Free Echo of Redemption by Roxy Harte Page A

some breakfast. I’ll take care of your place.”
    Without regard for whether Freddie lingered or hurried away, I walk back to the car, stripping out of my jacket and rolling up my sleeves as I go. As I near Kitten’s door, she trembles visibly, and need speeds up my spine. I’ve wanted this too.
    I jerk open the door and grab her by her hair, pulling her out, at least until the buckle locks, holding her bound to the seat. She hurries to unlatch it, and as soon as I feel the belt’s tension release I pull harder, dragging her out by her auburn tresses. She stumbles but catches herself. I remember belatedly, she is wearing stilettos. “Lose the shoes before you break an ankle.”
    She manages to hop on one foot, pulling off her shoe as I force her forward, my hand still wrapped in her hair. She repeats the action, dropping the second shoe, and is left barefoot. My eyes travel up her bare legs to the edge of her purple and black mini-kilt. She has the longest legs, and I allow my gaze to linger. I push her to the metal ladder that leads into an open pit. “Go.”
    She does, I follow her down. The walls are lined aluminum cabinets and some mounted tools, the ground is grime and oil covered. The air is heavy with engine fumes.
    Facing her across the pit, I watch her as she stands in the corner, wrapped in her own arms, looking none too impressed. I command, “Take off your clothes.”
    Her lips part in a soft gasp and the sound is like lightning speeding through my veins. God, what she does to me . She had to expect this, had to know this command was coming. She doesn’t argue, she starts unbuttoning her shirt and I notice her fingers are trembling. I wonder if she trembles for Thomas. It is an odd thought, one I wouldn’t normally have, but as I watch her slow moving fingers it is my only thought. He would cherish each prolonged motion, soaking in her nervousness and fear, reveling in it. I am a more anxious taskmaster and impatiently cross the small space to push her hands out of the way. Grabbing both sides of the shirt, I rip them apart, sending small white buttons flying. I jerk the shirt off and throw it onto the floor.
    Made even more nervous, she covers her breasts with her arms and stands shaking.
    “Take off your skirt.”
    She fumbles with her zipper but manages to get the skirt off, leaving her standing completely naked in front of me. I smile. I was a very negligent Master, not realizing she was both braless and panty-less on the drive home. I must endeavor to be more observant.
    “Lie down.”
    She looks at the concrete floor with obvious revolt, but kneels, picking her spot carefully. It won’t matter. She finally stretches out on the cleanest section of floor available to her.
    “Roll.”
    I honestly don’t think she expected the command and it confounds me why she wouldn’t. Despite her doubts, she obeys, rolling onto her back.
    “More. I want you to roll from one side of this pit to the other without stopping.” I step back to make room, trampling her white shirt as I do so. It is immediately and irreparably soiled.
    She rolls, filth clinging to her with every movement. Her skin goes from pale white to grease and grime coated. When she reaches the far side, she looks at me.
    “Stand up.”
    Once I would have felt bad for leaving her so grime covered. Not other men or women, but her, for some reason putting her on a pedestal which didn’t allow for dirt in our relationship, but then I discovered her covered in mud from playing with Lord Fyre. We weren’t a ménage then. She’d gone behind my back and sought him out. The evidence was all over her body, inside her body. So much mud. A little grease seems minute in comparison.
    I walk over to her and swipe my hand across her shoulder. My palm comes away soiled. “Dirty.” I draw a finger down her arm, leaving a white streak through the grime. “Girl.”
    I step back and look at her, surveying the damage.
    I leave her standing, shivering,