Chapter Eleven
Michael Renz didn’t hear from Savannah for nearly two weeks, and he wasn’t about to call her. He’d taken on a role and it wasn’t sensitive and compassionate; it was solely dominant.
Savannah was in agony those weeks, vowing with her competent professorial self that what Michael meant to her could not be important. But every other part of her psyche told her she was lying. She refused to write Guillaume and tell him what had happened, even though she was bound by the unwritten agreement with the dominant to do just that. She ignored the promises she’d made, ignored her heart, her loins and the desires that floated to the surface of her every day life. She’d pushed the caning from her mind, pushed the image of an angry Michael from her thoughts, and yet, she still felt
