So the answer to problem number one? She’d wait it out.
She scrubbed the toe of her canvas shoe on the rough wood, realizing her second problem affected the first and vice versa. Gossip wouldn’t be so unnerving if she was comfortable with herself.
Face it, she wasn’t. At all. She closed her eyes and asked the question she’d been avoiding. Did needing to be hurt mean she was mentally unstable?
I don’t know. She grimaced. It’d be easier to judge if she had more experience. But she’d been a virgin when she married Frederick, and she’d had very few lovers. Before Sam, she’d only mentioned her desires to three men—Dwayne, Frederick, and Lee. They’d all behaved as if she had a problem.
Then again, they were all…conservative…men. Should she use their opinions to measure herself? Perhaps not. She gave an unhappy laugh. Why hadn’t she spent her time in that one BDSM club talking to people? Finding out what was normal, if there was such a thing.
As unhappiness welled up inside her, she blinked back tears. Why was it all so hard?
But her solution—ignoring her “problem”—wasn’t working. At all. Somehow she had to find a way to come to terms with herself. I need help. Advice. The tears spilled over. I need a hug so, so much.
And with that, she had the answer. On her cell phone, she punched in a number. “Kim? Can I talk to you about something?”
* * * *
Filled with the scent of pizza, garlic, and olive oil, the small Italian restaurant was warm and cozy against the chill night. A cold front was moving in, temperatures were dropping, possibly down to freezing. Orange groves were on alert.
Linda followed Kim toward a small corner booth with only one occupant, a redhead with a vivid blue streak in her hair. She wore a blue, three-quarter-sleeved shirt to match and had blue-flowered wrist tattoos. Not a stodgy person, at least.
Kim motioned to her. “This is Gabi.”
Linda smiled politely. Apparently the woman had volunteered to work with the FBI as a decoy in the Shadowlands. Successfully, since she’d been kidnapped by the Harvest Association. A snort threatened to escape. Maybe this isn’t the right person to talk to me about insanity.
Gabi grinned. “Hi, Linda.”
That voice. Mingled with memories of sobbing women, gentle orders from nurses in scrubs, and beeping medical machines was this lovely voice. “You were at the hospital.” All the rescued slaves from the auction had been taken to one hospital for healing and counseling. Gabi had been with the counselors.
“I’m a victim specialist with the FBI and very happy to stay that way.” Gabi gave a mock shiver. “Fieldwork is totally not my thing.”
“But you did it for me, and I’ll never forget it.” Kim glanced at a single glass on the table. “Did you order?”
“You bet. Two large. One all meat, one pepperoni and black olive. There’ll be plenty to take home.”
“Good job. Raoul loves pizza. Linda, sit. I’ll get us some drinks.” She glanced at Gabi’s drink, then at Linda. “Root beer, right?”
“Right.” As Kim headed away, Linda slid into the other side of the booth, feeling less uncomfortable than she’d expected.
“I hear you have some questions and want to talk a bit.”
Where to start? “Kim said you live with a Dom? You’re submissive?”
“That’s right. Marcus is one of the Masters of the Shadowlands. He used to handle the trainees there, which is how we met.”
At the easy agreement, Linda released the breath she’d been holding. Obviously, she wouldn’t shock this woman. Maybe. “I’m submissive too.” She forced out the next words. “And a masochist.” As she stared at the wavering wood of the booth, the buzzing in her ears blotted out the hum of conversation. She felt her hand being taken.
“Breathe, sweetie, before you pass out.”
Linda pulled in a breath, and the room came back in focus. Sweat had beaded on her forehead. “Um. Sorry. I hadn’t—”
Gabi’s smile was sympathetic. “Hadn’t said that aloud before? That must feel like one of those alcoholic programs. ‘My name is Linda, and I’m a masochist.’”
Ouch. Yet the word had less impact this time. “Kind of. So does being a m-masochist mean I need some serious mental adjustment?”
“Well, let’s see.” Gabi leaned back. “Did being a slave turn you into a masochist?”
“No. In fact…” Linda’s hands clenched. But she was already confiding, might as well go all the way. “I saw a woman Tasered outside a BDSM club. I tried to help and ended up kidnapped too.” She swallowed. “Only, I’d just been in that club. So it feels like I got what I deserved. Like I—”
“Honey, that’s bullshit.” Gabi’s brisk interruption made Linda blink. “Didn’t your counselor tell you that?”
Linda stared at her hands. “I never—”
“You didn’t share that with her, did you?” Gabi narrowed her eyes. “And a minute ago, you acted like you’d never said the word ‘masochist’ before. You didn’t bring that up with her either?”
Linda shook her head.
“Oh boy. No wonder you’re going around in circles.” Gabi’s brows drew together.
“Gabi, hello?” Kim thumped the drinks on the table and slid in beside Linda. “I wanted you to help, not frown at her.”
“Well damn, how is a therapist supposed to help if she’s left in the cold?” Gabi let out a long sigh before her lips twisted ruefully. “Then again, we’re also supposed to push and get to the bottom of things. Yours obviously let you avoid a lot.”
“Avoid what?” Kim asked.
“Avoid the things you worked through.” Gabi patted Kim’s hand. “Like how dirty you felt. And how you felt as if you deserved to be abused because you’d gone to a BDSM club.”
Linda stared. “You too?”
“Kim got help with those feelings.” Gabi’s gaze settled on Linda. “So…you didn’t tell your counselor because you think being into kink is wrong. Right? I mean, correct?”
Gabi was definitely a psychologist. Linda wanted to hide under the table, yet the understanding from both women kept her in her seat. “My husband and other…lovers…acted as if I’m unbalanced.”
“Ah. Because you like pain. Crave it, probably. It makes sex better and—for some people—helps process their emotions.” Gabi tapped her fingernails on the table. “You’ve got issues all right. First, the easiest one. You should realize that any assault leaves the victim thinking, ‘What did I do wrong to cause that? If I’d only done something different, this wouldn’t have happened.’ A survivor will go over and over every detail leading up to the incident.”
“Really?” Linda blinked.
Kim glanced over with a sheepish smile. “Oh yeah. Raoul said it’s normal. Humans need to think we can affect fate and control our destiny. Maybe we can to an extent, but sometimes shit just happens.”
Linda bit her lip. They were right. If she believed being kinky had led to the horrors she’d endured, then by being normal, she’d ensure that bad things wouldn’t ever happen again. But if disasters occurred from simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time, then the universe held no certainties.
“Makes it scary, doesn’t it?” Gabi patted her hand. “I went through a gang rape when I was a teen. I got past it, but the world never felt quite as safe again.”
Gabi would have been younger than Brenna. Sadness mingled with pity as Linda turned her hand over and squeezed Gabi’s. “I’m sorry.”
Gabi squeezed back, not speaking. Letting Linda think.
After a moment, she pulled in a breath. Sometimes shit just happens. How logical. And freeing. I didn’t do anything bad to warrant being enslaved. Something inside her loosened. Not completely. She’d have to work on believing that. But first, she needed to deal with the real reason she’d come. “And the other issue? Wanting pain?”
“Yes. Let’s go over that.” Gabi rummaged in her purse and pulled out two business cards. “I know counselors are supposed t
o be all enlightened, but we often have biases. S and M was taken off the mental disorders list. However, it still makes some psychologists uncomfortable.” She handed over the cards. “I can’t take you on as my patient, but these two are kink-friendly. And you need some help, sweetie.”
“Right.” Linda tucked the cards in her wallet. “S and M isn’t a mental problem?”
“Uh-uh. Just another point in the wide sexual continuum. How you deal with it is what counts.” Gabi leaned back. “Do you constantly need someone to hurt you? Does the craving affect your work or home life?”
“Not constantly, but I-I want it. Get cranky without it.” Linda stared at her fingers and admitted, “I got really…needy…after the kidnapping.”
“All the rescued women had problems afterward. That’s not crazy. That’s human. And if pain helps you get in touch with your inner self, then stress will increase your need for it.” Gabi grinned. “Just like I’ll eat an entire bag of potato chips when I’m frazzled.”
“Oh.” The next worry popped out before she could censor it. “But with sex. The guys thought I was unbalanced when I asked for something…different.”
Kim flicked her fingers in annoyance. “The scum suckers didn’t want to hear they’re not gods in the bedroom or that you could possibly want anything other than what they did.” She snickered. “Really, Linda, you should be ashamed, crushing their little egos.”
Gabi snorted a laugh.
After a second, Linda’s lips tipped up. That was rather how Frederick and Lee had acted. Insulted. And Dwayne had been seriously angry.
As if filled with helium, her spirits started to lift. “So I’m not mentally unbalanced? Don’t need counseling?”
“You need counseling, but mainly to help you figure out how to deal with your needs.” Gabi rolled her eyes. “Not to be cured of them.”
Not crazy. Linda bit her lip, fighting back tears. She still had to choose whether or not to have BDSM in her life, but now the decision would be hers. Not one made from fear.
I’m not crazy. Maybe she should order champagne to go with the pizza.
Kim nudged her shoulder. “After we eat—and gossip for a while—you want to visit the Shadowlands?”
A thrill shot through her. Would Sam be there? Did she want to see him? Duh. Considering how his mere name made her insides quiver, that was a stupid question.
But should she see him? She still wasn’t real comfortable with the idea of needing pain. But as Gabi said, if that was who she was, then she had to learn to deal with it. Stop trying to hide her head in the sand.
But I like sand. Still, avoidance hadn’t done her any favors, now had it?
And yet, would Sam forgive her for how she’d run from him? There was only one way to find out. “Yes. Let’s.”
Chapter Nine
Dressed in black jeans and a black work shirt, Sam leaned against the bar and scowled at Z. “You got something you need me for?” He hadn’t planned on visiting the Shadowlands. Not this weekend. Not until he could forget the last person under his lash and could stop seeing her everywhere.
Z hadn’t said what he wanted, so Sam had brought in his bag. But he wasn’t in the mood to do a teaching scene or whatever Z had in mind—not if he could escape it.
“Somehow, you’ve managed to evade your turn at supervising the trainees.” Z gave him a faint smile. “This is Olivia’s rotation, but her job schedule changed. Can you take her place?”
“Hell.” He’d rather do a goddamned teaching scene. Sam’s gaze took in the trainees who were flitting about the room. They were easy enough to spot, since they wore leather wrist cuffs decorated with colored ribbons, indicating their scene preferences. Red meant they were masochists. “I’d hoped you’d overlooked me. Or assigned someone permanently.”
“Not a chance,” Z said in a dry voice. “And I think the trainees benefit from having a variety of trainers. Their choice of a Dom might be more balanced.”
Didn’t look like he’d escape the chore. “Fine.”
He didn’t mind working with the trainees one-on-one, but as trainer, he’d also have to supervise, assign, punish, and set them up with either Doms or Masters who could widen their experiences. He frowned, considering the potential Tops. Not a good selection. Too many Masters didn’t scene with anyone but their submissives. “We need more single Masters, Z.”
Z nodded. “I agree. Suggestions?”
The title of Shadowlands Master—or Mistress—was bestowed by the membership during a voting process; however, Z nominated the candidates. “I think Holt might be ready.”
“He would work out well. Galen Kouros and Vance Buchanan are members now, and they’re undoubtedly at Master status.” Z considered. “What do you think of Jacob?”
Sam frowned. “Thought he was in a relationship with Heather.” Heather had been a trainee at one time.
“Their attachment didn’t survive her acceptance of a job in Oregon.”
“Guess that happens.” A shame though. They’d looked good together.
“Indeed. He’s back and helping out as a DM.”
“He’d make a good Master.”
“That’s four. And Catherine is ready for a Mistress title.” Z studied Sam. “You look tired.”
Damn psychologist-Dom. Sam had grown exceedingly tired of therapists after his discharge and later with Nancy. Not that they’d done his addicted wife any good. Of course, she was the most manipulative person he’d ever met. “I love you, Sam. If you loved me, you’d give me what I need.” His jaw set. Then he pushed the memories aside. “Early day. Nolan’s crew starts at dawn.”
“Hadn’t you told me you always rise before dawn?” Z said with not a flicker of a changed expression.
Well, Sam wasn’t much for evasions. Bluntness served him better. “Not your problem, Z. Leave off.”
Z paused, then nodded. “Call me if I can help.”
“Right.” Sam slapped the bar. “I’ll go terrify the trainees so I can sleep well tonight.”
Z’s grin flashed. “Considering Anne supervised them last month, scaring them will take some work.”
“Hell.” Mistress Anne was not only a sadist, but she had mind fucking down pat. Where Sam was straightforward, she was damned sneaky. And yet her male submissives—and she usually had more than one—worshipped the ground she walked on. Shaking his head, Sam moved down the bar to where Cullen was drawing a beer.
Cullen looked up with a grin. “Hey, buddy. Did Z drop the trainees in your lap?”
“Yep. Who are the first-shift barmaids?”
“Rainie, Dara, and Sally. Maxie’s gone for a month or so. Uzuri and Tanner will take the last half of the night.”
“Thanks.” Sam strolled through the big room, automatically monitoring the scenes. When he spotted a male Dom preparing to take his sub bareback, Sam cleared his throat and nodded at the stand with condoms. Z didn’t care how long a couple had been together; everybody suited up in the Shadowlands.
The Dom gave him a rueful look, then said to his partner, “Gotta dress for the party, boy. You stay right here.” He gave the sub’s balls a hard squeeze. “Hear me? Don’t move.”
Sam walked away, grinning at the sub’s groan that started low and ended high. Nice range.
In the main room, he checked on Dara and Sally. They were doing well, not only keeping up with drink orders but also experienced enough to negotiate scenes for when they went off duty. Z deliberately made the trainees serve drinks. Some of them—well, not Dara or Sally—were shy, and barmaiding made it easy for them to meet the Doms.
In the dungeon room, a Domme was talking to Rainie. Pushing. The Domme wasn’t…completely…out of line, but the trainee was too intimidated to give a firm no.
About five feet seven, Rainie probably weighed over two hundred pounds, and the younger Doms called her a BBW—a big, beautiful woman—which Sam considered a good description. A fairly new trainee, she was extremely popular.
She was dressed in blue boy s
horts, a latex bra, and a wealth of tattoos. The red lotus flowers started at her ass and turned to blue water fountaining up her spine. More flower tats vined over her right shoulder, down her sternum to curl under her right breast. Her shoulder-length brown hair was highlighted with red and blonde streaks.
The trainee had a personality as colorful as her appearance. But she did intimidate easily.
“Whitney.” Sam nodded to the Domme before turning his attention to Rainie. “Girl, Cullen needs you at the bar.”
“Yes, Master Sam.” Rainie cast him a look of relief before she disappeared from the dungeon room.
The Domme glared. “Sam, I—”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “She didn’t say no, but some submissives won’t. Read the body language. And you need to give them space to say if they don’t want what you’re offering.”
“Shit.” Whitney scowled. “What did I miss?”
“If you’d looked instead of pursuing, you’d have caught it,” Sam said. “How close was she to you? Did she back away? Was she leaning forward or turning her side to you? Flirting with her hair or face…or crossing her arms defensively.”
The Domme looked as if she’d like to put her fist through the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I really fucked it up.” Tall and slender, she kept her black hair shorter than Sam’s, and her delicate features concealed a mind as tough as her body. She’d make a fine Domme with a tad more experience.
“You did.” Every Dominant in the world screwed up. The good ones admitted their mistakes and learned from them. “You’ll be more careful next time.”
“I will, and I’ll apologize to the girl.” She slapped his shoulder—one of the few people in the place who dared touch him. “Thanks for breaking in.”
After nodding, he headed back to the bar to give Rainie a different lecture. Submissives, especially trainees, needed to be able to say no.
He snagged her as she walked toward the front of the room, having obviously traded places with Dara. Well, Dara definitely knew how to say no. “Rainie.”
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