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The Reunion (excerpt)
By Laura Antoniou
Published by Mystic Rose Books
Reprinted with permission
Available from Amazon.com
Chris stopped, just for a second, in front of Robin, and to her surprise, he extended a hand to her. Without thinking, she clinked her coffee cup down and rose, her arm in his, and walked out with him. She could feel Carol's eyes at her back, and just as he held the door for her, she could hear Sherri asking, "And what was that about? See what I mean?" People just behave differently when there's a trainer or master..."
And then the doors closed behind them, cutting Sherri's complaint down to a barely audible sound of petulance. Chris led Robin down the wide corridor, with its massive paintings and statues in niches and corners, her arm in his. Carefully placed wall sconces highlighted the ornate wood carvings along the ceilings. He walked slowly, and comfortably.
"I'm sorry about that," Robin said quietly. "Don't be, it was none of your doing. I was expecting it eventually, and I deserved it for calling attention to myself." Chris stopped at the base of the curved grand staircase and disengaged their arms to face her. "There aren't many collared trainers any more, and most of them lead very sheltered lives, closeted, as it were, from one aspect of the Marketplace or the other. When I decided to go to a Reunion, I knew I might encounter that attitude. But oddly enough, I do have every right to be here. I enjoy being a slave, with all that entails. And I've always wanted to go to a Reunion. Now, I am here -- the site of some of the happiest days of my life -- and you are here as well. What do you say, Robin? Is seven years too long to wait?"
"No," she whispered. "No, and hell, yes." She smiled at him, and at his pleasure, and felt a comfortable rush of shyness and excitement. He didn't say anything else, didn't lean forward to kiss her, as another man might have. Instead, he took her arm again, and led her up the stairs. She felt that tug of excitement again, the mad fantasy of crushing herself against him and pulling at clothing, both his and hers. Wrapping one leg around him in a corner, on the bench under that huge hunting painting, opposite the mirror in the gilt frame. She felt wanton.
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