Nobody's Lost (Rescue Me Saga #5)

by Masters, Kallypso

  Whatever was on her back remained there, but she felt something small and stingy against her upper thighs and on her already sore butt. It rained four more stinging smacks onto her burning ass, two on each cheek without a pause this time. She blinked and realized her sleep mask was wet with tears.

  Crying? Well, this hurt and wasn’t exactly what she’d been looking for when she said she wanted to try kink.

  When a ninth or tenth blow struck her, harder than any of the others, she screamed, “Scarlet! Scarlet! Scarlet!”

  Ryder’s hands were empty when he placed them on her burning backside and kneaded her skin. She realized the weight of the first implement was gone from her back. She didn’t know or care where either had disappeared to, but wasn’t sure touching her burning ass was going to help. When cool air blew on her cheeks, the skin puckered into goosebumps.

  “Ackkkk! I don’t think that’s helping, Sir. God, that burns.”

  “When did you start feeling the pain was more intense than you wanted?”

  Oh, about the second swat.

  “Um, maybe after the sixth blow.”

  “Why didn’t you use your safeword then?”

  “Because… Well, in my books, the Doms delivered many more blows than that, and their trainees didn’t safeword. I felt like a wimp.”

  She sniffled, realizing the tears were pouring from her eyes harder now, and her mask was soaked.

  “I don’t want you to compare yourself to anyone else. How many times have I told you to listen to your body?”

  “Lots of times.” She remembered hearing it at least twice.

  He rubbed a cool liquid or ointment onto her ass. “That will take away the sting soon.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Sniffle, sniffle.

  How much more embarrassing could this night become? What had seemed like fun at first had gone south awfully quickly. If she could just grab a tissue from the nightstand, she could blow her nose rather than risk dripping all over the bed, but she hadn’t been given permission to move yet.

  Ryder’s hands grabbed each of her wrists and pulled. “Stand up, Baby.”

  She did so, and her butt hurt again from changing positions. He lifted the blindfold and mask from her face, but she refused to let him see her childish tears. His finger under her chin gave her no option but to look at him.

  “I can’t work with someone who won’t tell me when she’s reached her limit.”

  He was giving up on her already?

  “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do better. I just didn’t expect…so much pain.”

  “Did you feel any excitement or enjoyment of the pain?”

  “God, no! It hurt like hell, and I just wanted it to be over.”

  He grinned, and she cocked her head. “What’s so funny?”

  “I think it’s safe to say you aren’t into pain.”

  “Without a doubt. But who said all kink had to be centered around pain?” Then again, judging from the implements lying on the bed, she found it hard to think of anything else they could be used for other than to inflict pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a riding crop like one used on horses—was that the second implement he’d used? There also was a leather belt with grommet-covered holes, but she would have recognized that if he had used it. Might be pretty to wear, but she didn’t want to feel that across her butt either.

  “How does your backside feel?”

  She realized the burning had stopped. “Better.”

  “Good. I think it’s time for a little aftercare. We’ve learned enough for the first night.”

  Oh, aftercare meant cuddling. Megan smiled. “I’d like that a lot. Sir.” She kept forgetting to address him as Sir, but noticed he didn’t really call her on it half the time. Maybe he didn’t look at her as his real submissive.

  He picked up an afghan throw from the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around her. “I think I’d be more comfortable holding you on the couch.” Before she had a chance to take a step forward, he lifted her into his arms, and she gave in to the feeling of warmth and caring by resting her head on his shoulder.

  Cherished. She understood the meaning of the word she’d read so often in fictional accounts of Dom/sub relationships. Overcome with emotion, she sniffled.

  “Poor baby. Rough night, huh?”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  In the living room, he set her on her feet and settled himself on the leather sofa before he pulled her into his lap and adjusted the cover over her. His hand stroked her head and down her arm over and over.

  “Tell me what you enjoyed about what we did tonight.”

  “The clothespins. Most of that, anyway. Oh, and when you gave me a scalp massage. God, you give great massages.”

  “Thank you. Anything else?”

  “The blindfold made things interesting. Not knowing what you were going to do increased my excitement.”

  “Until I started paddling you.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t like it. Is it one of your favorite kinks?”

  “I have others to choose from. Don’t worry about me running out of kinks to introduce you to. What did you think of the bare-handed spanking?”

  “Oh, I did like that. It was just the hard smacks with—”

  “I used a wooden paddle first then a riding crop.”

  “I thought it was the crop, not that I’d have guessed until I saw it lying on the bed.” She sat up and met his gaze. “Can we play some more tomorrow?”

  His smile helped right her world. “If you’d like to.”

  “Oh, I’d like that very much!”

  “Let’s talk a bit more so I can plan a better scene for you. I’m afraid I might have rushed things a bit tonight. I haven’t worked with someone so new to kink. Anything else you liked?”

  “When you had me bend over and hold the bed. The position was very…suggestive. Erotic. I don’t know what to call it.”

  “You’re doing fine. How would you feel about being restrained again, only both arms and legs this time?”

  “I like ropes.”

  “Ropes, chains, cuffs. There are many ways to restrain a person.”

  She smiled impishly. “I think I’d enjoy that, but it depends on what you plan to do once you have me restrained.”

  “Do you like being tickled?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Scratched?”

  “Maybe, just not cut.”

  “How about various types of sensation play?”

  “Like feathers?”

  “Sure, that’s one type of sensation. There are many others. Ice, chemical play—”

  “Oh, I don’t want chemicals put on me!”

  “You don’t even know what I would use. Could be as simple as toothpaste.”

  “Where would you put that?”

  “You’d be surprised what minty toothpaste can do when applied to certain parts of your body. Of course, some Doms use Tabasco.”

  Oh! She clamped her legs together. “Okay, I suppose we could try something like toothpaste, but you can put Tabasco and other hot sauce on my hard limits list for now.”

  “The best sensation-play scene would have you blindfolded again and not knowing what I would do—or when and where the various sensations would be applied. Would you trust me enough again to do that using my best judgment as to what you might like?”

  “You always stopped when I admitted I was at my limit.”

  “That’s one way to establish trust in a sub. You do need to be more open with me, though, and not try to tough it out when you really don’t like what we’re doing. Especially when you’re so new to kink. You could get hurt badly by making your Dom believe you wanted more of the same.” He stroked her arm soothingly. “Over time, though, you may find that things you once disliked might interest you enough to give them another try.”

  “I’ll try to keep my options open.”

  He chuckled. “You do that, Red.”

  Megan rested her
body against him and enjoyed having his arms around her. This might be all they would ever have, and if so, she’d come away grateful to him for helping her explore the world of kink in a safe setting with someone she could trust. Maybe someday she’d find a Dominant who wanted to have a sub. If not, she’d have a treasure trove of memories of her time here with Ryder.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ryder awoke early the next morning and wanted to kick himself from his bed to San Diego for exposing Megan to his baser side last night. She was innocence and sunshine. He, death and destruction.

  He glanced at her closed bedroom door on his way to the kitchen. He hoped she’d slept okay. Today, he’d watch for signs of subdrop with her, this being her first experience.

  As he opened the refrigerator door to pull out the ingredients for breakfast, a gunshot rent the quiet morning.

  What the fuck?

  He ran to the bedroom to check on Megan, but when there was no answer, he opened the door to find her slip of a nightgown lying on the bed.

  “Megan! Are you in the bathroom?”

  No answer.

  Her camera case lay open on the dresser. Jesus Christ. She’d gone outside alone.

  And all he had to protect her with was his Bowie knife. He didn’t even have his boots on, so he ran to the bedroom to retrieve them as well as the knife before running out the patio door. If he snuck up on whoever had fired the shot, he’d have a better chance of taking them down.

  But what if he was too late?

  Around the side of the house he crept, heading in the direction of the gunshot.

  “Shit, shit, shit!”

  Megan.

  He followed her voice. Had she been wounded? At least she was alive.

  “Oh, God. I can’t believe I did that.”

  Her voice didn’t sound like someone under attack. “Megan!” he whispered loudly. “Where are you?”

  Not bothering to quiet her voice, she called, “Over here! I think I’ve bagged your lunch.”

  What the fuck was she talking about? She’d said she couldn’t shoot furry little critters. He rounded the sage and rocks to find her crouched high on one of the larger boulders, a sidearm dangling from her hand.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No. I think my heart’s going to pound out of my chest.”

  No visible wounds. He glanced around to see what she’d shot. Several feet away lay a rattlesnake, squirming slowly, but definitely out of anything resembling its strike position.

  “You shot a rattler? Did it bite you?”

  “No. I think I scared it as much as it did me. When it started toward me, I freaked out and just pulled out my gun and shot it. It’s not dead, though.”

  He walked over to it and gripped his knife. The bullet had struck the snake right in the head. “I don’t think it will be using this body any longer. You’re a very good shot.”

  “Patrick taught me.”

  He’d have to remember not to get on either Patrick or Megan’s bad side. Fuck, if the man knew what Ryder had been doing with his little sister last night…

  Offering a prayer of thanks to the rattler for sacrificing its life and for being a brave warrior within its territory, Ryder sighed and bent down. With one swift motion, he chopped off the head and, with another whack, the tail. Despite its appearing dead, he knew rattlers could bite for hours after death.

  “Oh, God! Why doesn’t it stop moving?”

  “It takes a while. Sorry.”

  “It’s not suffering, is it?”

  “I can’t say, but since its brain has been separated from its body, I don’t see how it could. Its warrior spirit has moved on. Just the body’s nerves and muscles moving. Like when a chicken runs around after you cut the head off.”

  “So I’ve heard, but the only dead chicken I’ve ever seen comes wrapped in cellophane in the supermarket.” For a city girl, she wasn’t freaking out as much as he thought she might. “I guess I’m going to get to find out for myself if it tastes like chicken or not.”

  He turned toward her. “You mean you want to eat it?”

  “Might as well. Isn’t that the Native American way—to eat what you kill? Besides, this probably will be the last time I’ll get to try something like that.”

  He grinned. The woman was full of surprises.

  Then she met his gaze, dead serious. “I’m going to make my time up here an opportunity to try all kinds of new things, Ryder.” Her words were more a warning than a statement of fact. “Thanks for last night.”

  At least she’d dropped the Sir when speaking to him now that they weren’t in a scene. Role-playing for fun rather than doing an actual power exchange helped ease some of his guilt over what he’d exposed her to. Then again, even the way she said his given name did things to him. Hell, she could call him shithead and he’d probably get turned on.

  “Want to keep the rattle as a souvenir?”

  “Um, no, I think I’ll pass. I won’t need any reminders of what I did.”

  He glanced over at her and saw tears rolling down her freckled cheeks. Cleaning his knife on some scrub brush for now, he returned it to its sheath and walked toward her.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She shook her head, negating her words, and he opened his arms for her to come to him. Cradling her, he sat on the rock.

  He stroked her soft hair. “Shhh. It’s okay. We’re going to cook and eat it. The meat will nourish our bodies. If you like, we can do a ceremony over it, thanking it for serving our needs, but I said a prayer over it before I made it safe to handle.”

  “That’s okay. I already told it how sorry I was, just before I—”

  “Then it knows.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. He’s moved on now to other hunting grounds.”

  She sat up and gazed at him. “We need to do a ceremony like that for you.”

  He lowered his hand to his side. “What do you mean?”

  “A ceremony to let you know that your service is appreciated, but that you need to move on, too.”

  He glanced back at the snake. “Not the same thing.”

  “Why not?”

  Because…hell, he didn’t have an answer, but just knew in his gut this was different.

  Gino D’Alessio had been killed in an ambush that left Master Sergeant Montague severely injured. D’Alessio had been deployed to Afghanistan sooner than he was ready, all because Ryder ended up with a severely displaced fracture of his arm while playing football during some down time on Super Bowl weekend in Kandahar. If he’d been more careful or had found a better use of his time, his unit might not have been caught in that ambush. Even so, Ryder would have been there to call for airstrikes in time to avoid the attack.

  All my fault.

  Jerry had talked him into coming to the club in LA again a couple of days after Ryder had heard the news of the clusterfuck with Ryder’s unit in Kandahar. The club’s owner mostly wanted to talk with him and help him try to process what had happened. He’d also been one of the first people to reach out to him after the tragedy in Fallujah, but Ryder hadn’t wanted him to see what a mess he’d become.

  By then, Sherry had moved back to New Mexico and Ryder tried to avoid cities, so he left the Marines and came home riddled with a shitload of guilt to wallow in.

  “Hop down.” He guided her off his lap and to her feet. “Let’s get this snake into some brine. I’m thinking for your first taste of rattlesnake, we’ll go with a chili, but it’ll take some prep time.”

  When he retrieved the carcass of the snake, she cringed away from the squirming meat, but didn’t scream or run away. Ryder held it to his side, out of her sight, as they walked back to the house.

  “How often do you see Carlos?”

  “He stops in every now and then. Haven’t seen him in a few weeks. Why?”

  “Just wondering. You’re awfully isolated up here. What if you’d gotten bitten by that snake out there? You could die before someone found y
ou.”

  There had been times when he courted danger, almost asking for that outcome. Hell, even a few weeks ago, he’d come near to putting an end to his pain. But the idea of checking out that way no longer appealed to him.

  Not since meeting Megan. Or maybe it had more to do with having a mission to focus on again. He gave a mental shrug. Whatever it was, he knew he wasn’t going to let PTSD rule his life from now on.

  “You’re right. I’ll set up a deal where I check in with him at least once a day.”

  “You can always call me, too. Two contacts a day, one in the morning, one at night, and then if something happens, you won’t be out here as long.”

  He wasn’t sure he could handle being in touch with her by phone every day—and not being able to touch her body, hold her hand, kiss her. Jesus, last night was a fucking mistake he’d have to carry with him the rest of his life.

  “Think about it, Ryder. For now, I want to know when my next kink session will be.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Megan slugged him playfully on the arm. “I wish you’d quit saying that.”

  “Anticipation is half the journey, Baby.”

  He couldn’t wait for tonight. He’d hate himself again tomorrow, but the thought of not participating in more of her initial journey into submission twisted his gut even more.

  * * *

  Megan knelt on the rug waiting for Ryder that evening. He’d touched her more often today than before. Innocent touches, but each one still sent her reeling. She wanted more. So much more.

  Soon they would have their second session. He’d left her waiting here for what seemed like hours but probably wasn’t even fifteen minutes.

  “Anticipation is half the journey, Baby.”

  True. Her heart beat faster, and her breath became shallower just thinking about him walking into the room. This time, he’d asked her to remove all of her clothing first. He assured her they would not be having sex, even though she wanted him to be her first lover. But she would settle for the time spent exploring her kinky side. In many ways, it was probably as intimate as having sex would be.

  Not that she had any sexual experiences to compare.

  Blindfold already in place, she tilted her head to where she’d be looking at the precise spot he’d directed her to gaze at yesterday.