Chapter One 6 page

He'd brought Cynthia. Why? And why did everyone—including Alex—look so grim?

“Hope, return to your master.” Drake's voice was as deep as Alex's, but with a faint European accent and as smooth as cream. Yet the smoothness was like a film of snow over a mountain range, barely covering the power.

Hope scrambled to her feet and escaped, for escape was totally what it looked like.

“Permission?” Drake said.

“Granted.” Alex's voice. Mac's hands fisted at her sides. Cynthia, Steel, and Drake, who frightened sweet Hope. What was going on?

“MacKensie.” That ever-so-suave voice gave the end of her name a slight fillip. “Eyes on me.”

She looked up. Drake held his hand out to her. After a second, she let him pull her to her feet. He stood a couple of inches taller than Alex, and with a man on each side of her, she felt far too much like a bug about to be squashed.

“My name is Drake.” His eyes were as black as his hair. She wanted to step back, but he still had her hand. She glanced at Alex helplessly.

He stepped to her side as if hearing her plea for rescue. “Shhh, little cat. Drake isn't here to upset you.” He scooped her up in his arms, pulling her away from Drake, and sat down on the couch. “So stop upsetting her, you intimidating bastard,” he said.

Rather than striking Alex dead somehow—she didn't know how, but he looked like he could—Drake gave a deep laugh and took the other end of the couch. Her sigh of relief faded when he held his hand out to her again. He waited, palm up in a silent demand, until she'd given him hers. But Alex held her now, and somehow that made everything better.

Drake's hand was warm and dry, firm, with oddly placed calluses. “MacKensie, I own Chains.” He glanced at Alex with a glimmer of a smile. “A few friends invested, but the ultimate authority is mine. You were victimized in my club. Although I can't remove the memory, I must try to make it right.”

He nodded toward Cynthia, who still knelt in the corner. “After the barmaid identified her, a friend in the police force matched her fingerprints to the ones on the note. I wanted to turn her over to the police, but…” He sighed and rubbed his chin.

MacKensie tried to pull her hand away. Obviously the rich, beautiful Cynthia had either cried or bought him off or—

“The club operates under very stringent rules of privacy,” Drake said, interrupting her unspoken tirade. “To convict her would require a trial and witnesses. You would have to take the stand.”

Mac's mouth dropped open. “Me?” She hadn't thought it through at all.

Drake tilted his head. “Alex said you're starting a career here. He doubted you'd want to be identified as having visited a BDSM club, let alone having had an altercation like this one.”

“Oh God, no.” A whole new life and reputation ruined.

“Good call, then.” The black gaze flickered to Alex before returning to her. “So we were left in a quandary. To have undermined the lifestyle in such a calculated way and to have instigated such a cruel act—such behavior cannot be permitted. So Cynthia received a choice.”

Mac could feel her hand trembling in his grasp; so could he, for he covered her fingers with his other hand.

“Either arrest and prosecution to the full extent of the law—or she could receive exactly what she had planned for you. Willingly.” His eyes rested on Cynthia for a moment, and Mac shivered at the merciless look in them.

He gave Mac a faint smile. “Cynthia has no idea that you wouldn't enjoy publicly shaming her in court and destroying the social standing that means so much to her. So she signed not only a confession but an agreement to make things right. She and Steel are here tonight so that you, as the injured party, as well as Alex, can bear witness.”

“She could receive exactly what she had planned.” Mac didn't want to think about Steel's actions, but would he have stopped at whipping her? What would have been the inevitable conclusion of that scene?

“No,” Mac whispered. “No rape.” She tried to straighten up against the painful clenching in her stomach. “I don't want that for her. Not for anyone.”

“You know your sub well, don't you?” Drake nodded to Alex, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Lifting Mac's hand, he kissed her fingers. “You have a soft heart, chérie. It shall be as you wish.” His mouth thinned. “However, the whipping is nonnegotiable.”

Chapter Ten

His little sub was warm and soft in Alex's arms, content to be held as Drake walked over to Steel and spoke with him briefly. When Steel crossed the room and grabbed Cynthia by the hair, Mac's eyes went wide with distress.

Alex tightened his arms. “Shhh.”

Steel pulled Cynthia to her feet, and the brunette cringed when she realized who would dispense her punishment. “No!”

“'Fraid so, girl. Let's get this over with.” Steel marched her to where Drake held open the door to the small dungeon. After nodding at Steel, Drake closed the soundproofed door behind the two and walked over to join the other Doms.

“MacKensie,” Alex said quietly, “I didn't think you'd want to watch. But if you do—”

“No.” Mac shuddered and buried her head in his shoulder.

Satisfaction washed through him like a warm wave; she had learned to look to him for comfort. He stroked her fair hair, silky strands over satin skin. “Then there is nothing we need to do now.” But from the continued tenseness in her body, he realized she was listening, fearing to hear the whip or Cynthia. “The room is soundproofed, little cat. You can't hear anything.”

“Oh.”

But she'd listen anyway. Carrying her in his arms, he joined the group around the fireplace and took the empty chair across from Drake. Every sub had reacted in exactly the same way as his. On the couch, Peter held Hope in his arms, and Tess sat on the floor between Zachary's legs with his hands massaging her shoulders. The Doms all had the same grim look in their eyes, even Drake.

The punishment had to be done, but no one was pleased about it. And everyone was listening.

“Little cat,” Alex murmured. “Would you put on some music for me? Maybe Enya? I'm going to serve drinks.”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

He held her still so he could smile at her. “I like the way that sounds. You please me, MacKensie.”

A flush bloomed in her pale face in response to his approval.

By the time he'd finished making up everyone's usual drink, the soft sounds of Enya filled the room.

Drake smiled slightly when Alex handed him the scotch he favored. “You're a good host, and this is an excellent diversion. Thank you.” He took a small sip, then put the glass down.

Alex took the last two drinks off the tray and reclaimed his chair. He set the drinks on the small table and held his arms out, pleased when MacKensie burrowed back into his embrace without hesitation. He handed her a gin and tonic and picked up his scotch, then glanced at Drake. “You think this will be the end of it?”

Drake frowned. “As far as copycats, yes. I gave Steel a camera for before-and-after photos. Although I'll black out her face, Cynthia's body is quite recognizable, and the story of what she did is making the rounds. When the pictures from tonight are posted over the bar, I doubt anyone will consider duplicating what she did.”

The talk turned general, and the Doms encouraged the subs to join in to keep their minds off the scene being played out in the dungeon.

Zachary told how his new ram had butted him off his feet; Tess teased the rancher about the dungeon he'd built in the barn. Hope had several troublesome students creating chaos in her classroom. Peter suffered from a backlogged caseload that kept him working late each night.

“You know, we never asked how you met,” Hope said, smiling at Mac.

MacKensie stirred in Alex's arms. “We exchanged houses. Butler needed someone to care for him while Alex attended some conference close to my hometown.” She frowned and looked up at him. “After seeing your house, I couldn't believe you wanted to use my little place.”

“I've found staying in a real house—even little ones—more comfortable than any motel room. And it's worth the drive if I can get out of the city and enjoy a smaller town.”

“Oh.” MacKensie returned her attention to Hope. “Anyway, he missed his flight and returned to the house.”

And found her in a wonderful position. Alex grinned as red streaked across MacKensie's face. She obviously hadn't forgotten either. “She was nice enough to let me stay in my own home.”

He heard the little sigh of relief that he hadn't gone into detail.

With a little click, the music came to an end. Mac turned toward the dungeon. “Why isn't he done?”

“Steel was furious he'd been used in such a way,” Drake said. “And he's a master with the single tail. He won't break skin, but she will be marked for quite some time.”

“You must love her a lot to punish her like this,” Mac said.

Alex frowned at the peculiar statement and realized there was something odd in her voice. Wistfulness? Envy?

His glance at the others silenced them. “What other punishment could we have used, little cat?” Alex asked softly.

Her hand resting on his chest curled into a small fist. “If you didn't like her, you'd put her out of sight. Send her where you didn't have to look at her.”

Such a matter-of-fact statement. A reality to MacKensie. Alex frowned as dawning comprehension created a knot in his stomach. “So Cynthia knows we love her, since we're whipping her raw?”

Her cheek rubbed against his shirt as if she were the little cat he called her. Even as she snuggled, a frown formed between her brows. “I don't know about whipping. It seems awfully harsh.”

“I guess we could have flogged her.” He paused. No response. “Or caned her.” Paused. “Or spanked her.”

MacKensie's breathing increased, and the tiny muscles in her lips quivered for a second.

“Yes, maybe a hard spanking. Would she know what it meant, though?” He threw that out blindly and got more than he'd anticipated.

“Only girls who are loved get spanked. She'd know that.” Again, a reasonable tone. Spanking and love went together in MacKensie's world, a thought pattern probably established so young, she didn't even realize it. He'd dig further. But for now she needed to know she was valued as much—more—than Cynthia. He could give her that. With a little help.

He glanced at Peter and Zachary, saw the understanding in their eyes, and received nods. Experienced Doms could no more ignore a need like this than a doctor could ignore a bleeding wound.

The dungeon door opened, and Steel walked out, his hand wrapped around Cynthia's upper arm, giving her support enough to walk, but from the repugnance in his face, he didn't want to get closer. Steel's mouth was tight; he obviously hadn't enjoyed the punishment, but he'd done a masterful job.

Red welts covered Cynthia's body, front and back, shoulders to calves, only the areas around her kidneys and spine left unmarked. Her tear-streaked makeup splotched her face like camo paint, and her eyes were glassy with pain.

Pity rose in Alex until he remembered that she'd tried to do the same to Mac for no other reason than spite.

When the two approached, Drake rose. His black eyes displayed no pity at all as they traveled over Cynthia's body. “Kneel and apologize to Master Steel, then to Master Alex's sub.” His words were deliberately chosen, and Cynthia flinched at MacKensie's designation as Alex's submissive.

Cynthia knelt awkwardly, all her grace gone. “I'm sorry, Master Steel. Please forgive me.” The monotone left little to be read.

“Forgiven,” Steel said, his taut face adding without words that he wouldn't forget.

Cynthia turned slightly and looked at MacKensie. “Please forgive me,” she repeated, her face blank and cold.

MacKensie's eyes brimmed with tears. “Of course,” she whispered.

Alex's mouth thinned. His little sub's sympathy could be heard, felt, and seen. Cynthia's attitude, however…

“Cynthia, you speak the words of repentance but feel no remorse, only unhappiness that you were caught,” Drake said and lifted Cynthia to her feet. “You are not welcome in my club. Do not return.”

The woman's soft gasp of shock showed she had expected everything would go back to normal.

Drake handed Steel his car keys. “Please escort her to the car. I will be out in a moment.”

Steel nodded and gripped Cynthia's arm again. He snagged her coat on the way out the door.

Drake walked over to Alex. A flick of his eyes asked for and received Alex's permission to speak and touch. He lifted MacKensie's chin with one finger. “Little one, a truly repentant submissive is forgiven and cherished by her master, whether she is punished or not.” His black eyes gentled as if he could feel the quivers racking the little cat's body. “And sometimes punishment isn't about love; sometimes it's just punishment.”

He let her go, nodded at Alex, and headed out to take Cynthia home. Alex didn't envy him the trip.

“I think the evening calls for a walk on the beach,” Alex said. “Come, people; let's get some fresh air.” He set his mostly untouched drink down on the table. There was yet a scene to play out tonight, and he'd need a clear head.

* * * * *

Seattle glowed brightly on the horizon as Mac took one last look before entering the house. The long walk in the brisk sea air had blown away the shadows of the evening, and the soft shushing of the waves erased the screams that had filled her imagination. Alex had held her hand as they strolled along the water's edge, and that had helped too. Mostly.

So maybe she'd had a few moments of wanting to be home, reading an old Heinlein, and snuggling in the extra-soft quilt that Mary had made just for her—the one with kittens peeking out from behind each square. The homesickness hadn't lasted too long. Hand on her stomach, Mac rubbed away the lingering remnants and took a fortifying breath of cool, briny air.

After tossing their coats on the entry table, the others headed into the kitchen. Tess said she'd make some hot chocolate and asked Alex where he kept the Baileys Irish Cream. Sounded like everyone felt better.

Oblivious to the subdued mood, Butler had spent his time running in happy circles on the moonlit beach, and now he trotted up to the house, sides heaving and tongue lolling out.

Before he could escape, Mac grabbed his collar. As she pulled the dog toward the back room to dry him off, she heard Peter's voice in the kitchen. “Push her?”

Alex answered, “Exactly.”

Push her? Push who and where and why? Those Doms could be pretty inscrutable sometimes. With a shrug, Mac concentrated on getting the seawater and sand off Butler and not on herself.

“I do not want to smell like fish and dog,” she told him, receiving wiggles of delight at the attention. She put out some more dry food, checked his water, and left him tromping down imaginary grasses to make his dog bed more comfy.

Mac stopped in the hall to remove her long coat, then entered the living room. Everyone had returned to their favorite locations: Zachary and Tess in front of the fire, Peter and Hope at the large picture window, watching the water. Alex appeared from the kitchen with a large tray of appetizers. “Ah, my favorite French maid. Serve our guests, please.” He handed her the tray.

She glanced down at her costume and sighed. She'd actually forgotten what she wore, and now she knew why he'd wanted her to wear it. With a soft laugh, she walked over to Hope and Peter. “Would you care for something to eat?”

Peter's brows drew together, and his light brown eyes chilled. “Has Alex not taught you how to address a Dom?”

Oh frak. Where'd all the friendly atmosphere go? “Ah. Sir. Would you care for something to eat, Sir?”

“Better.” Peter picked up tidbits, one by one, and popped them into Hope's mouth while Mac stood as if she'd turned into a table or something. After a few minutes, Peter finished feeding his sub and took a miniature quiche for himself. As he ate it, he looked Mac up and down, making her very aware of the scantiness of her costume. She tried to think of a way to edge away, but that would be too obvious. Instead she turned her gaze to the water. I'm a table. Just a table.

Knuckles caressed the top of Mac's pushed-up breasts, and she jumped, almost spilling the appetizers. She tried to step away, but Peter grasped her arm, holding her in place. He ran his hand over her cleavage again. When she glared at him, he smiled slowly. “If maids don't pay attention, they get in trouble. Didn't your master mention that?”

She frowned at him, getting a feeling there was no right answer.

“At this party—at most of our parties—we grant permission for the other Doms to touch our subs. Within reason.” The back of his hand stroked over her neck and bare shoulders.

Alex hadn't, had he? She looked over her shoulder to where he stood by the fireplace, his arm resting on the thick oak mantel. His blue gaze met hers. After glancing at Peter, he returned to his conversation. Dammit. An ugly burn ignited in her stomach, and it sure wasn't arousal. Obviously Peter had permission to touch her. How far could he and the other Dom go? “What is considered within reason?” she asked and hastily added, “Sir.”

He tugged on her hair. “Well, now, that changes with each party. Right now, I think I'll improve the view.” His fingers slid inside her corset, and she tried to jerk away. “Don't move, sub,” he snapped. His eyes, so light a brown they were almost gold, seemed to glow.

She froze, and the tray she held started to shake. He took the tray and set it onto the table, then, watching her with a steady gaze, undid a few of her corset hooks, exposing her breasts down to the nipples. Her hands fisted at her sides in an effort not to push him away.

With an amused smile that reminded her of Alex's, he handed her the tray. “Off with you now, pet. I'm sure Master Zachary is hungry. Ranchers like their food.”

She stopped halfway across the room, trying to get her composure back. Somehow, when she'd been a whore, she'd managed to turn off her sense of outrage. Not tonight. Peter's touch hadn't roused her like Alex's; instead he'd made her angry. What a jerk.

She eyed her gaping corset and tried to decide whether to set the tray down and do the hooks back up or continue serving. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Peter's steady gaze on her, so she gripped the tray firmly and soldiered on. Hopefully the rancher would be more polite.

Zachary sat on the couch. Feet tucked under her long skirt, Tess curled up against him. The Dom had a craggy, weathered face with darkly tanned skin like a man who'd spent his life outdoors. When Mac offered him the tray, rather than sitting up and selecting something, he remained leaning back, one arm along the back of the couch.

Mac held the tray forward.

“Down here, where I can see what I'm getting,” he ordered, pointing toward his lap.

Well, good grief. Does Alex know what voyeurs his friends are? She bent over, all too aware of how the weight of her breasts made the corset gape farther open.

He did the exact same as Peter, picking out appetizers and feeding them to Tess. While Mac remained bent over.

“You know, that corset looks mighty uncomfortable.” Zachary ran a finger along the top. “Don't move,” he cautioned. He reached over the tray and undid hooks until only three remaining clasps at the bottom and the two thin shoulder straps kept it on her body. “There, that should feel better.”

She glared at him.

He smiled slowly, but no humor showed. From the corner of her eye, Mac saw his sub ease away from him. With one finger, Zachary lifted Mac's chin, forcing her gaze to stay on him. “MacKensie. I don't like that look.”

She yanked her face away and stepped back. “Well, I don't like—”

He rose so fast, she didn't have time to move. Yanked from her hands, the tray hit the table with a clatter, and Mac landed facedown on the couch with a hard hand keeping her in place. A second later, he'd stripped her of the corset entirely, leaving her in only a thong, garter belt, and fishnet stockings.

Before she could think what to do, Zachary set her on her feet and took his place back on the couch. He wasn't even breathing fast. “I realize you're a beginner, so I let you off lightly.” He handed her the tray. “You may take that to your master and explain why you're not in uniform any longer.”

She stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest. He'd taken her clothing. But he hadn't tried to cop a feel, not like most men would have. And although his eyes showed appreciation for her nakedness, he made no move to touch her further. He was totally in control. She took a step back, caught a sympathetic look from Tess, and kept retreating. Damn him.

No way…no way was she going to walk essentially naked all evening. Especially with everyone else fully dressed. She looked around for Alex. His back to the room, he pointed out something on the water to Peter. Mac glanced at Zachary. He'd pulled Tess into his lap to kiss her. No one watched Mac. And the door was right there.

She might not surrender, but she'd definitely retreat.

Chapter Eleven

After setting the tray down, Mac hastened up the stairs to the master bedroom. And there she paced, caught in a quandary. Should she return back downstairs for the rest of the party? Damned if she would do that without clothing. But if she put on clothes, what would Zachary do? Even scarier, what would Alex do? Her heart squeezed at the thought of his displeasure, and wasn't that totally bizarre? In the last twelve years, aside from Jim and Mary, she'd never changed her behavior for anyone, no matter what they might think.

Okay, Mac. Think. Be logical. If she didn't go back downstairs, she'd break the deal with Alex. She'd promised to submit at his parties and all that. This was a party. So she couldn't cut out early, no matter how offensive his guests were.

But she refused to walk around without clothing, so… Her suitcase held a long jean skirt like Tess's and a discreet, sleeveless, button-down top. After pulling them on, she checked herself in the mirror. Nothing provocative about this.

Surely Alex would understand that she couldn't tolerate being mostly naked. Wouldn't he?

Frak, but I'm so screwed. Trying to rub the butterflies out of her stomach, she descended the stairs and entered the living room. The light scent of wood smoke from the fire mingled with a cool breeze from the window someone had opened. Zachary and Tess had joined the others at the window, so everyone stood on one side of the room. Mac clenched her hands at her sides. Join them or resume serving? But she'd already served them once, dammit, and look how well that had turned out.

Casual, then. Just go hang out with them. Note to self: stay a good distance away from the nasty Doms.

Her breath kept hitching like a bad motor as she crossed the room and stopped beside Alex. Eyes down like a good little sub, she listened to Tess's description of kayaking. When Tess's light voice stopped in midsentence, no one picked up the conversation.

Silence grew.

Mac glanced out of the corner of her eye at Tess and Hope. The look of horror blossoming on their faces made her stomach sink. Oh frak. Beam me up, Scotty. Quick.

A hand closed around her bare arm in a firm grip. Alex. He turned her toward him.

Her hands closed into fists, but she kept her gaze on the floor, at least until his finger under her chin raised her gaze to his.

Cold, cold eyes, like blue ice. “I seem to recall putting you in a maid's outfit.” His voice had deepened, but he spoke softly. “Why are you not wearing it, MacKensie?”

“I-I…” Why the hell hadn't she thought up a good excuse upstairs? “Um. It was uncomfortable, and Zachary…um—a Dom—removed it for me.”

“Did he.” It wasn't a question, and his eyes didn't leave hers. “Master Zachary?”

“She mouthed off,” Zachary said in an unemotional voice. “I removed her corset as a punishment and told her to find you and explain why.” Just the facts, damn him.

“Ah.” Alex's brows drew together, and his lips flattened. The nervous flutters in Mac's stomach kept moving out until her knees started to tremble.

“You talked back to a Dom. You disobeyed a Dom's direct order. And you disobeyed me. Did I miss anything, MacKensie?” He loomed over her as if he'd added another foot in height.

She tried to swallow. “No, Sir. That's all.”

“More than enough, actually. Do you understand what you did wrong?”

This was worse than any chewing out she'd ever had. His eyes held both anger and disappointment. He didn't yell; his voice stayed level.

“Answer me, MacKensie. What did you do wrong?”

“I wasn't polite.” She thought about ripping free of his grasp and running, but her feet stayed frozen on the floor. “I didn't obey his order. I didn't wear what you told me to wear.” She felt her lip quiver and couldn't stand it. She tried to pull away. “Damn you, I'm not going naked in a roomful of fully dressed people.”

She heard gasps from the two other subs.

“Actually, if it pleases me that you be naked, then you will do so and be proud that I choose to share your beauty,” he said softly. “In situations like this, what you wear—or don't wear—is at my discretion.” He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Strip. Now.”

Her mouth dropped open. “No. No way.”

“Well then.” Moving so smoothly she didn't realize his intentions, he grasped her wrist, stepped back, and sat on the couch behind him. He pulled her to his right to stand beside his knees. An ironic smile crossed his face. “I think we've done this before.”

She stared down at him in confusion. “What?”

He grabbed a handful of her shirtfront and yanked. She landed painfully on her stomach across his knees. “Oomph.” Gasping for the air knocked out of her, she struggled to rise.

Her left arm was trapped between their bodies. Alex reached across her back to grip her other arm, holding it against her side and pinning her shoulders at the same time.

“Let me go, dammit!” She tried to roll off his legs.

She felt movement on the backs of her thighs as he pulled her skirt up, baring her bottom. He wouldn't! She fought harder.

Slam!

The shock of his hand striking her bottom rendered her speechless for a second. And then she screamed in fury.

Slam. Slam. Slam. The shocking pain of the stinging blows silenced her.

He said, “I do this because I care for you, MacKensie.” His voice sounded almost tender. “I don't like having to punish a sub, but this is for your own good. And because I care.”

Slam. Slam. Slam. Each blow stung like a searing flame on her skin.

“Damn you, you asshole. You bastard. I don't—”

Slam. Slam. Slam. She choked as pain began to overwhelm her.

“You were disobedient and disrespectful, as you are now. So you are being punished because I care how you behave.” His hand stroked over her burning skin gently, then…

Slam. Slam. Slam.

God, it hurt. Hurt way worse than when he had spanked her before. He was hitting harder. Tears pooled, then ran from her eyes. She tried to free her arm, and his grip tightened to a steel band.

“I can keep this up all night, MacKensie, if that's what it takes to get this through your head. Obedience is rewarded. Respect is rewarded. Subs who disobey are punished.”

Slam. Slam. Slam. “If I didn't care about you, I would simply ask you to leave.”

She froze as his words entered her, echoing through the hollows inside her. He cared. Cared enough to punish her. He hadn't made her leave.

Slam. Slam. Slam.

A sob welled from deep inside her and wrenched out past her constricted throat. As if the first sob had opened something, the next and next ripped out, faster, hurting her chest.

His hand caressed her bottom, and the pain of his touch mingled with the pleasure of his warmth. “When you apologize and sincerely beg forgiveness, then I will stop.”

Never, she'd never. She smothered her sobs. “You bastard,” she whispered, yet her defiance lacked real anger.

Slam. Slam. Slam. The blows moved lower to the tender crease of her thigh, the sharp slaps agonizing. She gritted her teeth.

“I was proud of your behavior earlier tonight, of your sweetness and your compassion. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, MacKensie.”

Slam. Slam. Slam.

His words tore through her, more painful than the stinging blows. Something, some dark emotion, tore loose, and her chest shook with its passing. The pain on her skin filled her world even as his words emptied the lake of pain inside her. She couldn't fight either one. He had control.

He cares for me.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. And he held his blow. How could he hear her? But the ringing noise she heard was all inside her head and didn't diminish when he paused.

“That's a start.” His hand stroked her back. “Do you know what to do now?”

She remembered from the dungeon a lifetime ago. “Kneel and apologize.” She nodded.

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 729