Sheer Punishment (Sheer Submission, Part Three) by Hannah Ford

Author:Hannah Ford [Ford, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-01-24T18:30:00+00:00

I showered and got dressed in the opulent main bathroom of the suite, while Landon showered in the other bathroom, the one further down the hall.

The water was hot and steamy, a welcome luxury after the weak water pressure I had in my apartment, but it stung my bruised flesh. Every beat of water against my skin reminded me of him, of his touch, and I turned the handle and made the water a little less warm.

The products in the bathroom were elegant and extravagant, packaged in rose gold with names I’d never heard of, like microexfoliators and dark pine moisturizers. I shampooed and conditioned, shaved and moisturized.

I dressed in the clothes Landon had provided for me – a pair of dark skinny jeans and a black tank top, with a deep purple and cream checked button-up shirt over the top of it.

Black leather knee-length boots completed the look, somehow managing to look rugged and sophisticated at the same time.

It was the look I’d been trying to pull off last night, but now I realized there was only one thing that could make me look the way I did now – money. The fabrics were high-quality, the shirt like silk against my skin, the boots as soft and supple as butter.

I pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail, then swiped on some lip gloss and eyeliner.

When I walked back into the suite, Landon was there, wearing black jeans and a black sweater. Black boots were on his feet and a black leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders.

He was on the phone, turned to the side, and I took in the strength of his jaw, the curve of his brow, the fullness of his lips.

“Find out who she is,” he was barking. “I want her off the story, and I want her to never bother Ms. Courtland again. Do you understand? Call me when it’s done.” He hung up the phone, then turned to look at me. “Jesus,” he said. “You look beautiful.”

I thought about protesting, about saying that I knew I wasn’t the kind of model or actress he was used to, but instead, I thrust my chin in the air and just said, “Thank you.”

“Except for one thing.” He strode toward me, and when he was close to me, he loosened my hair from its elastic. He brushed it back from my neck, then traced a line down over my collarbone. When he got to the collar of the shirt I was wearing, he began to unbutton it.

“This shirt is meant to be worn open.” His knuckles skated over my bare cleavage. I had on a black tank top underneath, but it plunged down in the front, straining against the cherry red push-up bra that had also been provided for me. Everything fit me perfectly. I didn’t know how he knew my sizes, or where he’d gotten the clothes. I was afraid to ask, because I knew he wouldn’t lie to me. And if he told me something

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