Masters And Lovers 1-4

Part One: Her Master’s Wedding

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A Note From The Author

'Masters And Lovers' is the continuing story of Charlotte, her Master, James, and her Lover, Michael.

The story is a long one and is still on-going. I'll admit, it started in a small way with 'Buying The Virgin'.

It was originally intended to be a series of short stories of auction erotica fun and frolics, made up of

five short stories, the whole story taking place over just a week.

However, Charlotte, James and Michael were a hit with my readers and I received a lot of requests for

'more please'. The story grew... and grew...

So, if you have not met Charlotte, James and Michael before and would like to start with the beginning

of the story, here is where to start.

You can read how the tale begins, as told from The Virgin, Charlotte, in 'Buying The Virgin'. The simple

little tale that outgrew its original objectives.

Alternatively, you can start the story as told by The Boys, James and Michael, in 'Mastering The Virgin'.

This is a more detailed story where you learn a lot more about not just Charlotte, but James and

Michael too. You get a lot more background and, of course, lots more sizzle and steam.

I should also say, that while there is of course, a lot of overlap between these two versions of the story,

they are by no means identical. Each contains insights and information that is not present in the other.

After these two series, the tale continues in 'Masters And Lovers'.

On the other hand, if you are happy to start here, then I have tried hard to make the story manageable

for the new reader starting at this point.

Whatever you decide, I do hope you enjoy the read.

Happy Reading

Simone

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James

Pain….

Blinding, shrieking, unholy agony….

Screaming….

My Jade-Eyes screaming….

Blood….

Pain….

Screaming.

My Jade, weeping….

With a gasp, I rear up, blinking into darkness.

A nightmare….

Just a nightmare….

Beside me in the bed, my flame-haired mermaid, safe and sound, sleeps peacefully. Beyond her:

Michael, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.

Everything is fine. Everything is perfectly normal.

But I’m drenched in sweat, my heart hammers behind my ribs and my breathing snatches. The wound

in my thigh throbs a slow, heated beat.

And for the first time, the memory surfaces, how I took the wound.

Corby, his gun trained on Charlotte. Michael, flinging himself bodily at the gunman in a desperate bid to

prevent the shot. And looking for refuge, finding none, I seize her, shielding her with my body….

Pain….

Shrieking unbearable agony….

….. And a fall into darkness….

Christ!

I check the time; it’s hours after midnight; getting late enough almost to be early.

I have no desire to sleep, to risk being dragged back into that nightmare.

Coffee….

Swinging out of bed, I snag a robe and pad downstairs to the kitchen. The renovations are all but

complete now and the house is cosy and comfortable. A couple of weeks ago we moved out of the

annex we first occupied, but I still haven’t grown used to the feeling of ‘home’ here.

Home….

I understand why Charlotte so yearned for a home of her own. Dispossessed for most of her life, with

nothing to call her own, this has been Michael’s gift to her, the most precious thing he knew how to give

to her. He has put heart and body and soul into it….

…. Not to mention a thumping great mortgage….

…. Which he can barely afford….

But for myself too, it has become home. Divorced so many years ago now, from a marriage which I

never understood at the time was so unsuccessful. Only when I met my Jade-Eyes, did I truly

understand what it meant to be bonded with another.

And I would do anything for her….

Anything….

In the kitchen, the homely activities of grinding beans, putting the coffeemaker on the hob, calm me….

…. calm me enough that I begin to think clearly about the memory that has just re-emerged.

Everyone… Michael… Richard… Beth… has told me how I was injured, that I placed myself in the path

of the bullet intended for Charlotte, but it felt like a story or a news report; something that happened to

a stranger. A tale from the tv or social media perhaps.

This feels visceral…

Real….

And my stomach clenches at the memory of that searing moment before I lost consciousness.

I squeeze my eyes tight closed, trying to exorcise the thought.

Then the aroma of the coffee invades my nostrils and reality returns.

I take a couple of large gulps of the brew I deliberately made abrasively strong, then, mug in hand, I

head outside, inhaling sweet steam as I walk.

The night is an iced hush; early Spring, with the air cold enough to steal my breath into curling clouds,

and with the kiss of frost on the ground. But a golden wedge of moon casts over the lake far below, and

the water is full of stars.

And slowly, my heart and breathing slow, and I grow still inside.

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