To Put A Leash On The Master

The Scent Of My Arousal

In the valley guarded by snow-coated greens and high, misty mountains lies the Whites' family house.

We visit only during Christmas, though celebrating it isn't a thing.

We enjoy the holidays in our style nonetheless—like binge-watching rom-coms or stacking containers of Christmas cookies in the refrigerator or... I don't know. But one wouldn't find a trace of festive decorations, even hear a commentary about it in the mansion.

For as long as I can remember, this is our first time coming together for a celebration. And there are two halls prepared for it too.

I heave a sigh of exhaustion as I stand before the mirror in the servants' quarters.

My eyes are dull and nearly closing under tired lids. And I can still feel shock rolling in my belly at the fact that the mysterious heir to White group is my man.

Gazing at the bonnet guarding my hair, I'm more about discarding this wretched apron of woe for something proper—one that looks even a tiny bit pleasing to the eyes.

A while back when Hunter arrived, he hadn't noticed me. Of course, he wouldn't. He doesn't even know I'm here, talk more of being a servant.

Maybe that's a good thing. I'm not prepared to have his attention and too ashamed to stand in his presence in this manner.

But I soon find I'm conflicted.

I want him to set his gaze on me. Those green eyes that invite a provocative aura as if calling to Aphrodite herself fit more on my form.

Damn... I want to see him run his eyes over me, and how I'd love to hear his thoughts when he's imagining me bare.

"Fuck it," I mumble while untying the apron, tossing it over my head before removing the bonnet altogether, letting a cascade of autumn-orange waves fall down my back.

As I hurry to the bathroom, I leave the rest of my garment in my trail.

The water's hot, effusing steam, but I can barely feel its harshness. What tingles my skin is the thought of Hunter carrying himself with raw elegance and composure. Him walking on that wooden floorboard like the fucking world's melting under his feet.

And his body proportion's just fine. Perfect for my small frame. He could be my couch on a normal day. Or not, since I'll be too busy riding him even faster than I would on a racehorse.

The videos of him I've seen don't do justice to how he looks. Man's drop-dead handsome, I mean. Hot too, like an inferno dwells in his fingertips awaiting to be unleashed.

He could be Hephaestus's reincarnation set to torch the world to ash merely by his demeanor. And as the image of his smile and stare linger in my head, my fingers crawl south.

I can't control their movement. My brain cells aren't doing that much. Hell, they aren't doing shit!

The farthest I can go is teasing my clitoris. Hunter said he'd teach me these things, but didn't. He claims he's more of a physical person and would love it when I'm right in front of him as he watches my lips part the way they are now.

He wants to hear me moan as I currently am, the sound bouncing off the walls, chin thrust up and eyes closed.

My other hand fondles my breasts as I release restrained gasps, my veins pumping blood like crazy. But turns out it's no longer just blood. There are now tingles; coursing through me, rendering me breathless—high. High with pleasure.

My fingers are moving faster, which causes an itchy sensation in my hand. But I don't stop. I can't stop. Damn, I want the man. I've waited for so long too. But he feels so close, yet far to reach.