Sweet Desire (Tales of Dystopian Decadence Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

headmistress gave each student a gift upon placement with a patron, and this tiny token of rebellion was mine. I cherished it, despite – or perhaps because of – the fact that it was contraband.
    Wait…
    Was it contraband if I was in the forsaken zone, beyond the borders of the Regime-controlled territories?
    Nope.
    I pushed the button below the screen, scrolled through the playlists I had assembled with the headmistress’s blessing, and found the song I wanted to hear. The harmonious drawl of a trio of women singers filled my room, making me both homesick and happy. As I danced across the room, putting my things away, my voice rose with each new song.
    And when I happened to twirl toward the door, he was standing there, arms folded, eyes wide.
    Dang.
    He quirked an eyebrow at me and opened his mouth.
    Maybe he had come to apologize, so I pressed my lips together, clasped my hands behind my back and tried to look innocent…
    …and failed miserably as I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Somehow, I held in the laughter that threatened to escape from me. After being unceremoniously dumped on a grumpy patron, then insulted and yelled at by him, it seemed I was on the verge of hysterics.
    Apparently, my mirth wasn’t contagious, because he turned and walked away.
    Double dang.
    I turned down the music and finished putting everything in its place. The room looked slightly homier now.
    A distant chime pinged below me and I practically ran down the stairs to check on dinner. What the patron wants, the patron gets – that was what St. Eden’s had taught me. If Nicholas gave me unlimited permission to speak, so be it. If he wanted dinner, I had to make it. If he demanded…
    Would he ask anything intimate of me? It seemed highly unlikely, according to his own admission. With that thought, a fresh wave of misery washed over me. What would I receive in exchange for all this work? Certainly not someone to keep my bed warm through the long nights. I slid the oven mitts over my hands and sighed as I placed the steaming roasting pan on top of the stove, followed by the other roasting pan and loaf pan.
    To be someone’s submissive was to be cherished, to serve, and receive something in return. That something was usually emotional validation and physical affection. It was something some people needed – something some of us had to have to be happy. Nicholas seemed incapable of the first and disinterested in the second, which left me a highly trained service submissive working as an unpaid maid, rather than matched up with the patron of my dreams.
    My lower lip trembled at the fatalistic thought. This is my life now. I’m with a man who somehow lost the capacity to love or cherish a woman. He obviously had it once…
    Then reason in my sister’s voice kicked in. It’s only the first day. So what if it isn’t what you expected? Get over it. You have a lifetime to figure it out and change what you don’t like about it. Besides, there’s a juicy story there, Vi.
    With a nod and a small, niggling feeling of resolve, I set the table and served diner. Before I even had to wrangle with the question of how to get Nicholas to the table, he walked into the dining room, sat at the head of the table, and cut into his roast. The house might have been odorless before, but now it was filled with the scent of dinner. I bit back a giggle at the idea of him following his nose to the table.
    After a moment of watching him, I sank down into my seat and cut my potato into bite-sized pieces. I peered at him all the while, trying to gauge his reaction to the food.
    When he pushed away from the table, his plate empty, the only words he spoke were “Breakfast by eight,” before leaving the room.
    I hesitated and watched him go, before chewing the mouthful of food I had. That was it? So I was an educated, young lady of quality, trained to be the perfect companion, now relegated to the roles of maid and