Chapter Twenty-Eight
Degas allowed her several days rest before he ordered her to the floor again. By that time, she was anxious to return to her duties whatever it was he wanted her to do.
“I’ll let you choose, my well-seasoned lamb,” he said, the day he entered her room, drew away the curtain that surrounded her bed and looked down at her awakening body.
She stared up at him, knowing what he meant, though thinking how much she wanted him to say it himself. She liked to hear him talk, to listen to the mellifluous sounds of his baritone as it caressed her back into her body. A hand finding her crotch, finding the hard bud between her labia, she rubbed it. Waking from slumber had made her especially horny. Her act drew Degas’s interest. “Then I come and go as I please?” she said, thinkin
