Master Class by Raven Jayne

Author:Raven Jayne [Jayne, Raven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781953520975
Publisher: Paige Press, LLC

Break

I know what I want now.

I know what I need, and I don’t know if I can live without it.

Or, rather, who I need like oxygen.

He needs me too.

I can prove it, I swear, if he’ll just give me the chance.

If I can hide what I’m doing from the man who’d forbid it.

I just pray I’m not wrong...

1

Every night, I watch dusk fall and I wait for him. For days, I wear my favorite dresses: sweet, girlish confections of silk and lace, with my favorite lingerie underneath them, all straps and rings, leather and chrome. Then I wear sheer cotton with nothing underneath it, the shadow of my body begging him to slide my skirts up my thighs and slip his cock into me before I have time to say a word. One time, I even strip down naked in the middle of the overlook, my body as bare and vulnerable as I feel. The breeze hardens my nipples, caresses the insides of my thighs. It reminds me with every breath of all the places he’s touched me, and how electric it feels every time.

And every night, his car climbs the mountain’s curves. He drives a Bugatti most days, with tinted windows and a sleek black exterior that shimmers with power and sex. The tires hug the road no matter how hard he throttles the engine, how his hands move on the gearshift and the wheel.

He slows down just slightly as he passes—long enough to see me, in lace or frills, leather or my own skin—but always wrapped up in desire—just to see that I’m still waiting for him.

Every day, my heart skips a beat when he slows down. Every day, I think today is the day he’s going to stop and unlock the door for me to get in. Every day I believe it’s going to be the day he drives me away.

But every day, he speeds up again and passes me by, leaving me with a view of his taillights in the twilight and the scents of burnt rubber and scorched hopes.

I can take it. I’m used to acrid stench and bitter rejection. I have been tutored in the arts of patience, and of desire. I am an excellent student of both. I will wait as long as I have to.

Tonight, the sky is vivid pink, the clouds gilt-edged. The air is crisp with fall chill, and I’m wearing something simple: a black wool minidress that nips me in at the waist before flaring out into a pleated skirt. My thigh-high stockings cost almost as much as the dress did, and the seams that run up the back make my legs look miles long. They’re hooked to garters, and the chrome of the rings is chilly against my skin.

I stand straight and tall in my black patent heels. The ends of my hair dance at the edges of my vision, soft blonde strands lifted by a light breeze. I feel like a soldier at her post, expecting nothing, but ready for anything.

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