Masters & Lovers Box Set One

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 Charlotte, ‘The Virgin’s’ point of view, 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
Chapter One - James – The Dream
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.
*****