Dominion Trust Series - Vol.1 by Evans Trent

Author:Evans, Trent [Evans, Trent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BDSM erotic romance
Publisher: Shadow Moon Press
Published: 2015-10-16T07:00:00+00:00

Breanna stood straight and tall in the burning afternoon sun, the breeze moving the strands of her hair against her cheek. The girth’s brutal embrace seemed to squeeze her into two parts, the upper part with her naked breasts and bitted mouth, a feast for the male onlookers, the lower part weighed down, tasked with her duty, her use. To pull her cart, as fast as her legs, her fear, and the lash could drive her. The cart she’d been hitched to was a new one, two seats, side by side, the sight of it filling her with anticipation.

It had to be. Yes, it just had to be.

Elaina was with her, at her side, bound fast to her own cart, red ribbons tied into her long hair, her bit cruelly tight, Lino lounging in the cart behind her, playing the end of the carriage whip against her pale, trembling thighs.

Breanna scanned the edge of the track nearest the parking lot, watching the corner of the barn, where she hoped to see two men come striding toward her. Her men.

Her heart swelled with the possibility, even as her mind told her what she’d come to accept as the truth.

He might not come.

The night they’d rescued her, she’d ridden back to Seattle curled in Derek’s arms as Kurt drove, the vibration of the road and Derek’s strong steady heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

It had seemed so magical, that dark night of lust they’d shared, their marks upon her, both physical and emotional. It had seemed so … perfect.

But then the morning had come.

A day became a week, and then became a month, and he’d not come back.

Breanna had called, she’d texted, she’d e-mailed. Yet still he hadn’t come back.

“Give him time,” Kurt had whispered to her as she’d lain in their bed, her head resting on his chest, her tears wetting his shirt. “It’s got to be on his terms, in his time, Breanna.”

If she’d understood that on an intellectual level, her heart hadn’t listened. More than once, she’d pounded on his door, yelling for him. Telling him he was stupid to let this pass him by. How many times had she cursed the closed door?

Finally, the terrifying thought no longer a quiet voice whispering in her ear, but indeed a truth now staring her in the face, she’d slipped the note under his door. She’d lingered on his steps that day, dragging out every second, hoping that door would open, that he’d come bounding up those steps.

But he hadn’t, and all she was left with, a fading hope, would have to do. Driving back to Kurt, to her loving, patient, strict Master, she’d recited the words from that letter, over and over, as if the mantra would impart the power to them to bring Derek to her, to bring him to them, to open that door just one last time:

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