Free The Runaway Bride - A Captive Flame Book One by Ashley Spector

helpful everyone was prepared to be; even at the
lingerie store, where the attendants didn’t know him by name, just
the sight of Krystopher and I elicited deferential treatment and
plenty of help, a kind of obsequious following and interest in our
comfort.
     
    By the end of the
afternoon, I was so exhausted that I almost couldn’t keep going.
Krystopher held me close in the car, touching me everywhere,
slipping his hand up the skirt of my dress and stroking me until I
was soaking wet. “Don’t worry, my dear—I don’t intend to force you
to starve or drop dead of exhaustion. We’ll have a nice dinner
together and then we can continue your training at home.”
     
    ***

 
    The next day,
Krystopher gave me the privacy to shower on my own, something I had
been fearing wouldn’t be my right; the discipline session from the
night before had wrung out every last bit of my energy, until I had
actually broken down into tears at how sore and exhausted I was.
Krystopher finished me off with an orgasm more intense than I had
ever experienced in my life before pulling me into his arms,
soothing me with surprisingly gentle touches while he murmured
praise at how very well I had performed. When the alarm woke us
both in the morning, Krystopher had foregone discipline or
punishment, simply fingering me until I came to a quick orgasm and
then thrusting into me until he reached his own pleasure. “Who does
your body belong to?” he had asked me as he filled me up over and
over again.
     
    “You,” I murmured, my
voice sounding drunk to my own ears. He had then given me
permission to take a quick shower and to do my hair and makeup,
telling me that my outfit for the day would be laid out on the bed
when I finished.
     
    At some point, I
assumed, Krystopher had placed an order for toiletries for
me—though I couldn’t imagine when. I showered quickly, scrubbing
myself head to toe, and decided to do my hair as simply as
possible—we were going to be touring Krystopher’s office. The
makeup he had procured for me was simple, almost idiot-proof. He
wanted me to look clean but polished, suitably professional. I got
through my routine quickly and stepped back into the bedroom; it
was empty, but I saw the outfit laid out for me on Krystopher’s
bed.
     
    The first thing I
noticed was that there was a bra—but no panties. The skirt that
Krystopher had chosen for me would hit just at my mid-thigh;
professional-looking, but with no panties underneath I knew I’d
feel scandalized all day. The blouse was loose and sleeveless,
buttoned down the front, with a fitted blazer to wear over it, and
one of the pairs of high heels that I had tried on the day before.
He had also put out some accessories, with a hastily scribbled note
telling me that I was to pick what I wanted from among them.
     
    Everything felt
surreal to me in the seclusion of Krystopher’s huge apartment. I
had been too exhausted the night before to absorb any details of
the rooms I passed through; but after a decent night’s sleep, I
looked around me while I dressed, taking in the subtle touches that
demonstrated my new lover’s incredible wealth. The art on his walls
was real—not prints, but actual paint on canvas; the bed I had
slept in the night before was huge, made of solid wood carved along
the posters and boards. The rug under my feet as I dressed was so
deep, so plush, that I almost didn’t want to slip the shoes on.
Everything gleamed with consummate craftsmanship or artistry;
everything was built for both style and comfort.
     
    I walked through the
apartment, trying to find where Krystopher might be. “In the dining
room,” he called out as I stood, irresolute and a little lost. He
had breakfast served for me: oatmeal and eggs, juice and coffee,
fresh fruit and toast. “You’ve got about thirty minutes before we
need to leave,” Krystopher told me as he took me in slowly, his
gaze lingering at my breasts and the hem of my skirt. “I’m pleased
that