“It is pretty fantastic,” Jack admitted. “I got really lucky, though. I won a full scholarship in Italy based on this competition thing my senior year of college, and that really got me on the right path. If I hadn’t been handed that amazing opportunity, I doubt I would have found the courage to strike out on my own.” He smiled at her, those green eyes crinkling into half-moons. “What you did—coming to New York from Buffalo to make it on your own—now, that takes real guts.”
Eva felt warmed by his words, and by the sincere look in his eyes, though she felt compelled to set the record straight. “Oh, come on,” she protested, “millions of people do that every day. It’s called desperation.” She laughed ruefully. “It must be amazing to be able to do the thing you love most in the world, and earn a living in the process. I’m so envious of that.”
“It is amazing. I feel very lucky.” Jack regarded her with an earnest gaze. “What about you? What do you love to do? What’s your passion?”
Eva shrugged, about to say she didn’t have one. But that wasn’t really true. It was just that she’d never dared to imagine passion and work could be fused. Seeing Jack’s success and obvious happiness with his life, she was starting to understand there were possibilities of which she’d never dared dream.
Though she felt a little ridiculous admitting this to a world-renowned artist, she offered shyly, “I used to love to paint. I haven’t done it in years, though.”
“What medium?” Jack said eagerly. “I have some oils and canvas in my studio. I could set up an easel for you if you want to dabble a bit? Good therapy.”
“Oh, no,” Eva said, shaking her head. “I was terrible with oil paint. I liked to do watercolors. I found it, I don’t know, very peaceful.”
“Watercolors,” Jack said, his tone almost reverent. “Now I am even more impressed. One reason I love working with clay, and with oils too, is I can redo it. I can smash it up and start over. I can scrape it off and start fresh. I can tinker endlessly until I get it just right. It takes a definite and specific sort of courage to paint with watercolors. I don’t have any watercolors here, but there’s a great art supply shop a few blocks over. How about we’ll go out later and pick some up?”
“Oh, no, I mean, it’s been years,” Eva protested. “I’m sure I’d be horrible. Especially compared to a real artist.”
Jack laughed. “Don’t be silly. I promise not to look if you don’t want me to. Think of it as a kind of meditation. If that means it’s for your eyes only, I totally respect that.”
When the meal was over, he stood and reached for her plate. “Let me help,” Eva said, also standing. “I really don’t require being waited on hand and foot.” Though she hadn’t had that much, the wine must have gone straight to her head. Suddenly dizzy, she reached for the back of the chair to balance herself.
“Whoa,” Jack said, sprinting around the table in a flash, his steadying hand on her shoulder. “I will let you help, I promise.” He put his arm around her and guiding her away from the table. “Just not today. You haven’t even been out of that place for twenty-four hours yet. The hospital stay was hardly what you’d call restful. Here’s what you’re going to do.” He led her toward a partition at the far end of the loft. “You’re going to lie down here in my amazingly comfortable futon guest bed and get some much needed rest. When you wake up, if you feel up to it, we can go out to the art supply shop. Nora wants to come by later to take you clothes shopping, too.”
They stepped behind the partition to a small but comfortable space that contained a futon bed covered in white sheets and a dark blue quilt, two plump pillows at its head. There was a long, low bureau across from the bed, several small bronze statues of horses arranged on top of it.
They were beautiful pieces, all sinew, muscle and flowing manes. Eva ran her finger along the back of a horse in mid-gallop. “These are beautiful. So alive.”
“Oh, those?” Jack shrugged. “Thanks. They’re from my early days, back before I worked up the nerve to sculpt the human form. I just have too much stuff, you know? These are overflow—I had to stick them somewhere. But I’m glad you like them.”
“This is the overflow?” Eva said incredulously. “Show me the studio, please. I have to see what you’re working on now.”
Jack shook his head, laughing. “You will, I promise. I’ll give you the full tour. But right now you’re going to take a nap. Understood?”
“Yes,” Eva replied, barely succeeding in biting off the word Sir at the last moment. Jack McQuade was a Dom, all right—there was no question about it. And the sub in her was responding—and how.
Chapter 11
“You’re kidding!” Charles exclaimed into his cell phone. “So what’s his real name?” He paused, listening, then said, “Blake Stanton,” as if the words were a curse. He scowled. “That little piece of shit sure had us fooled.” Charles looked at Nora. “Well, most of us, anyway.” He listened a while longer to Jessica, asked a few more questions and then ended the call with promises to keep her posted on Eva’s progress.
He turned to Nora with a bleak expression, fury and remorse in his eyes. “Tell me,” she said softly, placing her hand over his. They were sitting side by side on the bed, having been wakened from a fitful late morning nap by Jessica’s phone call. Nora had only been dozing, over-stimulated and over-tired from all that had gone on since the night before when they’d made their devastating discovery.
“The cops did a routine run of Phillip’s fingerprints to see if he had a record, and they got a hit on a totally different guy. Turns out this dude we’ve had working for us is an imposter with a prior criminal record! His name is actually Blake Stanton.”
“You’re kidding!” Nora cried, stunned. “He’s got a record? He’s done this before?”
Charles shook his head, though his expression was dark. “He hasn’t been arrested before for kidnap and assault, though that just means he was never caught.” As Nora absorbed this, Charles continued, “His record is for illegally hacking into some corporate accounts and stealing credit card numbers. He got off with time served and some hefty fines, but apparently that wasn’t enough to deter him. It seems he commandeered the real Phillip Duncan’s FetLife, email, and Facebook accounts and stole his identity, at least for purposes of getting the job with Hawthorne Dungeon.
“Jessica asked the detective they keep on retainer at her law office to do a little poking around into Phillip Duncan’s background,” Charles said, “and the guy turned up the interesting fact that the real Phillip Duncan apparently accepted a long-term transfer to Hong Kong for his firm just before we started our search. He hasn’t been in the States for several months.”
Charles reached for Nora and took her into his arms. “Baby, I’m so, so sorry,” he said into her hair, the pain palpable in his voice. Nora understood he wasn’t apologizing just for what happened to Eva, and his part, albeit indirect, in letting that happen. He was seeking forgiveness for not giving Nora’s concerns the weight they should have received. Any lingering anger and frustration at not being taken seriously evaporated in the face of his remorse.
He held her tight, his face buried in her shoulder. “I should have listened to you, Nora. Me, of all people. I should have paid more attention. We might have found her sooner. A young woman’s life has been destroyed, and maybe I could have prevented it.” His voice cracked in his effort to keep his emotions in check, and he choked back a sob.
“No, Charles, no,” Nora crooned, stroking her husband’s head. “None of us could have known the evil intent of a madman. I can sense feelings and energy, but I can’t read minds, and neither can you. But I can tell you one thing I’m sure of. Eva’s not destroyed. Wounded, certainly, but she’s strong. That girl was victimized, but she’s no victim, Charles. I feel it in my bones—she will recover and thrive, I’m certain of it.”
Charles didn’t respond, though the steel-cable tension in his muscles relaxed, if just a little. She recognized it was up to her to help he
r Dom restore the balance not only for him, but for them as a couple. “This whole experience has left me really shaky and out of sorts. I need you, Sir,” she said truthfully. “I need the focus and centering only you can give me. Please, Sir.”
Charles let her go then, moving back so he could regard her. The anguish and shame had slid away with her words, a fire igniting behind his dark, soulful eyes. The power flowed from her into her Dom and then back again, its energy like a vibrant, shimmering aura surrounding them both.
“Yes,” he said, his tone soft but dominant. “Offer yourself to me, sub girl.”
Nora slid off the bed. She stripped quickly out of the panties and T-shirt she had lain down in for their nap. She went to the closet and pulled out the toy bag, quickly selecting a small but sturdy flogger and her wrist cuffs. She lowered herself to her knees on the carpet beside the bed and slipped the well-worn black leather cuffs over her wrists, closing each with the clip on its metal O-ring. She balanced the flogger on her upturned palms and held out her offering to her Sir, head bowed.
“What do you need, sub girl?” Charles said. He had slid his legs over the side of the bed and now faced her, still seated on the mattress.
“I need to be flogged. I need to be centered, Sir.”
Charles stood. When he touched her shoulder, she rose, the flogger still balanced on her palms. He took the flogger and moved behind her. “Hands behind your head,” he commanded. “Remain in position until I release you.”
Nora laced her fingers at the back of her neck. She stood tall, letting a deep, cleansing breath move through her body. She lifted her chin and closed her eyes, her skin tingling with anticipation.
Charles moved close behind her and locked her cuffs together. His hands moved sensually over her back and shoulders. Nora sighed with pleasure at his touch. She wanted to lean into him, but remembered his command and stayed still.
She couldn’t stop the shudder that moved through her frame when he reached around her, his hands finding and cupping her breasts. She moaned softly as he lightly pinched and twisted her nipples, the small flare of pain igniting a sudden rush of heat between her legs. He kept one nipple caught in a tight, twisting grip as his other hand slid down her belly to cup her smooth mons. She knew better than to shift in an effort to accommodate his touch. He had told her to keep her position, and so she did, though her clit was throbbing.
He pressed against her, his palm grazing her outer labia, the pressure just enough to drive her wild. Nora bit her lip to keep from begging for more. She was both disappointed and relieved when he stepped back from her.
She would concentrate on the flogging. She would let go of her own desires and anticipation and allow her Dom to take her where he knew she needed to go.
The leather brushed her back with a delicious, stinging kiss of promise, painting sensation over her skin with each light but perfectly delivered stroke. Nora concentrated on her breathing, matching it to the rhythm of the strokes as they intensified. Charles focused first on her ass, then her thighs, then her shoulders and upper back. He was thorough and steady, and she could feel his power growing as he whipped her, the balance between them restoring, the strength and passion flowing.
Her skin was on fire, burning and stinging, and she began to dance on her toes, little mewling cries escaping from her lips. “Oh, oh, oh, it hurts,” she panted, though she didn’t want it to stop—far from it. She wanted it to go on forever.
“It’s supposed to,” Charles intoned from behind her. “Let go.”
“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes…”
The leather stroked, slapped and painted her skin, its heat entering her muscles and seeping into her bones. “Yes…oh, yes…” Pain lost its meaning, pleasure had no set definition. It was all sensation, pure and perfect. She drifted heavenward, no longer certain where she was or what was happening.
Dimly, she was aware when he released the wrists cuffs. Then strong arms were around her, guiding her, pushing her down. She felt the mattress beneath her stomach, and then a hard, crashing palm against her already flaming ass. “I need to touch you,” her Dom whispered hoarsely near her ear. “I need skin on skin.”
He spanked her hard, perhaps as hard as he’d ever spanked her, his hand crashing against her ass, its impact pushing her into the mattress. The pain cut through the sensual, floating lethargy brought about by the flogging, and her senses came alive, her cunt throbbing, its juices leaking along her inner thighs as the spanking warmed her from the outside in.
“Please,” she begged, though she hadn’t meant to speak.
“Please, what?”
“Please fuck me. Oh god! Please, please, Sir.”
He struck her several more times, the erotic, centering pain bursting through her like pure, perfect sunlight. And then he flipped her over on the bed, and Nora opened her eyes. Her Master loomed over her in naked perfection, his thick, hard cock fully erect. He fell upon her hungrily, growling as he pushed his knee between her legs and positioned himself at her entrance.
In one powerful thrust, he was inside her, and she cried out in wanton gratitude as he filled her. They moved together in a frenzy of unbridled passion, both on fire from their sadomasochistic foreplay. Charles was positioned over her in such a way that each powerful, relentless thrust of his cock caused perfect friction against her clit, which was hard and aching. Within minutes she was trembling on the edge of a powerful orgasm.
“Come for me,” Charles urged, his words sending Nora hurtling over the edge of a powerful climax. He stiffened and shuddered seconds later, clutching her tight as he orgasmed. He fell heavily against her. His skin was slick with sweat, his breath ragged, his heart pounding against hers. He stayed on top of her, his arms around her, his cock buried inside her, as they drifted together until their hearts and breathing eventually slowed.
Finally he lifted himself from her and fell heavily onto his back. Nora rolled toward him, and his strong arm came around her as she snuggled into his side, her head resting on his chest.
The balance returned to her world, Nora sighed happily and let the heavy, soft cloak of sleep claim her.
~*~
Jack opened the door. There was a smear of wet clay on his cheek, his hair mussed and powdered with clay dust. “Hey, Nora. Hi, Charles. Come on in.” As they stepped inside, Jack nodded toward the duffel Charles had hoisted over his shoulder. “What you got there?”
“We brought some things for Eva,” Nora explained. “In case she doesn’t feel like shopping today. We decided we can always go tomorrow.”
“Nora and I are at your service for the rest of the weekend, at least. It’s so great you can take care of her during the week, Jack,” Charles added.
“Yes,” Nora agreed. “Eva feels safe with you.”
“It’s the very least I can do,” Jack said with heartfelt sincerity.
Charles glanced around the loft. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
“She’s asleep,” Jack replied. “After she gave her statement, we came home and had some lunch, and then she lay down for a nap. That was nearly four hours ago. She was just exhausted. It’s probably the first good sleep she’s had in a long time. I placed her in the guest wing,” he added with a grin, pointing toward the partition at the far end of the large room.
That afternoon Nora had dreamed of Eva—the dreams dark and dangerous, the images frightening. The disturbing energy of the dreams still lingered on the edges of Nora’s consciousness, and now she felt a compelling urge to check on the girl, though she knew Eva was safe here with Jack. Hopefully Eva’s dreams were peaceful, or better yet, her sleep dreamless, but somehow Nora doubted that.
Willing herself not to disturb the sleeping Eva, Nora followed Charles and Jack into his small kitchen, where he offered them something to drink. “Can you guys stay for dinner?” he asked. “I was thinking of having some Thai food delivered. Eva says she loves Thai food. She’s got a good appetite.” Nora could sense his approval and pleasure at this, and
she liked him even more than before.
They returned to the living room, bottles of beer and menus from a nearby Thai takeout place in hand. Charles filled Jack in on what Jessica’s detective had discovered about the man actually called Blake Stanton. “Nora tried to tell us, to tell me,” Charles said, reaching out to take her hand.
“I remember,” Jack said, not trying to give Charles an easy way out, though his tone was understanding, even forgiving. “The guy raised my hackles from the second I met him, but I tried to tell myself I was overreacting. I guess it’s a lesson to us all to listen to our guts.”
“Yeah,” Charles agreed. “Lesson definitely learned.”
“Eva’s putting up a brave front,” Jack continued, “but how does a person move past something like what happened to her?”
“She will,” Nora asserted. “Like all true submissives, she’s got a core of iron.” She lifted her head suddenly. “She’s awake. Can I go see her?”
“Yeah. Why don’t you go alone, in case she doesn’t want us all barging in there at once?” Jack suggested. This made sense to Nora, who nodded.
Charles agreed. “Yeah. We could order some dinner in the meanwhile.” He held out the duffel.
Nora stood and took the bag from him. She made her way eagerly to the guest area. She knocked lightly on the wood of the partition and called softly, “Eva?”
“Nora?” came a sleepy voice. “Is that you?”
Nora stuck her head around the partition. Eva was sitting up on the futon, rubbing her eyes with her fists, looking for all the world like a child, especially with the peach fuzz that graced her small, delicate head. The little teddy bear with the red bow Charles had given her lay beside her on the pillow. As Nora stepped fully into the space, Eva dropped her hands and met Nora’s gaze, a shy smile moving over her face.
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