The Dragon Master's Pleasure Slave novel Chapter 3

Margot

My head snaps up, and I wince as I meet his angry scowl.

His face contorts in snarling disgust, and he holds a sparkling crystal tumbler of golden liquid.

He throws it back in one loud gulp before standing up behind his desk and turning his eyes to me again.

I look back down at the carpet, cross my arms over my chest, and grip my elbows as hard as possible.

I hear his footsteps, the brush of his slacks as he walks. Then his shadow towers over me as I swallow my fear, waiting for his hand to slam into my cheek.

My stepmother likes to kick and pull hair, but my father likes to hit or, even more humiliating, backhand. As a result, my cheek will sting for hours, and sometimes the handprint will stay for days. My scarlet letter, so to speak.

“Leaving?” I ask meekly, hunching over as his six-foot-three frame swallows me.

“Yes, leaving. I’m selling you at the auction. I can pay my gambling debts off if I sell you.”

I flinch.

He continues. “Your mother told me you’re still a virgin, and that’s exactly what will bring me a high price for you.”

Stepmother.

He wallops the small of my back with the side of his fist. Hard enough to jolt me into position, but not hard enough to leave a mark. “Stand up straight and look at the wall.”

I jerk upright and let my hands fall to my sides. I focus on the bookshelf behind his desk, examining the titles as if my life depends on remembering them.

I struggle to read some of the words. They’re too long, too…educated, but I can make out a few.

How to Win Friends and Influence People reads one title.

He should reread it because it hadn’t worked.

Father never let me go to school after he married my stepmother. He said I was too stupid. Besides, school is for women looking to marry up. My only hope is taking care of everything around the house so my half-sisters can do well.

Father walks around me. My skin tingles in revolt as his eyes glance up and down my body. Finally, he pulls my chin up with his nicotine-stained fingers.

“These marks on your arms look disgusting. That’s going to lower your price.”

As if it’s my fault.

“Perhaps you should tell your wife and her daughters not to grab me so roughly.”

Where am I going? Is it going to be worse than this? Can it be worse than here? Anything is possible, though, and I shudder.