Going Deep (Mustangs Baseball)

by Lee, Roz

  He was due at the stadium in a few hours—not enough time to handle Carrie properly. He punched in a familiar number.

  “Doyle,” he said when the team manager answered. “Take me out of the lineup tonight.”

  “You know I can’t do that. The media would read all kinds of shit into you not being on the field. You have to be behind the plate tonight and in the batting order. And, by God, if you don’t come up with a couple of decent hits, I’ll personally kick your ass. Is that clear, son?”

  “Yes, sir. Crystal clear.” He sighed. “It was a stupid idea anyway. Sorry I asked.” He’d have to wait until after the game to confront his demon angel, but confront her he would.

  * * *

  She couldn’t believe she was at the Dungeon again. Ever since she received the curt message on her answering machine she’d come up with a million reasons not to follow his orders.

  He obviously knew who she was since he’d called her home phone. He knew she was responsible for everything. If he was using steroids, she might be putting herself in a dangerous situation. Combining roid rage with a naturally dominant nature could only spell disaster. But in her heart, she knew her concerns weren’t valid. The man she knew wasn’t using steroids; she’d stake what remained of her reputation on that.

  She paced the Dungeon room. Each piece of equipment held special memories. Over the last months, they’d tried them all. Determined not to cry, she wiped telltale moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand. It was inconceivable that their relationship was over, but it was true. She would never feel the things Master made her feel again. There wasn’t anyone else for her, and there never would be. She’d freely given her body to Jason, and he’d taken her heart. Stolen it right out of her chest.

  She could only imagine why he’d asked, no told, her to come here tonight. His odd schedule, the late nights and early mornings he’d brought her here, made sense now—as did the long absences when he’d patiently seen to her needs via the phone. Master had a way with phone sex—she’d give him that. Other than the physical contact, it hadn’t been much different than what they did when they were together. Either way, he hadn’t allowed her to see him.

  That didn’t mean she hadn’t seen him. A person didn’t need sight in order to see. She knew his body, knew the touch of his hand—sometimes soft, sometimes administering pain or punishment, or both, but always with care.

  She knew Jason Holder and she knew the kind of man he was. He was fair and compassionate. Confident and capable. Trustworthy. He was a man of honor. And he loved her. Once.

  What remained of her heart crashed headlong into her ribcage then staggered back to land at her feet, battered and bruised—mortally wounded. Yet somehow, her body continued to function without it. Proof miracles did happen.

  He’d given no clue about the reason for this meeting. All she knew was, she had another chance. It was too late to keep their outside lives out of the relationship, and in truth, it was probably too late for the relationship. If it died, it was because of her, and she would accept responsibility. She’d accept any form of punishment he deemed appropriate.

  Carrie checked the clock. He’d be here soon. She knelt, fully clothed, facing the window. She adjusted the blindfold, a completely symbolic gesture now, and displayed her offering across her open palms. If there was a future for them, she’d know it soon.

  * * *

  Jason parked in the lot across the street from the Dungeon and, opening the trunk, removed the bag he kept there. He should be home sleeping, or at least attempting to sleep, but this couldn’t wait. He needed to know how deep the betrayal went. Not that he expected her to confess, but there were ways to get a sub to talk—if she really was a sub. Perhaps she had acting talents to go along with her journalistic skills.

  He tightened his grip on the bag, its solid weight grounding him. She was here. The sight of her on her knees, waiting for him was a kick to the gut, and he’d racked up more than his share of those the last two days. He took a moment to compose himself. Let her wait. Let her wonder if he would take the flogger from her hands and use it on her. He had every right to. She belonged to him.

  He thought he’d known her. He knew her body—every inch of it. He knew the sound of her voice when passion ruled her. He knew the exact shade of red her ass turned following a spanking. He’d buried his cock in her body countless times—given her pleasure and accepted it in return. Was it just yesterday he’d given her the words he knew she longed to hear?

  But that was before. Before—when he would have moved Heaven and Earth to keep from dragging an angel into the pits of hell with him. This was now. He knew his angel hadn’t been sent from Heaven to save him. Time to find out just how deep into Hell she planned to drag him.

  “Hello, Carrington,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  “Master.”

  He closed the curtains. Stopping in front of her, he dropped the bag to the floor beside him. “For God’s sake, get off the floor,” he said. “You aren’t my sub anymore.”

  She didn’t move. “Please, Sir. Might I explain?”

  “Get off the goddamned floor then I’ll listen. And take that damned blindfold off. I think we’re past that now, don’t you?”

  She stood, pulling the blindfold off as she came to her feet. Her eyes met his for the first time ever. Clear and without guile, her gaze twisted his gut and weakened his resolve to see his plan through. But, he reminded himself, he wouldn’t be the first chump to fall for a woman’s sweet lies hidden behind innocent eyes. He’d stick with the plan. If she had nothing to hide, he’d know it before the night was over.

  “I brought this for you, Sir. If you’ll let me explain, I’ll gladly accept any punishment you feel is appropriate.”

  He ignored the flogger she held out to him, backing away. Images of how her lovely skin would look after a good flogging flashed in his mind. Call him sadistic, but he loved to see his marks on her, and heaven help him, his angel really was a demon in bed afterwards. His groin tightened at the unwanted thought. God, how could he still want her? That he did only fueled his anger. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest to keep from reaching for her, dragging her into his arms, and paddling the shit out of her ass for doing this to him—to them.

  He shouldn’t have told her to remove the blindfold. Her eyes…dear God, the way she looked at him…. How many times had he imagined her looking at him that way, pleading, receptive, expectant? That she finally was angered him, too. So many lost opportunities.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  She squared her shoulders and conviction flashed across her face. “There’s no excuse, Sir. I wrote the article, and I stand by what it says—except the lies about you. In fact, I asked to write it.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Why that subject?”

  “Steroids are dangerous. They kill people and professional athletes who use them make it seem like it’s okay. It’s not okay.”

  “At least we agree on something. But you still haven’t told me why you wanted this story enough to ask for it.”

  Moisture glimmered in her eyes. She brushed it away with trembling fingers. He stopped himself before he reached for her. He was here for answers, not to comfort her.

  “My cousin Danny committed suicide. He’d been using steroids, and when his parents found out, he quit. None of them knew you couldn’t just quit taking them, that there were physical and psychological changes that occur when you do. He was only seventeen.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. She turned her face away. The leather strands of the flogger swayed when she swiped at her cheeks.

  Jason held himself in check. Okay, so she had a legitimate, and a personal, connection to the story, but that didn’t excuse the unprofessional journalism that had landed him in his present predicament.

  “That’s the Danny you mentioned in the article?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Well, shit. He took a deep breath, studying her posture—sub
missive but hinting at the inner strength that had intrigued him from the start. He couldn’t let her emotional connection to the story cloud his judgment. He needed answers, and he was going to get them.

  “Why drag me into it? Why drag an innocent person into this mess?”

  Once again, she squared her shoulders and faced him with the resolve of the last batter in the deciding game of the World Series with two outs and the winning run on third base. He had to admire her guts. Not many people would stand up for their convictions the way she was.

  “The article wasn’t supposed to be printed—not like that anyway. I sent it as a first draft. I knew it was wrong almost as soon as I sent it. I told my editor not to bother editing it, that I would send a corrected copy. I did send one. It only took a few minutes to remove the defamatory comments and accusations that creep made about you, and I sent the new article right away. I didn’t know George had rejected the new one until I got back to town. I begged him not to publish it, but he wouldn’t change his mind.”

  “Did you know who you were writing those things about? Did you know it was me?”

  “No, Sir. You have to believe me,” she pleaded. “I didn’t know my master was Jason Holder until yesterday. I figured it out when you told me what was going on in your life. I wanted to tell you then, but you ended our relationship, and I thought maybe, just maybe, you would never know. I knew it would hurt you to find out I was the one who wrote the article. Disappointing you is the worst kind of pain.” She cast her gaze to the floor and her last words trailed off on a whisper. “I can take anything but that.”

  “So, you thought it would be easier for me to see you on TV a few hours before I had to face the media at the stadium?”

  She snapped her eyes back to his. “You have to believe me, I didn’t plan that. If I’d known the camera crews were there, I would have found another way out of the building.” She lowered her gaze to the floor again, submitting to him. “I know it was wrong, Sir. I can only tell you what was in my heart. I hoped there was something I could do to fix it.”

  He closed his eyes. Damn it all to hell. Her voice rang with sincerity, and her story had the ring of truth to it, but could he trust his judgment where she was concerned? Hell no.

  “Did you mean it?” she asked, jerking his attention back to her.

  “What?”

  “That you love me,” she whispered.

  The memory of all he’d lost dropped like an acid ball into his stomach. Carrington Taylor sure looked like the angel he’d fallen in love with, but she wasn’t the same person he’d meant those words for. He ground his molars.

  “I loved a woman who didn’t exist.” Straightening, he took the flogger from her. “Strip.”

  It was time to find out how much was real, and how much of what they had was an act. And by God, if she wanted punishment, he was just the man to give it to her. But if she thought all would be forgotten, her betrayal forgiven as if it was nothing more than a minor transgression, then she had better think again. She’d soon find out, this punishment wouldn’t change anything.

  Carrie folded her clothes, as he preferred her to do, placing the neat stack on the shelf she’d used so many times before. She dared a glance in his direction while he readied the suspension apparatus. She’d seen him on television, and lately, his face was plastered all over town on buses, billboards and even on the side of a building. For once, she wondered if she would have given herself to him so freely had she known who he was from the beginning. Perhaps not. He was stone cold sexy and handsome, and a hotshot celebrity athlete. She never would have believed he truly wanted her—not when he could have any woman out there. Dressed in slacks and a crisp button-down shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes, he didn’t look like the kind of man who played games—of any kind. She probably would have run for her life after their first meeting. But now that she knew him, had glimpsed the real man inside, she could only mourn the loss of a love she’d never find again.

  Standing naked, exposed, she wished he too would remove his clothes, but like always, he didn’t want her to see him. He moved with grace and economy of motion as he arranged the suspension equipment. The mental images she’d formed of his body didn’t come close to the real thing. His face and hands were tan from hours in the sun and she couldn’t help but wonder if the coloring extended to the rest of him.

  A vise squeezed her heart when she realized she’d never have the opportunity to find out. She closed her eyes briefly, calling to mind the fantasy image she’d created for her lover, adapting it to the new data. The new image was still a fantasy, but closer she supposed to the real thing. She knew the width of his shoulders and chest—he’d allowed her to touch him plenty of times, but now that she could put them into proportion, they seemed so much larger. Everything about him seemed larger, more intimidating.

  He took his time, arranging the suspension cuffs she was familiar with, and another apparatus she couldn’t remember using. Her heart ached, knowing she was responsible for the hard lines on his face. She’d put them there with her betrayal.

  “Stand here,” he said, tapping the floor in front of him with his shoe.

  She eyed the leather cuffs swaying lightly on a chain lowered for easy access. This was what she wanted. This was what she’d asked for. She’d earned her punishment, welcomed it. She always felt better afterward knowing his administering, and her acceptance of the punishment cleansed them both and allowed the healing to begin. She hoped, but deep down inside, she was afraid there wasn’t enough punishment in the world that would allow these wounds to heal.

  She stepped into position, keeping her gaze lowered, offering herself without reservation. She knew this man—knew his heart. He’d already hurt her in the only way he could. Whatever he inflicted on her physical body could never equal the pain of losing his love. Offering herself to him, allowing him to work through his anger, to transfer it to her where it belonged was the only gift she could give him now.

  His touch was familiar, and she drew a measure of comfort from that. He bound her wrists and lifted them over her head, adjusting the suspension so only her toes touched the floor. He worked in silence. No music. No words of assurance to let her know her safety and comfort were uppermost in his mind. Tears clogged her throat as she watched his hands contact her skin for the first, and perhaps the last, time. She couldn’t look away. They moved over her body—at first, lightly skimming the surface, as if examining a delicate porcelain vase, then having determined its solid nature, his touch became more assertive. If she closed her eyes, she would recognize feel of his hands, but seeing it for the first time made it new and exciting all over again. Silently, he stroked her body to a fevered arousal, ignoring the part of her most in need of his attention.

  When he cupped her breasts, squeezing and kneading, she was mesmerized at the contrast between her softness and his hard masculinity. He rolled her nipples between callused fingertips, pinching to tight peaks.

  She hadn’t expected this tenderness, so the pain when it came, took her by surprise. He clamped her quickly, no open-mouthed, bone-melting kiss followed to make her forget this time. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, concentrating on breathing through it.

  “Open your eyes,” he commanded. “No more hiding.”

  She lifted her watery gaze to his, determined to give him what he needed, no matter the cost to herself.

  “You think you know who I am, Carrington?”

  “I know you won’t hurt me,” she said, infusing her words with more bravado than she actually possessed.

  “You don’t know shit about me then. But I know you.” He flicked the chain hanging from one nipple and then the other, sending lightning bolts of pain straight to her pussy. “I know you like pain, or was that a lie?” He cupped her sex, fingering her swollen, wet folds. “No, that much was the truth. You’re a slut for pain, and I’m man enough to give it to you.” He reached for another chain hanging beside her. “But first, I’m going to see to it
you have no choice but to accept whatever I want to do to you.” He trailed a length of rope from her chin, between her breasts to her mound. “Does that frighten you, Carrington?”

  “No, Sir,” she whispered the lie. This wasn’t the man she’d given her body to so many times before. He’d always gone out of his way to reassure her she was safe.

  He methodically knotted the rope, rigging an additional suspension system he placed beneath her thighs to lift and spread her legs. Hanging by wrists and thighs, there was no part of her he couldn’t access with ease. He’d seen it all before, but then, she’d been hidden behind the blindfold. No longer in darkness, she felt more exposed, more vulnerable.

  Jason bent to the bag he’d brought with him. She took a shuddering breath at the sight of the riding crop he drew out. He moved around behind her and swept her hair over her shoulders. Her skin tingled as he skimmed the leather end of the crop from her nape, slowly along her spine to the tight entrance she’d given to no other man. He tapped lightly there—just hard enough to remind her he could take that, too, if he was of a mind.

  She closed her eyes, absorbing the feel of the leather as he traced her shoulder blades and each rib until it disappeared around her torso. Drifting on the decadence of the sensual play, she dared to hope there was more pleasure in store. If this was punishment, she’d take it any day. A hard slap to her pussy startled a cry from her lips and put an end to her romantic notions.

  Her eyes flew open. He stood in front of her, a solid wall of angry male.

  “Eyes up here,” he said, using the riding crop to tilt her face. “No matter what, don’t take your eyes off mine.”

  She met his gaze. Her whole body trembled, knowing she’d underestimated. There was no forgiveness there. None at all.

  Eyes locked with hers, he used the riding crop to slowly taunt and arouse. Despite her fear, her body reacted, craving his touch, the bite of pain that led to pleasure. He slapped the crop against her clamped nipples. She closed her eyes against the stinging pain.