Page 83 of Enthrall Ecstasy
I nodded and she gave me a warm smile. “Let’s show you the dungeons.”
Running my fingertips around my collar, I felt a shudder of delight pass through me.
“From here you crawl,” she said.
I dropped to my knees, honored to continue like this by her side.
“After the dungeons,” she said. “I’ll show you your room.”
Putting some distance between me and Chrysalis this afternoon was a good idea.
Mainly because of that small matter of the submissive I’d left in the foyer with Lotte. The one dressed so seductively, I’d had to walk away.
Just fucking say her name, asshole.
It’s not like thinking of her would change anything.
Rue.
Her first twenty-four hours there would be all about her orientation and finding her way around the manor.
The shock of her meeting with Cameron Cole would soon wear off.
I was merely the conduit for her access. As promised, I’d delivered her into an elite society that she could flourish in.
The rest would work itself out.
Even so, I missed her upbeat energy and her inquisitive nature. I had a surge of jealousy when I thought about seeing her with her new master.
I’d left Dominic and Lotte back at Chrysalis to deal with those decisions. Our senior Dominatrix and head of legal could more than handle it.
Not thinking of Rue was the way to go.
I turned the Rover onto Princeton Street and searched for the house I’d driven Darryn Amara to on Friday.
This was a nice neighborhood.
My gut had told me something was off then, but I’d just not had the time to personally investigate why. Now, my radar was turned all the way up on full alert.
Santa Monica was a popular tourist trap—close to the beach and with enough decent restaurants and entertainment to keep both residents and visitors here. This city attracted the wealthy crowd when it came to real estate.
I’d brought Darryn here straight from the ER. He’d told me he rented a house along with some buddies.
He’d wanted me to believe he lived in this charming Spanish bungalow on a tree-lined street off Wilshire. I mean, sure, the photogs got paid well for their exclusive shots but him living in one of the most expensive neighborhoods didn’t add up.
He just didn’t strike me as a Santa Monica kind of guy.
I’d watched him walk up to this house and then head round the back, not entering through the front door—which was why I was here now carrying a bag of groceries as an excuse to visit. With a sprained wrist, he might find shopping difficult. So it was a conceivable excuse. Maybe it could also be construed as me giving a fuck.
I headed up the pathway toward the front porch.
A young guy answered the door.
“Is Darryn here?” I raised the paper bag. “I wanted to drop off some things for him.”
He raised a hand to refuse the groceries. “Who?”
“Darryn Amara. He gave me this address.”
