His mistress was flawless in his eyes, each part of her familiar and beloved, from the softness of her hair to the small scar on her foot from a childhood accident. They were all part of Jenna.

She smiled at the neat pile he’d made of her clothes, placed on the nightstand. Then she stepped back, pointing to a spot before her. “Stand there.”

Obeying, he kept his arms at his sides as she stalked around him. Both naked, and taller than she, there was still no doubt who was in charge. He felt himself swell.

“Hm, I think you missed me.”

“Always, Mistress,” he said, his throat tightening.

The back of a hand ghosted down his spine and between his cheeks before falling away, leaving tingles in its wake. “Even when I’m here?” she asked, the teasing unmistakable.

She wasn’t touching him at all now. “Sometimes even then, Mistress.”

“Perhaps I can fix that,” she murmured, all husky seduction. He closed his eyes. As if he needed to be seduced.

That hand returned, sliding over his ass and then forward, between his legs, cupping even more sensitive places. His breath hitched.

She squeezed lightly, his flesh throbbing against her cooler hand. “Still miss me?”

“Yes,” he choked out, needing more. It was a struggle not to reach for her. The tip of one breast grazed his back, joined by the length of her against his side an instant later. Her other hand curled around his front, fingers circling his shaft.

Caught from both sides, he trembled.

“And now?” she asked, wonderfully merciless. Teeth digging into his lower lip, he bit back a groan.

“I-” It was hard to form words. Especially when she chose that moment to squeeze his shaft again, a wave of pleasure sending all thought from his head.

“Hmm?” she prompted.

“A little still. Mistress.” He was barely aware of what he said, trapped between needing to answer her and wanting more.

Stroking him with devious, marvelous hands until he was iron hard and gasping, the sudden press of her teeth against his shoulder shocked him. The pain was sharp, and then it entwined with the pleasure, doubling its intensity.

“Mistress,” he pleaded, groaning. He knew she could feel him tightening up, so close he could almost-

“Not yet,” she said as her mouth rose from his skin, her hands dropping away.

The frustration nearly brought tears to his eyes, but he struggled to obey her. A whimper slipped out beyond his control.

“Shh,” she said, touching his arm, giving comfort even as she withheld pleasure. Her fingers brushed the place she’d bitten before moving to the other shoulder. “Should I give you a matching mark?”

Befuddled, his body quivering with the need to come, his tongue was slow to act.

Her beguiling chuckle filled the air around them. “Have I left you tongue tied?”

He nodded, his head turning towards her, wanting, needing some touch. His cheek nuzzled her forehead, her warm breath brushing his chin when she sighed. Shifting, her arms slid around his waist, embracing him from behind. Fingers circling his navel, her teeth nipped his shoulder before sucking on the skin.

He made a low sound in his throat, enthralled by the contrasting sensations. After she’d given his shoulder enough attention to leave a matching mark, her lips moved, tracing along the curve of his shoulder and down to his arm before lifting.

Her arms drew away from his waist and the creak of the bed behind him a moment later told him where she’d gone. Feeling bereft, he nevertheless stayed where he was. She’d given him no indication to follow her.

He shifted his feet though, fighting the urge to turn around.

“Stay like that,” she said. “I want to look at you.”

Given a clear order, he settled. The temptation was still there, but when he knew what was expected of him he could control it better. He even spread his feet a little farther apart, to provide his mistress the best view possible.

With a little laugh for his gesture she said, “Face me now.”

It was harder to stand still once he did. She lay on her side across the bed, hair tumbled about her shoulders, long legs stretched out above the covers, all brazen and irresistible in her nudity. Even the lamp’s light seemed to caress her, warming the curves of her body.

“Mistress,” he begged, the one word enough to communicate his misery.

Delighted, she smiled wickedly. “No, I’ve not had my fill of you yet.”

He bowed his head in defeat even as his cock twitched, thrilled she found him so pleasing to look upon. He straightened his neck, leaving her view unimpeded again.

It felt like half of forever that she kept him waiting there, hungering for her touch. At last she smiled, crooking a finger. Careful not to appear too eager—that would be clumsy and displeasing—he knelt beside her on the bed. She pulled him down to her swiftly though, and he sighed with relief just before his mouth met hers. After several kisses he ended up on top of her, legs tangled with hers.

“We’re done waiting,” she said, the words giving him permission to slide inside her. With a shaky breath he obeyed, forcing himself to enter slowly even though she was ready for him. He knew what she liked, and her moods.

When he was fully settled he paused, taking a few breaths to gather himself. Glancing up at her for permission, she nodded. Drawing it out a bit longer though, he pressed his forehead to hers, cupping her cheeks as he sighed, savoring the closeness.

Her lips brushed his, and then nipped them. “Brett.”

Bracing himself with a hand on either side of her, careful not to crush her, he moved back out of her, taking his time. His next thrust was just as gradual, keeping a slow pace that was agonizing, never quite enough. But there was a sweet pleasure to that gradual build too, one he knew would pay off later. She had taught him that.

He groaned, overwhelmed by it, but she gave no sign to quicken his speed. Her needy murmurs were satisfying to hear but not nearly enough either. He trembled, fighting the instinct to go faster, to increase the friction. She clutched his hand then, bringing it to her breast. Continuing his thrusts, his mouth slipped to the tip of one breast while the other received his hand’s attention. Focusing on her needs helped beat back the urge to thrust harder, to bring them both to release.

Slipping his other hand between them, he found the center of her pleasure. She moaned as he rubbed it, arching against his hand. There was no need to deny her a climax.

A few more slow thrusts accompanied by eager fingers whose attentions built to a pitch, and she moaned, clutching his shoulders as tightly as she clenched around his shaft.

That sudden grip nearly caused his control to slip away from him. Too close to risk losing it, his hips paused, but his thumb continued to stroke her, drawing out her release. “Mistress,” he gasped, pleading, able to feel that edge just within reach.

Lost in her own pleasure, she didn’t answer him. He groaned, biting the inside of his cheek as he tamped the feeling back.

Panting as she recovered, she lifted a hand to his cheek. “Shh. Very soon.”

He nodded, leaning in to her touch. Once he no longer rode that thin line, he began moving inside her again, forcing himself to go as slowly as before. After minutes that felt like hours, she finally changed the pace, waiting for him to pull almost all the way out before thrusting up onto him roughly.

Her legs wrapped around him, another signal, and he let go of all control, reaching for the friction he’d craved all this time. The bed shook, the slow pace he’d been required to keep for so long making his thrusts now all the fiercer. Gripping his arms, his mistress met him with passion equal to his own.

Caught off guard, his climax was intense enough that he faltered, pace slowing for a moment before increasing again, riding out the pleasure. She came then too, nails digging into his skin and his name upon her lips.

Sweaty and exhausted afterwards, he felt almost too spent to manage the short trip to the bathroom. But he didn’t want his mistress waking up sticky in the morning, so he retrieved what he needed and cleaned them both off. She was already half-asleep, barely aware of his ministrations.

The sight of her sleep-softened face warmed him as he lay down beside her.


Drifting in that quiet state somewhere between awake and dreaming, the sound of the toilet flushing intruded into the peace. Brett blinked, his drowsy mind slow to place why the sound was wrong. The sudden awareness that there was still a warm body next to his jarred him awake, and he turned over to look at her. If Jenna was here…

Had Hathaway stayed over? There could be no other explanation, though he wished there was.

Why does it matter? She spent the night with you.

He focused on that. His abrupt movement had stirred her, but he soothed her back to sleep. She must’ve decided it was too late for Hathaway to go home on his own, especially when she had a spare bedroom.

Well, as long as he pretended he was sleeping, he wouldn’t have to go serve the man. Brett grimaced; terrible of him to think like that. But besides the inappropriate reluctance to carry out his duties, being around Hathaway would be awkward until Jenna surfaced. He’d rather save them both the discomfort.

So he remained where he was, snuggled in close with Jenna, the place he most wanted to be anyway. No one, not even Serena Vanlean-Warren herself, hovering over the bed scowling at them in disapproval, would persuade him to leave his mistress voluntarily. Or so he liked to think anyway.

After a while, Jenna stirred against him. His arms around her waist, the one pinned underneath her had fallen asleep, but he didn’t mind. He liked holding her close, the secret wish that he never lose her again unvoiced.

“I smell coffee,” she murmured.

“Me too,” he said. The smell had gradually strengthened.

“You-” The frown marring her brows cleared. “Oh, Jason’s still here.”

“I suppose so.”

She glanced at the clock. “It’s late for you.”

He tucked his head against her shoulder. “I was too comfortable to move.”

She laughed. “I know the feeling.” They lay there quietly for another minute before she said, “I suppose I should get up though. Be polite.”

Brett tightened his arms around her in response, and she chuckled. “I wish, but I’m also going shopping soon.”

He sighed against her neck. Today she was to go looking for a dress for that damn Founders’ Ball.

“At least you’re spared from coming with me,” she said.

“I don’t mind helping you, Mistress,” he replied, affronted. Bad enough he’d been forbidden from attending the Ball with her—though he understood the reasons for that—but he felt shut out even from the preparations for it.

“I know,” she said, voice soft as she turned in his arms, reaching up to touch his cheek. “But Amber and I need to catch up anyway. I’ll be back this evening.”

He kissed her hand, and then nodded. He’d wondered why he hadn’t heard Jenna mention Amber much since his return, when they’d been such close friends years ago.

A kiss distracted him from any further thoughts on the subject. It was too brief though; after it she slipped from his arms and out of bed. He watched her go, enjoying the view.

It felt like he’d only just lain back down when she reappeared fully dressed and standing over him. “Come on, sleepy one,” she said, tugging at the covers.

He’d been gauging the odds of successfully pulling her back into bed, but seeing how awake she was now, he gave up. Sighing, he said, “Coming, Mistress.”

“Oh, you will later.” The throaty promise made him pause, eyeing her in a completely different way now.

His reaction drew a knowing smile from her before she turned away. She waited for him as he made himself presentable. He was glad for it; he’d have felt ashamed, her going out there without him, as if he took longer than her to get up in the morning. He didn’t want to give the impression of being lazy.

Something he should’ve thought of sooner. Once again his inappropriate feelings had caused misbehavior.

Focusing on cooking breakfast, his shame soon faded though. Hathaway seemed too distracted by Jenna to think much on any lapse in etiquette on Brett’s part. And why should he? Brett chided himself. A man like Hathaway had no need to give a slave much thought.

As it was, he was soon distracted himself, listening to Jenna drop hints after breakfast that it was time for Hathaway to leave, which the man proceeded to ignore completely, complaining about his obviously mild hangover.

After her third attempt, Brett glanced up at his mistress, shared annoyance communicated in their gazes. Was he deliberately slow or simply that oblivious? Neither fit with what he’d observed of the man before though.

They were in the living room now, breakfast done and cleaned up already. Jenna and her friend were on the couch while Brett knelt beside her, his head on her knee. Her fingers combing through his disheveled hair, he might have felt drowsy and content, if not for his growing irritation with Hathaway.

Did the man think his mistress had nothing better to do all day than cater to his boredom? Even Jenna telling him she was going shopping with Amber soon had apparently not penetrated his thick skull. He remained sprawled on his mistress’s couch, showing no signs of departing anytime soon.

Brett debated possible ways to persuade Hathaway to leave, but neither throwing him out bodily nor spilling something on him, among other options, fell within the boundaries of proper slave etiquette.

Suppressing a sigh, Brett eyed the man surreptitiously. There was something off about him this morning, besides his uncharacteristic obtuseness. Even seated on the couch, Hathaway shifted his feet often, and a slight frown lingered at the corner of his lips.

When the man spoke to Jenna a few minutes later, his gaze still on the TV, Brett learned the cause of his preoccupation.

“So who are you going with to this Swansfield thing?”

“Oh,” she said. “Charlie Watterson. Did I not tell you?”

“No,” he replied, and Brett caught the displeasure in that one word alone. “I overheard you mention it to Laura last night. You didn’t tell me anything.”

Jenna’s hand tensed in Brett’s hair. “It’s not that important.”

The frown was in full force now. “I thought you hated Charlie Watterson.”

“I do. But my father thinks the sun shines out of his ass.”

“So he’s trying to set you up with him?”

“Yes.” Her tone stated it was obvious. “Why else would I be going with Charlie?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” Hathaway said, his earlier tension lessened now. “Why did you agree to it?”

“It was either go with him or not go at all.”

“Ah.” Hathaway seemed at a loss to add anything more. A thick quiet settled upon them again, but the man still showed no signs of leaving, lost in thought instead. While Brett could empathize with his dislike for Jenna attending this fancy party with Watterson—he didn’t trust this Charlie to treat her the way she deserved—he still wanted Hathaway gone. The man had no right to question her choice of escort.

He shouldn’t have worried though. Jenna took care of things, as she always did. Rising to her feet, she left no room for argument. “Not to kick you out, except I am, I’m leaving very soon, and I need to get ready, Jason. I’ll see you out.”

“Oh right, of course,” he said, as if only just now aware of the situation.

Hathaway bent down to put on his shoes. Though he had showered, he was still wearing his clothes from the night before. Jenna had offered him one of Brett’s shirts to borrow, but he’d declined, to Brett’s relief. So he’d nothing to grab as he went to the door without protest, Brett following after them.

Jenna kept the goodbye quick and closed the door behind him. She collapsed against it, facing Brett. “I thought he’d never leave,” she grumbled.

With Hathaway finally gone, his spirits rose immeasurably. He smiled, finding her exasperation cute now. He even dared to hug her, giving in to his feelings rather than the voices of long ago trainers telling him to kneel properly.

With a soft laugh she returned his embrace. “I was tempted to start kissing you, thinking making out with you in front of him might chase him away, but I decided to go with the direct approach.”

Her idea startled a laugh out of him, especially as he pictured Hathaway’s face if they’d done that. Her eyes sparkled as she chuckled with him.

“We can try that next time, Mistress,” he offered innocently.

She brushed her lips against his. “Somehow I knew you would like that idea.” Leaning her forehead against his she added, “I was okay with letting him stay over, though he could have taken another cab home. We took one here from the bar, but he wanted to hang out for a while and I agreed to it.” She sighed. “Jason, Jason. Normally he’s good about not overstaying his welcome, but not today.”

“And he questioned your choices too,” Brett couldn’t help adding, berating himself a moment later. It wasn’t his place to criticize the actions of his mistress’s friends, at least not aloud.

Jenna grumbled in disgust. “I know. I almost said something, but I didn’t want to get nasty. I decided I’d just rather have him gone.”

She paused, thinking for a moment. “Maybe it’s some of my mother showing in me, but I can’t stand people who don’t take a hint. He’s my friend, so I let it go on longer than I would have otherwise, but I refuse to accommodate him when he’s being an ass.”

I’m glad to hear it. It was what he wanted to say, but it didn’t seem appropriate. So he simply kissed her hair.

Slipping out of his arms, she added with regret, “Now I really do have to get ready though.”

He nodded, letting her go—not that he ever ‘let’ her do anything, she was his Mistress after all. A glance at the clock told him they’d only a little while before her friend was due. Hathaway had taken up the free morning he’d expected to have with Jenna.

As she prepared to see Amber, he thought about her earlier suggestion. Was she aware of Hathaway’s feelings for her? This morning he’d once again noted the way the man looked at his mistress, though he tried his best to be subtle about it. If she was aware of how Hathaway felt, she wouldn’t suggest kissing in front of him. She would think it too cruel. Brett wondered what that said about himself, that he didn’t feel any such hesitation. Envy for all the advantages Hathaway had over him was likely to blame, but it still didn’t excuse him.

Well, she hadn’t actually done it, just thought about it. Perhaps she did know how Hathaway felt, and that was why she’d gone with a different approach.

The telephone rang then. As suspected, it was the guard telling him Amber had arrived. Brett slipped into the bedroom, informing Jenna her friend was downstairs.

She was brushing her hair back into a simple tail, easier for pulling dresses on and off. She wore a yellow sundress, the spring weather warm enough for it now, and strappy heeled sandals.

“You look very pretty, Mistress.”

She smiled at the compliment, which warmed him in return. “Thank you.”

As they left the room he wrung his hands, wishing she didn’t have to work the next day. He wanted to spend more time with her, but he didn’t want to intrude on her and her friend’s privacy either. Besides, what he really wanted was time alone with her.

Not that he begrudged her seeing her friends. His mistress certainly could divide her time as she pleased; he wanted her to be happy. Her old schedule, when they’d been together before and she hadn’t worked, had just left him spoiled. It was he that must accept the new state of things, and he would. It was far, far better than the hell he’d endured under Donovan’s roof.

“Is something wrong?” she asked then, having turned towards him.

“No, Mistress,” he said, shaking his head. “I was just wondering… may I go visit Ty later?”

Where that had come from, he wasn’t sure, but it fit. She would see her friend and he would see his, once Ty was done with work.

“Of course,” she said. “Just keep your mobile on you. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” He hid a smile. She liked having him waiting for her when she got home. He minded the sentiment not at all.

The doorbell sounded. When he opened the front door, he barely got a glimpse of the older, slightly plumper version of Jenna’s friend before she was flinging herself at him, swallowing him in her embrace.

“Brett! It’s so good to see you!”

Startled, he held Amber just to keep their balance. He looked over her head at his mistress, who seemed amused as well as surprised.

Part Nineteen

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January 2013


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