CHAPTER FOUR
In the morning Cressida was awakened by the lock turning in the door. The girl whom she had seen the night before entered, carrying a tray. Cressida smelled coffee and toast before she had properly got her eyes open.
The girl set the tray down on the bedside table. “What’s your name?” Cressida asked.
“Michiko,” the girl said with a smile. She was very pretty, with huge almond–shaped eyes and jet–black hair.
“Are you one of the slaves?”
“We don’t call ourselves that,” the girl answered.
“So what are you?”
“We are Ruslan’s women.”
“Ruslan? That’s his name?”
“We belong to him.”
“That doesn’t make you his slave?”
“It is our pleasure to serve him.”
“s*x with him is good?” Cressida asked. Could one man keep a dozen women happy?
Michiko shrugged. “Not always, perhaps. Bu
