Taken For His Pleasure
"LUCKY YOU!" Maria shouted, holding the punch bag as Lydia boxed away, repeating the words like some kind of chant as Lydia thumped ever harder.
Lydia's red curls had long since worked their way out of her hair tie, and moved in time as she pounded the punch bag, her pale, slender arms delivering surprisingly strong blows. The rhythmic, vigorous exercise was wonderfully cathartic as, egged on by Maria, Lydia vented some of her anger and frustration.
"Lucky, lucky you! Come on, Lydia. Hit harder!" 'I'm done!" Lydia breathed, shaking her head and resting her gloved hands on her knees. "And lucky certainly isn't how I'd describe myself, being stuck here for the next few nights—I haven't had a day off for weeks!"
Even though the place was deserted, mindful that someone could be listening, Lydia spoke in low tones as she pulled off her gloves and turned the sink taps on full blast to distort their conversation. She needlessly refilled her water bottle and took a few moments to splash her face.
"What are you moaning about? Being joined at the hip with Anton Santini is my idea of an absolute dream job. Imagine how I fee ... read full excerpt from: Taken for His Pleasure ebook
