“Figure what out, baby?”
She stared into his eyes. Sometimes, the pale blue of his eyes had a darker rim. “The…they kept us under control. All the time. And now, now, I can’t let you do that. Because of them. I need to know—to agree to—”
“To give up your power,” he suggested softly.
“Yes. And when you yanked me into the shower, I…” She dredged up all the honesty she could find, opening herself. “I liked it. I did. But it scared me too, because if you tell me to do some slavey thing, something I really don’t want to do, I’m not sure I’d refuse. I sometimes don’t know if I obey you because they…conditioned…me or because I want to.”
“Go on.”
Her throat tightened with frustration. She couldn’t explain because she didn’t really understand it herself. “I just want limits on when…when you order me around.” Her breathing hitched.
“Shhh.” He tucked her head against his shoulder, letting her get herself back under control. Not driving her to expose more, to bare her soul.
Her breathing steadied.
“Between a Dom and sub, most things are negotiable.” He pushed her hair out of her face. “I have certain requirements. I want to be in control when it comes to sex.” He considered and added, “I like demanding sex when I want it, but I can give in there.”
She raised her head. “You didn’t exactly back off earlier.”
“No.” He traced his finger down her jaw. “That was my next point. Making you kneel or strip or do menial labor? Not interested. But if it comes to your well-being, I’m not flexible.” His square jaw hardened. “This afternoon, I wasn’t about to let you fret yourself sick.”
Oh. Her gaze traced down the strong line of his neck to his right shoulder. The shirtsleeve covered the rocklike bulge of his biceps and was rolled up over his thick forearm. He had the strength to enforce anything he wanted. Like he had this afternoon.
But she hadn’t felt dirty when he’d dragged her into the shower, maybe because he’d said why he was forcing her to cooperate. “If you figure to worry until they show, think again.” It hadn’t been an arbitrary act. “Maybe that will work,” she whispered. “If there’s a reason. More than you just want to…to…”
“Flaunt my control over you?” he finished in a dry voice.
“Yes.” She looked up with butterflies in her stomach. He didn’t look upset, just thoughtful.
“Then we’ll limit power exchanges to this: I control everything dealing with sex…or pain. You always have a safe word. Timing is negotiable unless I step in for your safety or health.”
Really? She felt as if she’d been braced against a hard wind that had just disappeared, leaving her falling forward. Looking him in the eyes, she agreed. “Yes.” In a lower voice, she added, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He traced his finger around her mouth. “I should warn you, though. I’ll find other methods to get my way.”
She stiffened. “Like?”
“Like it’s your turn to pick the movie. But if it has a romance in it, I’m going to play with the pussy whip as well as spank your ass.”
Oh heavens. She couldn’t keep from squirming at the memory of that whip. She wanted—didn’t want—wanted that intense torment again. And the most sadistic part was now she couldn’t decide whether to pick a romance or not.
From the evil glint in his ice-colored eyes, he’d deliberately left her with that dilemma.
Chapter Seventeen
On Saturday, Linda, trying to remember everyone’s names, brought up the rear of the women piling out of the bachelorette party limousine. She’d already met Andrea, Jessica, Kim, Gabi, and Beth. Kari was the submissive of another Shadowlands Master. Sally, Uzuri, Rainie, and Dara were trainees—submissives who didn’t have a Dom but wanted to learn more about the lifestyle.
None of the women were her age, but the common interest of BDSM had bridged the gap. A couple of glasses of champagne hadn’t hurt the bonding either.
She’d decided the women were all crazy. On the ride over, they’d told stories of what not to do to a Dom and other mistakes they’d made. Like the night a tired Uzuri had downed two coffees before a scene. After the poor Dom spent ages on the bondage and suspension, she’d had to beg for a bathroom break. Or Gabi, who’d gotten mad at Marcus and used his favorite canes as fireplace kindling.
Just the idea of doing that with one of Sam’s toys was…appalling. Oh, she might enjoy the look on his face for all of a few seconds, but then…the wrath of God would come crashing down on her.
Why did that sound so tempting?
Linda followed the group into the nightclub. Rather than the Shadowland’s medieval atmosphere, this place’s decor was grungy harshness. Concrete floor, black brick walls, red-hued paintings. Metal everywhere, from bar stools to aluminum siding behind the bar to twisted metal railings leading to the second floor. “Interesting,” Linda said. “Jessica likes this kind of place?”
“No. We’re here because the club advertised it has BDSM equipment.” Gabi hooked an arm with hers.
“You brought Shadowlands submissives to a different club?”
Gabi grinned. “We couldn’t exactly get falling down drunk in Z’s club, now could we?”
“Good point.” In fact, doing anything wild and crazy under Master Z’s nose would be sheer insanity. “Are we dressed up like Dommes to keep from getting hit on as submissives?”
Beth heard the comment and turned. “Nah. We just wanted to give Jessica one last chance to switch to the dominant side.” Beth unzipped the biker jacket she wore, revealing a black bustier and black vinyl pants. “Besides, Dommes have the coolest clothes.”
Linda grinned. “True.” She wore all black as well. Her skinny black jeans almost disappeared under the impact of high vinyl boots and her skintight, long-sleeved latex shirt. She’d unzipped the front low enough that most guys wouldn’t see past the cleavage.
“I used to wear clothes like this, right up until my first night as a trainee.” Andrea tried to look pitiful—not easy for someone who reminded Linda of Wonder Woman. “Cullen was the trainer, and he said a sub couldn’t wear more clothes than the Dom. The cabrón made me strip right in the center of the club.”
“Ouch.” Linda frowned, recalling the giant bartender with his booming laugh. “And I thought he seemed so easygoing.”
“He is…right until he slides into Demon Dom mode.” Andrea grinned. “Don’t tell him, but I go all melty inside when he does.”
“I know the feeling,” Linda muttered. When Sam got that look in his eyes—the one that said she’d better do exactly what he ordered—her bones turned squishy. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.”
“Kim’s creating us a spot,” announced Sally. “Come on, Mistresses.” Although not that tall, the brunette wore such a red latex T-shirt that she stood out like Rudolph, the reindeer. They followed her through the crowd at the entrance, past the bar, along the side of the dance floor, and up some stairs.
When Linda looked around, she saw a balcony ran around the perimeter of the second floor. From there, people were watching the dancing and the randomly scattered short St. Andrew’s crosses, spanking benches, and stocks.
“Over here,” Kim called as she industriously shoved chairs, couches, and coffee tables into a disorganized cluster near the railing. “Ladies. Here’s our little bit of heaven for the evening.” She dropped into a chair by the railing.
The rest of the group happily spread out.
“Sit with me.” Jessica pulled Linda down next to her on a long couch, then nodded to her left. “Look at them. Aren’t they a study in contrasts?”
Linda had to laugh. Dara had a pale complexion with blonde, spiky hair and wore black leathers. Next to her was Uzuri, with black skin, braided hair, and a dark red catsuit. Obviously hearing the comment, Uzuri grinned over her shoulder. “We’re going to find us a boy and beat his white ass for a while.”
Sprawled in an armch
air, Rainie snickered. “I don’t know about Dara, but Mistress U, I bet you’ve never been on the handle side of a flogger.”
“Maybe not.” Uzuri’s beaded hair clattered as she tossed her head. “But we look so fine he won’t notice anything else.” She knocked her fist against Dara’s.
Giggling, Jessica rose. “Thank you all! This is just great and so much more fun that what I thought it would be.”
“Oh, we’re just getting started, Mistress Jessica,” Gabi said. “Rainie, did you bring your stuff?”
“You bet.” Rainie grinned. A big woman, she’d refused to try to squirm her way into latex or leather pants, but wore a fluorescent blue vinyl dress, fingerless gloves with small spikes on the back, and a coiled whip on her studded belt. A vine tattoo ran from her shoulder to disappear between her breasts. “The chauffeur agreed he’d haul it up here for us. That’s what Sally’s watching for.”
Stuff? Linda wondered.
Jessica’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t. Here, in a public place?”
“It was Sally’s idea, so Jessica would have fun toys for her honeymoon,” Rainie said. “Besides, it’s supposed to be a BDSM club, right? Shouldn’t be anything they’ve never seen before.”
“Oh God.” Jessica’s champagne-fueled giggles increased. “Sally, you’re insane.”
Sally glanced back with the “I’m so innocent” look of a dedicated troublemaker, then leaned over the railing and yelled, “Hey, Chauffeur!”
Uzuri added her voice. “Up here, Limo Man!”
A minute later, the lanky chauffeur hauled two heavy-duty suitcases up the stairs.
“He’s earned himself a huge tip,” Kim muttered.
The man set the suitcases on the two coffee tables, gave the gathering a slight bow, and left without saying a word.
“All right, Mistresses, here you go.” Rainie opened the cases with a flourish.
Linda’s mouth dropped open. Foam padding lined one suitcase and had been cut out to hold…dildos. Vibrators. She turned her head. The other case held colorful spray bottles and tubes, a couple of crops, a few cuffs, blindfolds… She stared at Rainie. “You have suitcases of sex toys?”
The trainee laughed so hard her breasts jiggled. “I spend all day surrounded by men. Hosting these parties lets me hang out with women.” She raised her voice. “Check it out, ladies. I set it up, so if you decide you just have to own something tonight, I can do that.”
As Sally, Uzuri, and Dara whooped and converged on the toys, Linda sagged back in her couch. “I need a drink.”
Before the words were out of her mouth, Gabi thumped two pitchers down. “Margaritas, anyone?”
The evening passed in a blur of gossip, intriguing tidbits of life at home with a Dom, playing the Domme game that Gabi and Sally had invented, and checking out Rainie’s stock of toys. By the time the first pitchers were gone, half the places in the suitcases were empty. Clever Rainie had brought along brown paper bags to hold their purchases.
It had only taken two margaritas before Linda caved in. A vibrator for the G-spot. How could she resist? And then she won a prize she never intended to use but no one would trade with her. She’d definitely make sure Sam never saw that one.
Frowning, Kari sank onto the couch next to Linda and dubiously examined her own prize. A cock ring.
“Problems?” Rainie asked.
“Aside from talking Dan into letting me near his guy parts with this?” Kari looked over ruefully. “The main problem is finding the energy. Zane is teething, Dan is putting in overtime because of some creepy rapist, and all too often I’d rather sleep than mess around.”
Remembering the sleep-deprived, zombie world of new motherhood, Linda patted her hand. “Once Zane is older, you’ll catch up on sleep. And if you want a babysitter so you can…play…out of hearing range, well, I love babies.”
Kari hugged Linda. “You’re so nice. Thank you. We’ll take you up on that.” She fingered the cock ring and grinned. “I’m dying to see Dan’s face when I pull this out—let alone when I try to get it on him.”
Dan was the cop, wasn’t he? Gorgeous but awfully stern looking. Poor Kari. Linda smothered a laugh, trying to imagine talking Sam into cooperating.
“Kari, it’s time for the next competition,” Kim called.
“Right.” Kari checked the clipboard on the end table. “Linda and Jessica, your attention, please.” Sweet-faced Kari sounded exactly like the schoolteacher she was.
“Yes, Mistress.” Jessica saluted. “Our assignment?”
Kari handed each of them a paddle. “Go downstairs, find a man, get him to bend over, then give him three good swats.”
Linda stared. “Seriously?”
“The first to swat wins.” From her chair by the railing, Kim raised her glass in a toast. “But the loser still has to paddle a guy, or else you’ll receive the swats from us up here.”
Jessica scowled. “How come Andrea and Dara got off easy? Getting a guy to unzip and show if he’s wearing tighty-whities or boxers isn’t that difficult.”
“Luck of the draw, girlfriend,” Gabi said, no sympathy in her voice. “Go.”
As Linda stood, she could feel the alcohol buzzing in her veins. Champagne, then…margaritas. Note to self: slow down on the consumption. She glanced at Jessica, who was in the same condition. Not…quite…drunk. “We can do this.”
Jessica gave her a shoulder bump. “You bet.”
At the top step, Linda paused.
Jessica stopped behind her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m summoning my inner Domme.”
“I don’t think I have one of those, inner or outer. I’m an accountant. I don’t boss people around. Well, unless they’re missing paperwork.”
“There you go.” Linda grinned. “Ever had someone dump a shoebox of receipts on your desk just before tax day?”
Jessica’s expression changed completely. “Oh, have I.” Her mouth firmed and her back straightened as they walked down the steps. “How about you?”
“Any mother who’s survived teenagers has developed some Domme.” Linda reached for a memory to put her in the right frame of mind. Maybe Charles’s sixteenth birthday party when she’d discovered a boy had smuggled in a bottle of tequila. Yeah, she’d definitely gone Domme all over that youngster’s head. Maintain that attitude.
They reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Here we go,” Jessica muttered.
“May the best woman win,” Linda said. She headed to the left; Jessica went right.
Men lined the bar, watching the dance floor, checking out the women. Very few were her age, but for her assignment, a younger man would be easier.
Not the one in a suit. Not the skinny lad who looked barely twenty-one. Not the jock. Not…
When an older man’s gaze swept over her, then focused sharply, she got a bit of the squirmy little mouse feeling that Sam’s Dom look could induce. Could the guy tell she was submissive?
And wouldn’t Sam have a fit if he saw her in Domme gear, wielding a paddle?
With a huff of amusement, she turned away to check the nearby tables. Not the obnoxious drunk. Not the geek. Then she saw a candidate standing at a tall table. His gaze lingered on her tight shirt, well enhanced with cleavage. Mistress L for Lethal, that’s me.
He looked midtwenties. A trim mustache. Light brown frohawk. Jeans and an All American Rejects T-shirt.
Wish me luck; I’m going in. She approached his table. “What’s your name, boy?”
His eyes widened. “Jeremy.” He swallowed as she stepped into his space. “You look…wow.”
“Yes, I do.” She gave him an assured head tilt. “I want you to bend over.”
He stared into her eyes as if mesmerized. “What?” She could actually see him shiver.
“Present that pretty ass to me, boy.” Her voice took on a familiar-sounding growl. Don’t think about Sam. “Now.”
To her surprise, he did just that. Seriously? Without letting
herself hesitate, she swatted him. One. Two. The third got a grunt from him. Cheers came from the bar, and Linda heard screams and applause from her crew above.
“What a good boy.” Trying not to burst into laughter, she waited for him to straighten, gave him a firm kiss on the lips, then started to walk away.
“No, no. Wait.” He was following her.
What in the world? She stopped.
He held his hand out. “Kneel—am I supposed to kneel? Can I give you my number? Will you call me? Please?”
Oh, dear heavens, someone just found his inner submissive. She patted his cheek. “I’m afraid I’m taken, sweetie. But I’m sure you can find a nice Mistress.”
From the look in his eyes, he’d be doing just that. She knew the feeling. Pretending to be a Top left her craving Sam’s dominance.
On the stairs, she spotted Jessica near the dance floor, trying to convince a man to bend over. When Linda wiggled her hips in a victory dance, the little blonde sent her a sizzling glare.
The women on the balcony greeted her with laughter and high fives. Dara slapped her back, and Rainie handed her a prize of lubricant, saying, “Gabi said you should have this flavor.”
“Orange?” Linda took it. Why orange?
On the couch, Kim hadn’t stopped laughing. She finally hauled in a breath and pointed at Linda. “Your expression when that puppy tried to follow you?”
Shaking her head, Linda sank down next to her. “I felt guilty, leading the poor baby on.” She picked up her drink and took a couple of good swallows, savoring the underlying bite of tequila. “It was amazing he couldn’t tell I was pretending. Bet a Dom would see right through the act.” Sam would have.
“When I met Dan, I told him I wasn’t submissive.” In the adjacent chair, Kari wrinkled her nose. “He laughed at me.”
“It’s nice when a guy sees who you are.” Sally leaned back against the railing. “When I’m dating vanilla guys, I feel like I have to pretend to be someone I’m not. Gets to me.”
“Yeah,” Linda said under her breath. Letting Lee go had been the right decision.
And Sam? Sam definitely saw her for who she was…and liked her that way.
Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am Page 20