Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11)

by Cherise Sinclair

  Her eyes closed as she pulled in long breaths, fighting the helplessness that terrified her yet fulfilled her, the loss of control she hated, and required. Only with Nolan could she let go completely—because she trusted him with her mind and heart and soul. With all that she was.

  I love you.

  Watching her closely, he caressed her breasts. Each time he rolled a nipple between his fingers, her pussy contracted around him. And finally, he started to move, short in and out strokes at first, then longer and harder.

  Oh, oh, oh, so wonderful. A short, unexpected orgasm shook her.

  His grin was a flash of white in his tanned face. “Nice.” He eased in and out as the spasms diminished. His erection was still thick and heavy inside her as he turned off the vibrators. “But you can do better.”

  “Do better?” Her voice came out slow. Husky.

  “Yes, little rabbit, I want more.” His cheek creased. “I haven’t heard you scream in a long time.”

  More? She didn’t scream unless she was…gone. Unless he pushed her to the point of mindlessness. Oh God.

  Under his amused, searing stare, she felt her nipples harden to tiny points and her insides tighten around him. “But I’ve already come.” She already knew his answer.

  “Oh, I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” Bracing himself on his good arm, he leaned down and took her mouth, slow and devastatingly thorough. She’d never found anyone who kissed like him, patiently continuing until she gave him everything he wanted. Just as he planned to do to her now.

  The knowledge was frightening—and carnal.

  He straightened and slowly thrust, in and out, driving harder, even as he flipped on the butterfly. The vibrator woke to life, back to a low hum. He frowned. “Let’s kick the action up a notch.”

  More? She shook her head no.

  When he upped the speed on the vibrator, her already sensitive clit swelled and hardened as she spiraled back into need.

  To her dismay, he pulled his cock almost out.

  “Master,” she whined and closed her lips belatedly. She wasn’t supposed to speak.

  His grin came so quickly she almost didn’t see it. “Now didn’t that sound nice? Let’s have us some serious begging.” To her alarm, he gripped the hose coming from the anal plug and pumped the rubber bulb at the end.

  The anal plug in her back passage began to enlarge like a balloon. “No!”

  “ ’Fraid so, sugar.” With each squeeze of the bulb, the thing grew inside her. Too much. Too full. Ignoring her protest, he turned on the plug’s vibrator as well.

  Nerves jumped to life with a painful intensity, feeling so strange, so good. “Oh God, please…” Did she want him to stop…or to increase everything? She needed to come…now.

  His chuckle was rough and sexy, and she shuddered with the pleasure of having him home. Having his hands on her. Having him in control.

  “Better. Let’s go for a scream.”

  The inflated anal plug filled her already, so the entrance of his cock into her pussy made her gasp. He was impossibly large, and all the vibrations intensified as if they raged back and forth, shaking her from the inside out. Her legs trembled and fought against the restraints without success. She was powerless to prevent anything he did. She stared up at him, panting, excited, and anxious, as the need to come built higher and higher.

  He pulled out, pressed in. “Fuck, you feel good. You’d better hang on, pet.”

  Seriously? There was nothing she could do, not even hang on. Her glare made him laugh.

  Then he took her, hard and fast and relentless. He paused only long enough to dial up the clit vibrator. The vibrations from the anal plug somehow merged with those from butterfly, until even his cock seemed to be vibrating as he hammered into her,

  Every ruthless thrust drove her up and up.

  Every stroke seemed the pinnacle of exquisite pleasure.

  Her breathing stopped, the world stopping with it, as she hung there, every muscle tense as the pressure built and built.

  He ever so slowly withdrew, drawing the torment out with a sadistic finesse. His gaze held hers for an eternal moment… With a hard thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt.

  Her nerves ignited, sending pleasure blasting through every cell. Glorious fireworks sparkled upward through her body and danced in her vision. The sensations soared higher and higher until her entire world went white, and a cascade of screams broke from her.

  As all her muscles went limp, her Master gripped her hips, lifting her ass up for greater penetration as he took her, hard and fast. Burying himself completely, he came, leaning into her, pinning her to the bed with his weight and his cock.

  Warmth filled her—the wonderful heat of his seed. Yet…nothing would come of his gift. As she stared into his intent night-dark eyes, pain slashed into her heart. There would be no baby with his beautiful skin, his dark eyes. Not from her.

  “Oh, Nolan.” She wanted to touch him. Couldn’t. Her voice broke, as shattered as her heart. “It…it won’t happen.” Her breathing hitched, and tears filled her eyes.

  “What won’t, sweetheart?” His warm hand cupped her cheek.

  The first sobs felt as if they would crack her ribs—oh, they hurt—and more followed, as she drowned in sorrow. She felt him slide out. Felt him remove everything. Felt his careful hands undo the restraints. She cried harder.

  Then he was beside her on the bed, holding her in his strong arms.

  “N-no!” She struggled. “Your shoulder, you’ll—”

  He gave a hard laugh. “Fuck, I love you, Beth.” He pulled her closer, lying on his side, half on top of her, restraining her with his size alone. As he smoothed the hair from her wet face, she realized tears still flowed from her eyes. “Now, tell me, sugar.”

  Her throat closed, trapping the words, choking her.

  “Beth.” The growl pushed past her grief.

  “While you were gone, I went in for the last treatment.” Her words were barely audible. “It didn’t work. The doctor told me to find a surrogate or adopt.”

  “Ah, sugar.” Despite his Dom’s face, his emotions were obvious. Anger that she’d acted without him present. Sorrow…for her.

  “I’m sorry. Sorry.” She dissolved into tears again, wanting—needing—to apologize. My body is worthless. I’m hopeless, never good for anything, not—

  There was a crack of sound and pain scorched her bottom. The shocking sting splintered her thoughts into fragments. Jerking, she met his annoyed dark gaze.

  Oh, God, she’d been speaking out loud.

  “If I hear any more of the crap Kyler shoved in your head, I’ll lay you across my knees, and you’ll get yourself a spanking session that’ll leave you unable to sit down for a week.” His voice was a low rasp.

  She closed her tear-swollen eyes, grateful he’d broken her free of the spiral. With a shuddering sigh, she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, tangling her fingers in his loosened hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “You be sorry for letting that bullshit into your head, Beth. For the rest…” His sigh echoed hers. “I’m sorry, too. I do know how much you’d hoped for a different outcome. But, sugar, the doctors said it was doubtful a fetus could come to term even if you did get pregnant.”

  “I know.” She sniffled. So many hopes. Gone. She needed to say the words, accept their truth: “Master, I can’t give you a child of your own. Of your blood. There won’t be—”

  His snort stopped her. “At Christmas, did you count how many nieces and nephews I have?”

  It had appeared there were hundreds of children running around. “A l-lot.”

  “They are all my blood, so to speak. The King bloodline isn’t in danger of dying out.” His hand was warm against her back. “Yours, either. Your mother has brothers and a sister in the Midwest, and they have children.”

  “I guess.”

  “We’d already planned on adopting, sooner or later, hadn’t we?”

  She nodded, as her muscles sta
rted to relax. So many children needed a home that she’d felt guilty about wanting to bear Nolan’s child first. “Are you sure you don’t want a baby of your own?”

  “Beth, any child coming into our family will be my own.”

  As he cradled her against him, she rested her head against his chest and listened to the slow thud of his heart—one big enough to love any number of children.

  * * * * *

  Sitting next to Beth on their screened, covered patio, Nolan drank a beer and watched the best show on Earth—a noisy, pounding, late-afternoon storm. Rain sheeted down so hard he could barely see the lake. On the banks, the grass was being pounded flat. A streak of brilliant white turned the world to high noon, and seconds later, a crack of thunder shook his bones. A chill breeze wafted past, carrying the scent of green vegetation and lake water.

  Fucking great entertainment. It was even better when a man had someone with whom to share. He gave the fingers twined with his a slight squeeze and turned his head.

  In the chair beside him, Beth had her legs pulled to her chest, her chin resting on her bare knees. Her expression as she gazed at the roiling clouds was…peaceful. She was something. His wife. His submissive. His love.

  When he’d met her mother, he’d tried to convey his appreciation for the strong foundation Beth had received. How, despite the damage Kyler had done, she’d kept moving forward. Lisabet had laughed and said her child had been born resilient. In fact, when Lisabet’s husband had died, Beth had supported her distraught mother.

  The two shared a hell of a lot of traits. Like how they’d straighten their shoulders when facing down a problem. How careful they were with others, managing a graceful honesty rarely seen in this uncivil world.

  But, unlike Beth, Lisabet didn’t bury her emotions. She cried easily and often. Nolan remembered when he’d called her from the hospital to say Beth had been rescued from her abusive husband. Lisabet had burst into tears.

  Undoubtedly, Beth had been more open before she’d suffered two years of abuse. Counseling had helped her work out her issues, but the therapist had warned them both that during times of stress, Kyler’s destructive programming might resurface.

  And so it had.

  It broke his heart to hear Beth call herself worthless. She had to be the finest woman he’d ever met, and it pissed him off she couldn’t accept how amazing she was. He’d never met anyone as generous and spirited, as strong and caring. Hell, even now, her heartbreak wasn’t for herself, but because she couldn’t give him a baby.

  He took a sip of his beer. Next time they visited Texas, he’d point out all his relatives who were adopted…assuming he could remember which of his cousins they were.

  Dammit, she’d taken that last treatment without him present. The fucking hormones the doctors administered always shoved her onto an emotional rollercoaster. At least he was back now and could keep an eye on Little Miss Independent.

  Leaning forward, he pulled the low footstool closer, annoyed when his shoulder blasted a painful objection to the movement. Damn injury. He’d ignored the pain while holding Beth in bed, but it’d been aching ever since. Settling back, he put his feet up and put the beer to one side. “Come here, sugar.”

  She rose to stand beside him, barefoot, dressed in her pale blue cover-up, and smelling faintly of chlorine from her swim in the pool. Taking her hand, he tugged her into his lap. Just the right size for him. Taller than Z’s Jessica, shorter than Cullen’s Andrea. Average, she called her size. Fucking perfect, he’d say. Big enough he could be rough with her and she’d hold her own, small enough she fit perfectly in his arms and on his lap.

  Even better, they were on the same wavelength again. He could feel the tie between them, strong and open, no more tangles or knots.

  He understood her desire to give him a baby who looked like him, since he’d love to see a little girl with Beth’s eyes…and her stubborn, sweet personality. Using a surrogate to carry a child with both of their genes would work, but, damn, he couldn’t put a woman at risk like that. Friends of his had hired a surrogate—another friend—and had a beautiful son. Their happiness was destroyed when the surrogate tried to keep the baby herself, and failing, fell into depression and committed suicide. And there was Fawn, his cousin who’d loved being a surrogate and had died in labor with her third contract. Twenty-four years old. Not more than a baby herself, dammit.

  Beth had understood why he’d refused. His little submissive had the courage to step into someone’s shoes and empathize. Braver than he was in many ways.

  He rubbed his freshly-shaved chin on the top of her head. “We’ll call the social worker tomorrow, the one we worked with when we were getting the adoption certifications. We’ll call the private adoption lawyer, as well.”

  Her shoulders tensed and relaxed. “Yes, Master.” Her resigned exhale said she was with him, and she recognized it was time to move on. “Did you want to try the foster care route?”

  According to the state’s priorities, a child’s relatives topped the list…but foster parents were second. However, until parental rights were terminated, children could—and often did—return to their parents. Although he and Beth had completed the foster care licensing, he didn’t want her subjected to any more disappointments. Not right now. “Let’s save fostering as a last option.”

  “Okay.” As a rain-laden wind whipped her hair back, she rubbed her head against him like a small cat.

  “What we didn’t kick around last spring”—because she hadn’t been ready to give up—“was our specs.”

  “Specifications? You’re not ordering lumber for a building, Sir.” Her husky giggle was muffled by his shirt. There was his Beth. She might cry if the world fell apart, but then she’d throw her shoulders back and survive—and make sure everyone around her did as well.

  “Although any child would be a gift, the adoption agency will ask if we have any preferences.” He ran his knuckles over her chin. “For me…although boys would be nice, I’d like a girl first. If she had red hair like her mama-to-be, I sure wouldn’t object.”

  She tilted her head, as if she’d never thought about choices. Probably hadn’t since she’d been so damned set on bearing a child herself. “A little girl…” She smiled. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”

  “What about you, Beth? Do you have a preference?”

  “Um…”

  “Spit it out, sugar. I’ll only beat on you if I don’t like the answer.”

  A laugh appeared in her eyes. Yeah, she was feeling better. Moving ahead was the right thing to do. “I’d like a baby if possible. To feel like we’re starting from scratch.” Her arms moved to form a cradle.

  “Makes sense. One baby girl. We got a plan.” A baby girl. He could almost see her tiny face. Snuggling Beth closer, he kissed the top of her head. “You ready for this?”

  Her nod was firm. “We’re not getting any younger, and”—a real smile appeared—“if you want to fill all those rooms upstairs, we’d better get moving.”

  When he’d built the house, he’d planned for a big family. Although adoption might be less straightforward than getting Beth pregnant, it didn’t matter. What mattered was filling their home with noise and laughter. Bickering and broken dishes and pranks. Homework on the table and artwork on the fridge. Girly shit and giggles. Add some boys and there’d be frogs in the bathtub and football on the lawn.

  Fuck, yeah. “Have I mentioned recently how much I love you?”

  Her lips tilted up. “I think it’s been hours and hours.” It filled his heart to hear the easy way she added, “I love you, Sir.”

  Chapter Five

  On the couch beside Connor, Grant watched a movie on television. The little lion cub was stuck on a cliff, and his daddy was trying to save him. Connor had been giggling, but now he was silent. Scared of what was coming although they’d both seen it before.

  Grant was tense mostly because he was hoping Mama and Jermaine would be done fighting when they returned.

  Since l
eaving the shelter last weekend, Mama kept getting worse. This morning, she’d been mean to Connor. Then she’d screamed at Jermaine, telling him to get the stuff or she would, and they’d yelled at each other all the way out the door.

  Why couldn’t he and Connor have been lions? They’d be fast and could hide in the grass and…would have a daddy like Mufasa.

  But Simba’s daddy died, too.

  On the television, Mufasa fell and fell and fell, and the big animals ran over him as if he wasn’t there. As Connor started sniffling, Grant’s eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head hard. Boys didn’t cry. But he knew how Simba must be wailing, Daddy, come back.

  A car door slammed outside the duplex. Another one. Rubbing his arm over his wet eyes, Grant turned to see Mama stomp into the house. She didn’t look…right. Her yellow hair wasn’t combed and the top was dark. She hadn’t put on the makeup stuff that made her eyes bigger or her mouth red.

  Jermaine followed. He was almost as tall as Nolanman, but was skinny—more bones than muscles. His greasy, black hair hung in his eyes, and he hadn’t shaved for a few days so an ugly, patchy beard covered his lower face. Slamming the door behind him, he pointed at Mama. “Told you, bitch, don’t set up buys here. Can’t afford a cop on my ass right now.”

  Mama made a pffffing sound. “Don’t be a dick. No one knows Python’s a dealer. He’s an asshole, but he’ll be in and out before anyone notices, and I’m not going to wait until you think it’s safe. That taste he gave me won’t last long.”

  Twirling around and around, she spotted Grant and Connor and danced over to the couch. Up close, her brown eyes had turned blacker and twitchy. She ruffled Grant’s hair so hard it hurt, and he pulled away, but she didn’t notice. “Aren’t my boys the prettiest boys you’ve ever seen? Just like their daddy.” She bounced on her toes, like when Connor waited too long to use the bathroom.

  “I don’t give a shit about the little brats, but don’t you fucking call me a dick.” Jermaine kicked the footstool across the room. “Bitch, if I toss you in the ditch out back, the gators’d make your body disappear, all neat and tidy.”