Chapter Eight: A Dog That Bites Its Master.

The town looked vibrant, and the people themselves looked cheerful. But that was probably because I was looking from a distance. The route to the club was not at the heart of the dutchy; it was on the hill that overlooked the town.

I could see why the club failed, who in their right mind would like to travel up a steep hill when they were pissed drunk? No noble would bother with such a club, but perhaps it had been tailored to suit the townspeople.

The road winded up the hill, a route which had way too many potholes. Each time the carriage shook, my body was forced against Erden's rock hard frame.

I had to grip the seats at some point for stability but this, in turn, caused my hand to continuously graze his muscular thighs. 

For my last stunt, I stood in the jerking carriage wanting to sit next to Mary, so that I could successfully re-recite my celibate vows, without too much stimulation. But the driver had hit a pothole so deep that I smacked my hea