The Training House (Book Three) Master

By Eden Bradley

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Eden Bradley, the stunning conclusion of The Training House Series!

It’s the ultimate surrender...but can the Master truly become the slave?

I am no longer the Master, but simply Damon. I am reeling with shock. Love. The urgent desire to please the only man who could ever Master me—the wickedly beautiful Christopher. I know this because he once belonged to me. How do I cope with this unexpected, yet inevitable turn of events? How can I give myself over in the way a slave must? Perhaps because I must, in order to have him. And it is the only way to be with our sweet Aimée.

She is our love, and her heart belongs to us both. My new Master claims to love me, but I doubt him. Even more, I doubt myself. I must find a way, and the path leads me there only through complete and utter submission, subjugation, handing over my soul. If I fail, I lose them both. A more cruel torture has never been devised. My heart breaks already, and it’s only just begun.

WARNING:: These books contains material that may be difficult to read about and/or cause triggers for some readers. Do NOT try this at home!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eden Bradley
• Release date: Sep 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370190775

Eden Bradley

Eden Bradley is the award-winning author of numerous novels and novellas, both in print and electronic format, and her work has appeared in several erotic anthologies. Eden appears regularly on Playboy Radio and conducts workshops on the writing craft and writing about sex. A psychology major, she’s fascinated with how the human mind responds to intimacy, especially when sex and romance collide. Eden lives in Hollywood. You can visit her at www.EdenBradley.com.

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THE TRAINING HOUSE

Book Three: MASTER

by

Eden Bradley

MASTER

© 2016 Eden Bradley

Cover Design by Scott Carpenter

Editing by D.S. Editing

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DEDICATION

This book must be dedicated to my wise and dear friend Robin L. Rotham for knocking this story into shape. Without you, I would have been lost and alone at the difficult end of this journey—thank you for making sure I was neither, as well as for your endless patience and for loving this series, and for never giving me a hard time about any of the strange things I feel compelled to write. As Christopher says, we are all freaks together, and I love you for it! : )

I also must acknowledge all my wonderful readers for their support of The Training House Series. I know this series is a bit of kinky madness, and I appreciate all of you hanging in there with me, and coming to love these books as much as I do!

CHAPTER ONE

My beautiful Christopher stands naked before me, glaring as if he would kill me.

Is it wrong that I’m half hoping he’ll try? Nothing would give me greater pleasure at the moment than forcibly reminding him where he belongs. With me. To me.

I take a step forward. Christopher, you need to calm down and—

No! Just fucking no. He’s raised his hands in front of him, one curled into a tight fist.

My own hands twitch in response, but I slide them into the pockets of my slacks and run my gaze coolly over Christopher’s magnificent physique. His golden skin and high cheekbones are flushed, the amber lion eyes that are a gift of his combined Japanese, Cherokee and English heritage glittering dangerously—a dangerous animal in nothing but rage and bare skin.

"No? After what you’ve done, that’s all you have to say to me?"

Oh, I have plenty more to say.

I’ve ignored Aimée so far, but now I focus on her with every bit of detachment I can muster. She’s sitting up on the bed behind him, clutching the sheet to her perfect breasts as she watches the drama unfolding between Christopher and me. The fear in her crystalline green eyes and the tears sliding down her porcelain cheeks are gratifying—I do love a slave’s tears—but they also wound me in a way that makes my chest go tight and my hands clench into fists in my pockets.

I make myself turn from her and raise a brow at Christopher. Is that so?

Fuck right, he snarls. "To start with, there will not be any ordering me back—ordering us back. No cleverly devised punishments for my infractions, and sure as hell not for hers. I know damn well what I’m guilty of. But the thing is, Damon, I am done. Done with the slave bullshit. He pauses, wiping his lush mouth with the back of his hand. Fuck. It’s not bullshit. I know that. But I can’t do it anymore."

That’s fortunate, because neither can I, I tell him, grinding my jaw against the anger I must keep under control. I am every bit as enraged as he is, for once. Certainly not the way it’s been in the past.

Why the hell are you here, anyway? he demands. I’ve always come and gone as I pleased, contract or not. It’s our little dance, isn’t it? One we’ve been doing for four years. You’ve never come after me before.

You never took her with you before.

His golden eyes gleam with dark fire as he takes a step toward me. So this is about Aimée?

You know better than that, I say flatly, fighting the urge to step back. I don’t like that he thinks he can intimidate me, and I like even less that he actually can. But I have to admit it’s also hot as hell. He’s absolutely gorgeous in all his lithe feline menace, which only infuriates me more. Aimée is not the only different element this time. You and I both know it. But the fact that you would take another slave out of my House, that you would be party to her running out on her contract…it’s beneath you, Christopher.

"God damn it, Damon. I left because I had to take her with me."

Turning to Aimée, I demand, Tell me in your own words you went with him willingly.

Fucking right she did, Christopher spits out. We don’t do it any other way—people like us—and you goddamn well know it. Jesus fuck, Damon!

Aimée scrambles forward onto her knees and lays her hand on his arm. Please, Christopher. He needs to hear it from me.

He stares at her for a moment, his expression stern, the muscles in his jaw clenching repeatedly. Fine.

Sitting back on her heels, Aimée focuses her earnest gaze on mine. Master Damon—Sir—I left of my own free will, fully aware of what the consequences could be: banishment from the formal slave training houses and more exclusive clubs all over the world. I’ve been around long enough to understand what we did carries very heavy consequences. But I left with him because…I couldn’t bear to be without him.

And yet, I almost choke on the words, you were able to leave me?

Her long, golden lashes come down on her flushed cheeks. I wish it didn’t have to be so.

So do I.

There, Christopher growls. You have it straight from Aimée’s pretty lips that she came with me of her own free will. Now what the fuck do you want, Damon? Just spit it out.

All right, I say with a sardonic smile, doing my best to move past the sharp ache of her simple statement. I am here with an offer. A generous one, I think.

His lips quirk with a smile even less sincere than mine as he takes another menacing step forward and crosses his arms. I’m interested to hear what you think of as generous.

My pulse spikes hard and I draw a long, steadying breath.

Instantly the familiar, spicy scents of Christopher and sex nearly eviscerate me. I want to scream. I want to punish him, punish them both—fuck them both. Instead, I dig my nails into my palms, trying to keep my features arranged in such a way that I don’t betray the true depths of my pain and anger. I can’t let my emotions control me or I could lose him—lose them both—forever.

Fuck.

I force myself to calm—as much as I can, given the circumstances, given the strange bite of doubt woven through the anger and the driving need to really hurt them.

"I would never have wished for things to happen this way, but you two acted, and here we are. And yes, Christopher, I do think it’s damn generous of me to bother coming after you, and even more for me to make you this offer. Pausing, I examine his features, taking in every tight line, the shadows on his face, his steady gaze. Come back to the Training House with me. You will be accepted back—into my House, into our circle—however, some of the terms have changed. And again, yes, there will be punishments devised. You know that’s how it works."

Christopher lets out a short, barking laugh. "Did you really think you’d drag us back to your House? Lock us in the basement with that evil bastard Gilby for a few days, make us see the error of our ways? What the fuck, Damon?"

No, there will be no ‘dragging’. I come with an offer, rather than a demand, although I’d much prefer to simply issue orders. If I had any illusions about that actually working, you know I’d have sent my handlers down here to throw their black bags over your heads and crate you back to my House in the van.

And the terms of this supposedly incredible offer would be?

The number one term is that you don’t leave again. No more skipping out on your contracts. I’ve had enough of begging him not to go and being ignored.

He props his fists on his hips, giving me a hard look. You have got to be kidding me.

Do I look as if I’m kidding?

I hesitate for a heartbeat, knowing this could be a deal breaker but unwilling to budge on this point. It’s the only way to prevent this from happening again. The other stipulation is that the two of you will be separated while you’re retrained.

Christopher’s eyes narrow as he takes a step back, placing himself between me and Aimée. "Now I know you’re joking. The answer is no. No goddamn way in hell! Seriously, Damon? You just fucking waltz in here trying to be ‘the Master’. You used your bourgeois power and influence to track us down like dogs and barge into our hotel room at the ass-crack of dawn as if you owned it. As if you owned us. And I don’t care about the fucking contracts, what they say about us granting you that ownership. You know that shit has never mattered to me other than as a symbol, a token of the game of kink."

Do you truly think of what we do as a game? It’s far too serious to be a game, Christopher.

He shrugs, his gorgeously-muscled bare shoulders rising an inch or two. Whatever. A fucking fancy, intense game, but still a game. The protocol only raises the stakes.

I sigh. What am I going to do with you, Christopher?

Nothing. Not anymore. That’s the point. You are no longer my Master.

The words send a chill up my spine, and suddenly the idea that I truly could lose them is a teetering wall of terrible possibility that could crush me. Perhaps he’s right, that this is a fancy game we play. But if so, I intend to win. I can’t afford not to.

That remains to be seen. I lean to look around his broad, golden shoulder. And you, Aimée? Will you come back with me, if I promise everything will be forgiven?

She bites her lip, her brows drawing together,