Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Hey, Davies.”

  Sam looked around.

  Special Agent Vance Buchanan and his partner, Galen Kouros, were sitting at the bar.

  Sam leaned an elbow on the bar and greeted the linebacker-sized agent, “Buchanan,” then nodded at the lean, dark one. “Kouros.” They were both in jeans and white button-up shirts. “Here on Fed business?”

  “Not this time,” Kouros said. “Our transfer to Tampa came through, so we’re talking to Z about membership here.”

  “You’ll be welcome.” Sam had seen them play a time or two. Although it wasn’t common for two Doms to link up permanently, they’d made topping together into an art. And Kouros had some serious skill with mind-fucking games. “Is the Harvest Association belly-up?” Although the Feds had netted the bastards who’d kidnapped Linda and Kim, the slave-trafficking association’s reach extended across the entire United States.

  “Not quite. The northeast is still going strong.” Buchanan scowled. “We think that area has some highly placed contacts.”

  “Bad news.”

  “A bad crime.” Over the past months, the lines in Kouros’s face had deepened.

  The Harvest Association dealt in human trafficking with a twist. They kidnapped intelligent middle- and upper-class submissives, ones already in the lifestyle, and sold them to wealthy buyers who wanted trained slaves or—even worse—toys to be broken. Linda and Kim had been slaves. Other Shadowlands submissives had been targeted. Like Z’s Jessica and a mouthy trainee named Sally.

  Sally was cute as a button. He spotted her, hands on hips, apparently giving a newer Dom a lesson in something. Sam chuckled. Although he preferred to scene with masochists, he’d topped the little brunette a few times. She took a bit of work, but then she would surrender beautifully.

  All of the Shadowlands Masters worked with the trainees, filling their needs, instructing and evaluating. The goal was to get them matched with suitable Doms, but Sally was too damn smart and independent for her own good. She needed a powerful Dom, and so far Z hadn’t found one who would meet her needs.

  Buchanan’s gaze followed Sam’s, and the FBI agent nudged his partner, pointing out the trainee. The girl loved role-play games and today had dressed as a biker chick…probably hoping for someone to take on the cop role. “Want to give her a treat?” Buchanan asked.

  Kouros smiled slowly before shaking his head. “Members have more privileges than guests,” he reminded Buchanan. “We’ll wait.”

  “Yo.” Wearing his brown “I’m a Dom and don’t need black to prove it” leathers, Cullen looked up from drawing a beer for someone. “You agents plotting something?”

  “Not tonight,” Buchanan said.

  After giving the Feds’ glasses a bartender’s assessment, Cullen grinned at Sam. “’Bout time you graced us with your presence, buddy. What can I get you?”

  Sam considered. Did he want something? Was he finished for the night? His arm was tired; his need to make a woman cry was satisfied. He didn’t want to do a more intense scene—hadn’t wanted to in months. Damn the redhead. “How about a beer?”

  “How about not?” Cullen leaned a big arm on the bar top. “Raoul’s here with Kim and a friend of hers. An older redhead. Would she be the Linda I’ve heard rumors about?”

  His Linda? Sam straightened. “Where?”

  “She’s doing a scene with Edward.” Cullen jerked his chin toward the right.

  Sam spotted her easily. Dark red hair. White skin. Despite her mask, she was easily recognizable—at least to a Dom who’d run his hands all over her beautifully curved body. What the hell was she doing? A hard-core sadist, Edward had a good technique with a single-tail, but… “He’s no Dom, and she’s submissive.”

  “Yeah? She told Raoul she didn’t want a Dom—or you.”

  The words sliced through his flesh like a fillet knife. “Then why the hell did you point her out?”

  “All her fire at just hearing your name? You got unresolved business there, buddy.”

  Not any revelation, at least on Sam’s side. But she wasn’t going to let him close enough to do anything about it.

  Cullen was laughing.

  “What’s so goddamned funny?”

  “Check out the scene.” Cullen nodded to the cross. “That’s one frustrated subbie.”

  Sam looked again. Linda’s back was to the room as Edward used a cane on her jeans-covered ass. Gorgeous body. Maybe not to the fools who wanted their women young and tight and bland. No, Linda’s body was past prime. Soft. The highlighted streaks in her hair were probably there to cover up the gray. He remembered she had fine wrinkles beside her mouth, on her neck. And he wanted her with every cell in his body.

  With a grunt of annoyance, he shut his dick down and studied her. Cullen’s comment held truth. She was flinching from the blows. Not welcoming them. In the way a woman might be unable to have an orgasm, the sweet masochist wasn’t hitting the place that would let her ride the pain. Why? Sam watched awhile longer, and his jaw tightened. “She doesn’t trust him enough to go with it. And he’s not dominant enough to break through to her.”

  “That’s my take.”

  Sam saw Z approaching the scene. The owner of the Shadowlands rarely interrupted a session…unless he felt the play was harmful to the submissive. And that scene certainly wasn’t doing Linda any favors.

  Sam pushed away from the bar and strode over to intercept him.

  Z gave him a level look. “Samuel.”

  He didn’t need to hear Z state what he already knew. “No, she doesn’t want to see me. But I’m the one she needs right now.”

  “You have a history between you. I’ve heard it’s not a happy one.”

  Submissives loved to gossip, and Z’s Jessica would be at the heart of it. “I screwed up, but there was a connection between us. It’s still there.”

  Z’s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he considered. “You may offer. If she accepts, you will emphasize she has a safe word. And I intend to monitor.”

  “Considering what she’s been through, I’m good with a backup.” Sam turned. Butting into another Dom’s scene wasn’t done, but…she needed him. His protective instincts pushed him closer.

  Edward wasn’t into the scene at all, or he wouldn’t have noticed Sam stand one foot too close to the roped-off area. He walked over. “Friend of yours?”

  He’d give his left nut to be able to say yes. “Not quite. But I might be able to get through to her. She’s submissive.”

  “No fucking way. She said she wasn’t.”

  “She lied.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Edward scowled. “I should have spotted it. But she was so insistent.”

  “The truth isn’t always comfortable. May I?”

  “Go for it. I’m fucking tired of being lied to.” Edward tossed his cane in his bag, picked it up, and stalked away.

  Well, that was easy. Sam moved slowly as if approaching a wild mare. They had a connection from before, and she needed what he had to give. Was it enough to get past her anger? To let her trust him? His shoulder muscles knotted as he approached from the side where she could see him. If she’d open her eyes.

  He took a minute to enjoy the sight of her. She still wore her jeans and an ugly black mask but had removed her shirt and bra, leaving her lightly freckled back bare. In the courthouse, she’d been dead white, but now he saw she had a fading tan. Kim had mentioned she’d been in California to recuperate and escape the asshole newspeople. Welcome home, girl. His mouth tightened when he saw the faint white lines—scars—on her back, left from her trauma.

  He gripped her chin gently but firmly enough that she’d recognize the touch of a Master. “Linda. Look at me.”

  Her eyes popped open, and her body went rigid. “No. Not you.”

  Dammit, he’d had submissives fearful of him, especially nonmasochists, but at the auction, he’d given Linda only as much pain as she’d needed. Anger might be warranted, not fear.
“Goddammit, I’ve never hurt anyone who didn’t ask me to.”

  She closed her eyes as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him, but restrained on the cross, she had no choice except to hear his apology.

  “I’m not sure what I did.” Where were all the arguments he’d come up with over the past months? “But I did something wrong. I’m sorry, girl.”

  Her body shuddered as if trying to throw off his words. Her eyes opened. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

  The anger and shame in her gaze was far more honest than her words. Her forgiveness wasn’t even close. “Yes, it does. I hope you’ll forgive me. But for right now”—with her chin cupped in his palm, he stroked his thumb over her jawline below the mask—“you need to hurt. And you need someone to push you hard enough that you can relax into it.”

  She bit back an obvious denial, and her eyebrows drew together.

  He held himself immobile, not touching the bright strands dancing on her shoulders, not tracing the ridge of her spine with his fingers. He permitted only one touch; she needed the dominance of his hand controlling her face. Nothing more. Not yet. “Tell me I’m wrong, girl.”

  Tiny puffs of air hit his palm as her breathing went shallow and fast. And then…she shook her head.

  He wasn’t wrong. The surge of satisfaction held him frozen for another moment. “All right then. Here’s how it will be. Your safe word is red. Say it.”

  She swallowed and then whispered, “Red.”

  “Good.” This time he ran his thumb over her puffy lips, seeing her pupils dilate until her eyes were as dark as the cross on which she was bound. “I’m going to touch you, but your jeans will stay up. Your pussy will be out of bounds.” This time. “I’ll leave your mask on.” Although it annoyed the hell out of him. “I won’t try to get you off. Agreed?”

  “What about my…breasts?”

  “Those are mine to play with.” He leaned in closer until all she’d be able to see was his face. “To hurt.”

  A flush swept upward from her chest to her face. She was aroused.

  The knowledge gave him a finer satisfaction than coming after a long fucking. The connection they’d had before was intact. Working with her this time would be like sliding a new hickory handle into the eye of an ax head. Knowing it was a perfect fit. Then hammering in the wedge to prevent their bond from coming apart again. That’s what she’d lacked with Edward. She needed dominance as much as she needed pain.

  He’d give her both before he was done.

  “Your mouth is mine as well,” he growled before taking her lips. Soft, plump lips, and he wouldn’t enjoy them in anything but a kiss. Even if tonight was all she’d give him, he wouldn’t betray her trust.

  After a moment, her lips moved under his. He took but stepped away before she was satisfied. Next time he kissed her, she’d offer him more and sooner. He needed to keep her off balance and slowly gather in each tiny piece of her until he had it all. And then, reins in hand, he’d use the spurs.

  MIND SPINNING AS a disconcerting arousal swelled within her, Linda tried to look at Sam, but he’d moved behind her. As he gathered her hair, which brushed her shoulders, his grip was firm, pulling hard enough that she felt each hair follicle waken and protest. God, what had she agreed to?

  She’d agreed to more. When Edward had caned her, the hurt had done nothing for her. She couldn’t understand why. Yet somehow Sam knew what was wrong. His gaze reached right to where her soul hid from the outside world.

  Just his voice and the way he’d gripped her face had dissolved the floor beneath her, leaving her sinking in quicksand. “Sam.”

  “Yes. That’s my name.” His deep voice sounded at one with the bass of the techno music. He pushed her hair forward so the strands tickled her collarbone with each breath. When Edward had done the same, she’d felt nothing. Now her skin was in a shivery, anticipating state, feeling the coolness of the air, the brush of his arm.

  As he ran his calloused fingers down her spine, the abrasive sensation started to melt the ice inside her. When his touch moved over her jeans to where the cane had left sore areas, heat pooled low in her belly. How did he do this to her? She shook her head and craned her neck, trying to see over her shoulder.

  He’d obviously been waiting for her to do just that, and the shock of his intent gaze was like a blow to her chest. “Those big eyes won’t help you, missy. You’re where I want you. We both know you’ll be crying before I’m through.”

  His harsh words compressed her ribs until she had to struggle for her next breath.

  “I’m going to take a look at you first though.” As his hands slid over her wide hips, delight lit his gaze like sunlight through a stained glass window. “You got a beautiful body, missy.”

  The compliment shoved her off balance, as if she’d missed a step.

  His grip on her hips tightened, holding her immobile, and the strength in his fingers was terrifying. Arousing. He could hold her…down. She’d been afraid to think about that when coming in here, and now she wanted it? Not logical. She shook her head, wanting—

  The whapping sound was simultaneous with the shocking sting on her bottom. He’d swatted her hard. “You don’t think unless I tell you to think,” he growled before slapping her other ass cheek.

  The burn spread out from her bottom. Her brain blanked as if he’d shut off a switch.

  Before she could reorder her thoughts, she heard him say, “Good girl.” Leaning against her from behind, he rubbed his chest over the strips of hot flesh on her back, sending fitful sparks of pain through her like a malfunctioning lighter. The ground dropped another foot.

  He reached around to cup her breasts in his big hands, and the caress shook areas deep inside her, places that had dried up and died. “Sam.” It sounded like a protest, but she heard the plea beneath.

  His teeth closed on her shoulder, biting the muscle, holding her as he moved his hands in a milking pattern, increasing the blood flow to her nipples. When his fingers closed on the engorged peaks, the exquisite sensation buckled her knees. He gave a rough laugh. “I’ve dreamed about your breasts.” His voice was low, his breath warm on her ear. He pinched harder, continuing the pressure until every molecule inside her liquefied. She moaned, losing herself as the burn wrapped around her nerves.

  He growled in enjoyment, then moved away, leaving her breasts throbbing. After taking a flogger from his bag—a heavier one than what he’d used on the other woman—he tickled it over her back. The scent of leather swept through her, the smell reminding her of the other BDSM club. Where the pain had been good. Her eyes closed as she took a bigger breath.

  When he gave her a couple of experimental flicks over her shoulders and ass, the light thudding was wonderful.

  “Edward warmed you up well. Let’s get some red going on those shoulders.”

  Her husband’d had that matter-of-fact tone. “Looks like it’s going to rain.” But Frederick would never have talked about hurting her. “That’s not something nice people do, Linda.” She wasn’t a nice person. She was perverted and—

  The nasty swat on her bottom made her gasp and fragmented her thoughts. “Don’t listen well, do you, little girl?” Sam said. He drew his hand back, and three more hard slaps followed.

  Tears burned Linda’s eyes, and as the stinging warped into intense pleasure, the feeling that swept through her was glorious. Her nerves drank in the hurting like flowers in a drought, and her body started to shake. This wasn’t right. She couldn’t take this. She’d break. But Sam…Sam would keep her safe as she fell apart.

  A hard hand caught her chin and examined her face. “There we go. You’re ready to cry now.”

  He ran his hand down her back, and she had a moment of panic when nothing touched her, and then the flogger whapped against her bottom. Where the strands hit the places he’d spanked, her skin seemed to inhale the impact, breathing in the sensation like air.

  Left-right, left-right. The flogger moved in an easy rhythm up her but
t, skipping over the area below her ribs to avoid the kidneys, then her upper back—harder, increasing slowly from thumping to something heavier. Each strike hurt enough that she’d tense before feeling the bite. Each sear of pain expanded deeper inward and settled low in her belly. Then her muscles would tighten again in anticipation. A few fast blows removed her ability to tense between them.

  The sound of the flogger on flesh turned harsher when it hit her jeans. The dance-floor music had changed, the bass turned up to reverberate against her bones. The strands moved down to her ass, upping the deep burn as if the sadist took glee in seeing her hips move. Whap; pain; pleasure. Whap; pain; pleasure. She started to settle into the rhythm. Her head felt light, her body heavy.

  “You have the prettiest round ass. Let’s see it dance, girl.”

  The strikes came harder as he drove her out of her comfort zone, harder until her hips were trying to evade yet tilting up for more of the sharp-edged sweetness. Tears rolled down her cheeks as a massive glacier of agony dug deep, pushing everything before it as it carved out its passageway. A wail of distress escaped her.

  He laughed. “Nice. Give me more.”

  The strands moved lower, sending fire across the backs and sides of her thighs. Wonderful hurting. She heard low crying, and it was hers. Then she was choking on sobs as everything inside her bubbled up and out. He didn’t stop, keeping up a steady rhythm she could depend on as the rest of her dissolved.

  Sometime later, she realized the flogger was only caressing her lightly with a whisper of sweet pain, enough to keep her connected. She lifted her head, amazed at how difficult it was. Tears still streamed from her eyes as she sank into the sensation, the heat. She could feel her body, every inch of her skin aware and sensitive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Slowly she gathered her senses, sliding back into reality.

  So, so wonderfully relaxed.

  The flogger dropped onto the floor with a thump, and Sam leaned against her again. His body warmth and the abrasion of his shirt set her back to a happy burn even as he pulled her tighter. His erection pressed against her backside, but he didn’t rub it on her or even seem to notice as he teased her nipples into hard points. One hand opened, flattened on her waist, just above her jeans. “You’re a wonderful armful,” he growled in her ear.