Enslaved by Shoshanna Evers Page B

stopped herself, realizing she was pleading like a whiny toddler, and not like the well-trained sub she was going to have to pretend to be in order to get back to Trevor as soon as possible.
    “Before I change my mind,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. His hand brushed over her back, reigniting the sting from her earlier punishment, and she leaned into him, wanting him to change his mind right then and there.
    Roman started walking toward the elevator that would lead them up to the main floor, and he looked back at her, still nuzzled against Trevor’s chest.
    “You can make him change his mind, Elisabeth, if you choose to. But will you be happy in a relationship where you must play the puppet master and pull your marionette’s strings to be content? Or do you want what brought you into this lifestyle in the first place?” He held the elevator door open for her.
    Elisabeth stood on her tiptoes and kissed Trevor’s lips. “See you soon?”
    “Of course. Be good. Listen to Roman.”
    She nodded and got into the elevator. When the door closed, Roman put his hand on the back of her neck. “What’s your safeword?”
    “I never safeword. Sir. ” She was being defiant already, her fear making her say things she shouldn’t.
    Suddenly, his hand was in the back of her hair, yanking her head back. “You’ve never been trained by me.”
    “My safeword is Teotwawki.”
    Roman nodded and let go of her hair. She rubbed the back of her head. Apparently he knew what it meant, and that it wasn’t Japanese.
    The drive to Roman’s home took less than fifteen minutes. His home was as impressive as Trevor’s, but in a different way, a colder, darker way. The night air had a chill to it, and she walked quickly in her heels to keep up with him, past manicured grounds and into a mansion that seemed pitch-black.
    “Is the power out?” she asked, whispering the way she tended to do in the dark.
    “No. I like it this way.” He turned on one lamp, throwing shadows across a front hall that looked like it needed a woman’s touch in a big way. “Besides, my staff is out for weekend, and paying electricity for a place this size isn’t cheap. Why keep lights on in empty rooms?”
    “But . . . you’re a billionaire. Why do you care about the electric bill?”
    Roman huffed. “Waste not, want not. Let’s go to bed, it’s late.”
    Elisabeth froze. Would she be having sex with him? He must have seen the unasked question lingering on her face, because he said, “If I feel like fucking you, I will. Trevor knows I sometimes implement sexual techniques. Unless you safeword out, you’re mine when I want, how I want. That’s what you were supposed to be for Trevor, do you understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Following him blindly up the tall staircase, she stopped at the top of the stairs. “Do you have a room for me?”
    “Your job is to serve me, to please me, as your trainer. Usually I ask girls to give me a blow job and then have them sleep on the floor by my bed. But I think that would be your cup of tea, since you’re a glutton for punishment.”
    She wouldn’t want to sleep on the floor, because it wasn’t that “hurts so good” type of pain. But she nodded because she didn’t want him to think otherwise.
    “Instead,” he continued, opening the door to the master suite, “I’m going to do things a little differently tonight. Trevor says you have a hard time taking your own pleasure, is that right?”
    She nodded again. Fuck. So personal, so in her face and she barely knew the man. He acted like it was all some sort of sterile routine, as if they were discussing a doctor’s appointment instead of BDSM training. Or Trevor.
    His bedroom was huge, with dark curtains drawn over what must have been huge windows, and a bed with metal hooks and latches all along the headboard. A bondage bed. Huh.
    “Subtle,” she joked.
    “Everyone knows I’m a Dom. I’m not like Trevor—if I need to punish you in front of the