Pretty…but not happy. The quiet content she’d shown in the weeks prior to the Shadowlands had eroded away over the past three days. Her body now lacked…grace…as if she were no longer comfortable with herself. Tension simmered under her jerky movements and tensed muscles.
Yet she wasn’t looking around nervously. He opened and shut a drawer loudly—no jumpiness. Not fear then.
He rested his elbow on the desk and leaned back in his chair, thinking. Serving her dom and others filled a need in her—whether she admitted it or not—but she was also more comfortable when she had rules. Boundaries. Consistency. Apparently, her erratic father had been loving, then not—stern when sober, nasty when drunk. She’d never known what to expect from minute to minute. Rules probably felt…safe.
When she’d requested that they be friends, she’d not only lost his domination, but the consistency that came with it.
She glanced over her shoulder, and his eyes met hers. He held her gaze, looking for—Dios, stop it, Sandoval. He turned away, disgusted with himself. Her need called to his, but she had said no. No meant no.
However, she wasn’t happy or at peace, and he wasn’t sure how to fix that. Not as friends. Hopefully, she’d discuss the problem with Gabi or Faith, but knowing Kim, she’d probably avoid discussions on dominance and submission.
He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.
She was kneeling at his feet, head down, nape beautifully exposed. Begging for a collar. No, stop dreaming.
“You don’t have to kneel to talk to me, Kimberly,” he said. “We’re friends, are we not?”
“Yes. Kind of.” Rather than her hands resting open on her thighs, her fingers were laced and white-knuckled in front of her. “I…I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but being friends isn’t working for me.”
Well, apparently she was learning how to share her emotions. He smiled ruefully, then bent and tilted her chin up. “Do you have a request?” He winced, wanting to punch himself. Even when he told himself not to, he couldn’t speak or touch without dominating someone, especially this little one.
“Can we go back to the way we were?”
He stiffened. “What way, gatita? Explain more clearly.”
“I want…want to be your submissive again, like before. Until the FBI lets me go home or to Gabi’s.” Her blue eyes were earnest, without any apparent reservations.
The rising pleasure warred with his sinking feeling of dismay. How much more agonizing would it be to see her leave after she’d been his willing submissive? “Why?”
“I… It’s silly, but I can’t settle. It’s like when I know I’m doing what you want, I relax and let you do the worrying. I can concentrate on the one thing you’ve told me to do.” She shrugged. “I’m sure I’m just stressed over the past stuff and with not knowing what’s going to happen. But…” She huffed out an unhappy breath. “I liked it better when you were in charge.”
Kim stared up at Master R. His expression had changed to one of consideration. She loved how he’d take the time to think things through. Damn him. If he wasn’t so very smart or if he made hasty decisions or bad ones, she wouldn’t be here on her knees. But she trusted him to steer a straight path…as much as any human could.
She dared to lean forward, wrapping her arms around his legs and resting her cheek on his knees. A warm spring of contentment welled up in her heart. He could think as long as he wanted if he’d let her stay here, just like this. When he stroked her hair, she closed her eyes and enjoyed.
Sure, she still had a niggling worry that he or the slavers had brainwashed her into a weakwilled real slave, but right now she didn’t care. Once this time was over and she went home, she’d get her life straightened out. And until then, well, she’d consider having a master to be a unique kind of pill—a tranquilizer or something.
“You need this?” he asked gently.
“Yes, please.” She kept back the automatic Master because he hadn’t agreed to assume the role again. But inside, she was whimpering, Please, Master, yes, I do. Please.
Would he agree? He liked being in charge. She bit her lip. Was she asking more than she should? The silence seemed to stretch, reaching to the horizon. Please.
“All right then.” He paused. “I agree, sumisita, and I think you’ve overdressed for this house.”
She smiled and rose. But the anxiety, the worries…didn’t go away even with the relief rushing through her, and she still felt as if a rope was wrapped around her lungs, keeping her from taking a full breath. But, surely everything would settle down. Surely this was what she needed. “Yes, Master.” She stripped her clothing off, folded it, and placed it on a chair.
He leaned back, one elbow on his desk. His fingers rubbed his lips as he studied her. She stood beside him, shifting her weight, and…if anything, feeling worse. What have I done? Maybe this was the wrong decision. She realized her hands were clasped in front of her. Should she—
“Kimberly, stop.” He shoved his chair away from the desk and patted his knees. “Come.”
Yes, she needed to be held. That was all. She started to sit on his lap, and he ruthlessly turned her and pulled her stomach-down over his thighs instead.
“Wait.” She tried to push up. “No—I haven’t been bad. What’s wrong with you?”
His left hand pressed on her back, keeping her pinned down despite her struggles. “No, you haven’t been bad, gatita. This isn’t punishment.” His right hand stroked over her bottom. “This is about a little submissive’s needs.” He smacked her, barely a sting, then gave her five more before pausing and rubbing her butt again.
She sucked in a breath as her insides started to shake. “Do you want me to count?”
“No. Since this is not punishment, there’s no number, mi cariño. I continue until I decide to stop.”
“But—”
The next set of swats hurt. He hit one cheek, then the other, waiting only for the stinging to die before giving another. She started to struggle again, trying to escape. Her eyes filled as the pain grew.
A pause, and he stroked over her bottom. Gently, not mean. How could he be loving and cruel at the same time? A gasping sob of frustration escaped her.
“Bueno,” he said under his breath and started again. Slap-slap, slap-slap, and it hurt. It really hurt. Pain with each hit of his big hand, and then she was kicking and screaming as the wave of pain rolled over her. And continued. And continued.
When the nightmare didn’t stop, sobbing tore through her. She beat on his legs and kicked, crying hysterically, until finally she went limp, unable to fight any longer, just taking the pain.
He stopped, oh God, he stopped and was stroking away the hurt, his hand tender on her burning flesh. “Very good, sumisa mía.” As tears streamed down her face, he helped her to her feet and pulled her onto his lap. Pressing her face against his chest, he held her firmly, engulfing her in security.
Her pain had changed to mere throbbing, but she couldn’t stop crying. What was wrong with her? Tears and choking and then…her worries dissolved. The noise and tension inside her receded with the tide, leaving only clean emptiness behind.
She lay still, lulled by his heartbeat, not wanting to move. After a while, she took a long breath. Another. The tight band around her chest had gone, washed away with the storm. She sniffled and lifted her head, felt the chair turning. A tissue was pressed into her hand.
She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and with a sigh of regret, pushed to a sitting position to toss the Kleenex in the wastebasket. Her cheeks were probably all purple, her eyes puffy and red. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop crying.” Feeling humiliated, she dared a look.
“I know. That was the point.”
She frowned at him. “You spanked me so I would cry?”
“Sí, sumisita.” He kissed the top of her head. “Pain can be used for several purposes.” She heard the note that came into his voice when he was instructing. Not like her pompous professors—maybe this stupid
person can be taught—Master R had an undertone of gentle humor as if to lure a person into learning. “As you know from the clubs, pain can be erotic.” He pulled her against his chest, and she snuggled closer with a sigh of content. Just listening to him and being held was sheer heaven.
“Or used to punish,” he continued. “But some people bottle up their feelings, their worries, fears, emotional pain. If they are physically hurt enough to make them cry, then sometimes the crying serves for the emotional pain as well. They can release it all.”
Bottle it up? Me? Well, maybe. She lived enthusiastically, but her inside feelings were her own. Sharing emotional problems was…not her thing. The counseling sessions had been difficult, even with Gabi. She inhaled slowly, savoring the scent of soap and man. Maybe she did suppress things a bit. Her father had wanted perfection, not emotions. “A Moore doesn’t show fear.” “Stop that bawling. It didn’t hurt that bad.” “That’s lousy. It looks like a five-year-old did it.” “You can do better than that.”
Like her mother, she’d learned to bury her feelings. The counselor had disapproved. Kim snickered.
“Share that thought.”
“Faith told me I bottle stuff up and need to learn to let it out. Maybe I’ll teach her to spank her clients.”
He laughed. “This is, perhaps, more direct than she’d like.” He sat Kim up so he could frown at her. “I expect you to learn how not to reach this point. And we, you and I, will work on you sharing those emotions before you need to be hurt to get them out.”
His smile creased his cheek. “Write about it in your journal—and starting today, you will again fill a daily page to share with me.”
Hell, back to doing homework. But, okay, so maybe she’d missed their bedtime chats when they’d talk about what she’d written for him to read. Long-term boyfriends, even her fiancé, had never known her as well as Master R did now.
“That reminds me—I want you to start practicing the dances you learned. Show me one before bed tonight.” He nuzzled her hair and murmured, “If it is adequate, I will take you and please us both. If not, I’ll beat on you first for a while and then take you anyway.”
She gave a sigh of utter content and leaned back on his chest. “Yes, Master.”
Chapter Twelve
Black clouds blocked the late-afternoon sun as spatters of rain hit the windshield. Kim grabbed the seat belt as a gust shook the car, and debris swirled across the tiny country road. “I didn’t notice how isolated the Shadowlands was last time.”
“It was dark,” Master R said. “And you were busy worrying.”
“Well. Yeah.” Her brows drew together as she stared through the rain at the palmettos and swamp. “How many members do you lose to alligators?”
“None, except for the occasional smart-ass subbie who we toss to them for their supper.” He turned between open iron gates, drove up the long, palm-lined drive, and parked in the lot adjacent to a six-foot wooden fence. “Let’s make a run for it, gatita.”
An umbrella wouldn’t have helped, considering half the rain was traveling sideways. They ran through the gate into a huge landscaped yard.
Ten or so people congregated under the covered, screened lanai, watching the storm. The FBI agent, Vance Buchanan, and a black-haired man with an olive complexion sat at a table. The rest were in chairs around a long oak coffee table.
“’Bout time you got here,” came a yell from the giant bartender from the Shadowlands. More greetings followed, a hash of male and female voices.
When Kim stopped, overwhelmed at being the center of attention, Master R pulled her next to him as if to remind her she had support. After a second, she realized she’d met most of them. By the coffee table was the bartender, Cullen. Next to him were Gabi and Marcus. When Gabi tried to get out of Marcus’s lap, he wrapped his arm around her, keeping her in place. She rolled her eyes and gave Kim a smile of welcome.
Kari sat beside her husband, looking even more pregnant than before. She grinned and waved, not attempting to get out of the chair. Next to her was Master Z and then the meanestlooking man Kim had ever seen.
Master R nodded toward the men at the table. “Do you remember Vance from the FBI?”
Her stomach tightened at the reminder of why they were meeting today. “Unfortunately, yes.”
She got a nip on the neck. “Until you move from under my roof, sumisita mía, you will observe respect.”
His submissive. An unsuspected knot in her stomach loosened. “I’m sorry, Master. Yes, Sir.”
The stranger at the table regarded her with eyes even darker than Master R’s. The man’s white button-down shirt didn’t hide his lean musculature, but he was smaller than the other FBI agent who was built like a Viking warrior. Yeah, she could see Vance leaping off a boat, heavy axe in his grip, or—with a name like Buchanan—maybe wearing a kilt and swinging a claymore.
The dark-haired man rose and walked over, leaning on a cane. “Ms. Moore, I’m Galen Kouros. We talked on the phone a few days ago, but it’s nice to see you in person. Vance and I are in charge of this investigation.” After a glance at Master R, he offered his hand.
“I’m glad to meet you, Agent Kouros.”
“It’s Galen.” He kept her hand in his for a minute as he studied her. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you had to endure what you did, but I’m pleased you’re looking so well.”
“Thank you.” Wow. Actual pleasantries. And everyone wore casual clothing with no collars, no BDSM equipment, no floggers in sight. Being in the normal world seemed unreal.
Galen gave her fingers a squeeze, smiled at Master R, and limped back to the table. Although polite, he was as intense in person as he’d been on the phone.
“Everyone here is either FBI or Shadowlands Masters and submissives,” Master R said in her ear. “Since Kari’s husband Dan is a cop, Galen asked him to help with coordinating the raid.”
Dan’s gaze moved over her in a lingering look, as if the cold-faced cop was memorizing her. He nodded but stayed beside his wife.
Master Z said something to the others and then crossed the patio. He glanced at Master R, then held his hand out to her.
Her fingers were in his before she had a second to think. Damn. Like Master R, the man simply exuded power.
“It’s nice to see you again, Kimberly.” His gray eyes held hers for a moment, then narrowed, and he gave Master R an unreadable look before smiling slightly. “I can tell you and Raoul are…getting along. You look good together.”
“You’re here!” Jessica trotted down the steps from the third floor, followed by Andrea and a slender redhead. The small blonde started toward Kim, then detoured to thump a tray of sandwich makings on the table by the FBI men.
Carrying a big bowl of chips, Andrea got snagged by the giant bartender who pointed at the coffee table in front of him. “Put it there, love. If anything’s left when I’m through, the others can help themselves.”
Andrea did exactly as he said and then pushed Cullen far enough sideways on the love seat to snuggle beside him.
The redhead added her bowls of dip before deliberately moving the chips to the center.
“Beth, those are mine!”
Grinning at the bartender’s loud complaint, the slender woman knelt beside the meanlooking, scarred-up man. Kim’s heart quailed as she waited for him to reprimand the woman. Instead he tugged Beth’s red hair lightly. A smile lit his darkly tanned face when she kissed his wrist.
Kim relaxed.
“C’mere, girlfriend.” Jessica pulled her away from Master R to give her a hug. “I wanted to visit you, but the feebies said I couldn’t.” She gave the FBI agents a disgusted look.
Galen frowned at her, although amusement turned his lips up. “New little slaves like Kim don’t entertain friends,” he said. “If Raoul didn’t normally have employees coming to the house, Gabi wouldn’t have been permitted there either.”
“Pffft,” Jessica said under her breath.
Master
R grinned and murmured, “You may talk for a bit, Kimberly.” He kissed the top of her head and joined the others.
Kim clasped her hands together, annoyed at how her anxiety rose without him beside her. Dependent. You’re getting as dependent as a clown fish needing an anemone to hide in. She hauled in a breath. I’m a strong, independent woman… At least, I’m getting back there.
She deliberately turned away to talk with Jessica. “Hey, I saw you at the club when that dom slapped the brunette. I can’t believe you actually broke into a scene.”
“My bad. I should have called the dungeon monitor, but I was too mad.” Jessica scowled. “Sally’s one of the trainees, and when I saw her crying, I lost it. She’s so not into the faceslapping stuff.”
Kim understood completely. Being hit in the face was a shock. Horrifying in a way. Her stomach tightened as she remembered how Lord Greville had backhanded her. Unable to help herself, she glanced over her shoulder to check that Master R was close. Just the sight of him calmed her nerves. “What did Master Z do?”
“Oh, Master Calm and Levelheaded. He was mad at the dom, since Sally hadn’t okayed face-slapping, but she hadn’t used her safe word either. She said she was too weirded out, and I believe her. She’ll sure be more careful with setting hard limits on her play next time. Z made the dom apologize, but he couldn’t do much else.”
“Uh…it looked like you bit Master Z. You didn’t, did you?”
“Well.” Red swept into the blonde’s face. “Maybe a nip. It’s not like I made him bleed or anything. I hate being gagged.”
“God, Jessica. You need lessons in behavior.” Kim bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and glanced at Master Z. A little older than the others and with the elegant, pulledtogether appearance of someone who was wealthy and accustomed to it. “What did he do to you?”
Jessica lowered her voice. “He made me strip and put me on my back at the end of the bar.” She sent a fulminating glare across the patio at Z. “There I am, whining, ‘We’re engaged. You’re not supposed to want to share me,’ and he laughs and says he’s never minded sharing my beauty or even my punishments. God.”
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