“I have never seen a house that allows the staff to... consort,” Atticus said softly as a way of explaining his issue. “I never want to risk being forced from here.”  It was a very good life offered here, one that was so good that all Master Ryan needed to do to get another to fill Atticus’ position was to crook his finger.<br/><br/>The ex-whore’s attention was caught by the fluid tumble of long black hair, the man’s eyes holding his own, his words a deep knowing thrum, and he imagined what it would feel like to have that hair drag over his torso, feeling each strand slide over his skin as the Master loomed over him, that soul-deep gaze pinning him down more firmly than any chain could, or tickle his shoulders and back, swinging in time to each thrust, each hot breath-<br/><br/>Atticus blinked, his breathing quite a bit faster, his lips parted somewhat. He swallowed and shut his eye, his breath shaking slightly as he struggled to banish the thought. “In this moment, I can think of only one, Master,” he said, meeting the man’s gaze again, his voice a desperate rasp.<br/>