was refreshingly honest. She liked that about her. Regardless of Gracieâs declaration about secret keeping, Danielle still couldnât completely trust her, but it would be nice to have someone to talk toâif Gracie would ever give her the chance.
The winding stairs took them to the second floor of the home, where mirrors of various shapes and sizes lined the walls of the carpeted hallway. âThis is where we live,â Gracie said as they passed several closed doors. âYou can only access the living quarters through the kitchen. The other staircases lead to the club areas. Master has his private residence on the attic level of the house, but none of the slaves have ever seen it.â Halfway down the hall, Gracie opened one of the doors and stepped inside a room.
Gracie crossed to the other side of the room and pulled back the drapes to bring sunlight in through the wall-sized window, showing off a four-poster walnut bed covered with a virginal white goose-down blanket and a matching walnut dresser, desk, and nightstand. For a moment, Danielle forgot where she was, captivated by the comfort of the room.
The sunâs rays ricocheted off the beautiful pale pink crystal chandelier, which hung in the center of the room, creating slivers of dancing lights on the walls and frames behind the bed. The lights turned on, and her sight focused on the framed images.
Three Degas paintings.
Her Degas paintings.
Not the prints hanging on her walls now, but the originals, which had graced her walls before the government had confiscated almost everything in her home. The dainty dancers whom sheâd envied as a child, knowing sheâd never have the lithe body required for ballet. Despite that, sheâd loved those paintings. To see them here, under Cole DeMarcoâs roof in the very room heâd assigned to her, reminded her of everything sheâd lost.
Everything heâd taken from her.
When Gracie took a breath, Danielle cleared her throat and took the opportunity to prove she knew how to use her vocal cords. âHow long have you been a trainee?â
âOh, Iâm not a trainee. I belong to Master Cole.â
Danielle rubbed her chest where a raw ache had settled. âYouâre his . . . ?â
âSlave. Yes. For two years.â
âI thought he only trained.â Of course he had slaves. He probably had a submissive or two at his beck and call at all times.
âHe did. Until me. Now thereâs two of us who remain here permanently. Myself and Adrian.â
Danielle smoothed her hand over the comforter. âOh. Do you, umââ
âFuck him? No.â Gracie sighed. âNot that we havenât tried. He doesnât have sex with the slaves or trainees, although he has no problem getting us off through other ways. Youâll understand after a few days. Somehow, Master knows us better than we know ourselves.â She settled on the front edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her. âThe man swears heâs not a sadist, but he loves to watch his slaves squirm with desperation. Iâd take a paddling over an orgasm denial any day. Right?â
Danielle sat beside her. âUm, right.â Did all women speak so freely about sex? âDo you, um, get paid for being a slave?â
âNot officially, but the membersâ fees pay for my weekly stipend plus my living expenses, which remain low since my room and board are both covered. Itâs structured similarly to your trainee agreement.â Gracie slid her a quizzical glance. âYou did read your agreement, didnât you?â
âOf course. So what do you do for him?â Hating all the lies that were piling up, she nibbled on her thumbnail.
âMaster tries to give me more of the social responsibilities in Benediction, like greeting the guests and taking their coats. Has he given you your first service requirement yet?â
Danielle ripped her thumb from her