As much as I do not want to take his hand, I do it anyways just to keep him in this decent mood. Once I’m on my feet and standing in front of him, he holds up the fabric to me.
“Put this on.”
It’s not much more than a satin nightgown, but I’ll take it. Even though it hugs my body and reveals every dip and curve to his heated gaze, I feel better with something on to cover me even a little.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to thank him or remain silent, so I mutter, “It’s beautiful.”
Master smiles, then stands and takes both my hands in his. “Not as beautiful as you. Now, shall we?”
I’m unsettled by how nice he’s being. It’s harder to track his moods or anticipate his next move when he’s acting like a decent human being—a gentleman, even—and leading me on into a comfort zone I’m pretty sure
