“So proud.” The man stroked Stevanna’s cheek. “And so expensive.” His hand went to the clockwork collar, then lower, to her dress. “Strip.”
The back of his wagon was a mess of crates, not the place for such things. But she was his slave now. She stripped.
He clothed her in a silk shift, then hooked a leash to the collar.
He chained her wrists, arms outspread, to the front hoop of his wagon, then hooked the leash to the top of the hoop, stretching her onto her toes. “You’re like a painting. And everyone will know you are mine.”
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