by Selena Kitt
She looked so fragile standing there. He wondered how in the hell she'd managed to get as far as she had in the bay. Desperation, was his guess, and it had to have been pretty damn strong for her to do what she did. Someone had damaged this woman and his fighting instincts surged to the forefront.
Cool it. I'm not here to get involved in anyone's business.
"There's fresh coffee on the stove. Pour yourself a cup," he said.
He stood at the big glass window watching the storm and sipping on his own mug of coffee.
"Thank you."
Her voice was so soft he almost didn't hear it. He turned and saw her standing about three feet behind him, gripping the mug of coffee like it was a lifeline.
"You had no business being out in that storm today," he growled. "You could have been killed. Drowned."
"Yes." She took a tiny sip of the coffee, then looked down at her feet.
Small feet, he noticed, with bright pink nail polish.
"Yes?" He lifted an eyebrow. "That's all you have to say for yourself? Who the fuck let you go out in this weather, anyway?"
"It doesn't matter." She kept her gaze on her feet. "I'll leave as soon as the storm dies down."
"In what?" he barked. "Your boat's off to hell and gone in this wind. And a boat is the only way off this little island."
"Oh."
"What's your name?" When she didn't answer he barked, "Your name. You do have one, right?"
She jumped at the harsh tone of his voice. What the hell? Had someone been abusing her? Zane pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn't want her here. He didn't want anyone here. But it seemed he was stuck with her, and he didn't need to frighten her any more than she already was.
"Okay, listen." He softened his voice. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. My manners aren't what they should be right now. You just scared the shit out of me out there, and someone must be worried about you."
She shook her head, still unwilling to meet his gaze.
"No. No one." The words were uttered in the same soft voice, almost whispered.
He was getting nowhere fast here.
"You must have someplace to go when this storm is over. You didn't just drop out of the sky."
She took so long to answer him he wondered if she'd run out of words.
"I'll find a way to leave. After. I don't want to be a bother to you." She lifted the mug to her lips and sipped the hot liquid, still not meeting his gaze.
Zane swallowed a sigh. This was not going to be easy. He didn't have a lot of patience for this shit. Truth be told, he had no patience for anything. But this girl—woman—looked so fragile, he worried that if he said the wrong thing she'd snap and fall apart even more. What the hell was her story, anyway?
"Okay, how about sitting down?" He was afraid she'd fall down if she didn't, as fragile as she looked. "Can you do that for me?"
Gaze still lowered, she nodded. "Yes, sir. Where should I sit?"
And just like that, it clicked in his mind. He'd been so focused on her drenched condition that he'd attributed her attitude to the situation. Maybe that was part of it, but not the largest part. The word 'sir' had been pronounced as an honorific. This woman was a sub. Someone's sub. And whoever it was had abused both the privilege and her, sending her out into this wild storm unequipped to handle it.
He'd seen it before, way too many times. Men who got off on the power alone, on the ability to exert complete control over another person. That control often translated into abuse, a situation he and other Doms worked very hard to neutralize and prevent. It was unfortunate that there were too many assholes perverting the meaning of the word and the dynamics of the situation.
Well, shit. Now what?
He was in no mood to be anyone's Dom right now, least of all someone who appeared to be as damaged as this sub. He barely had patience for himself.
"What's your name?"
"Dara."
"Okay, Dara. I'm Zane. And it looks like we're stuck with each other for a while." He waved out at the bay. "That storm looks like it's not leaving any time soon."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm not looking for company any more than you are but it seems we're stuck with each other for a while." He gestured at the mug. "Finish that coffee. You need it."
"A-all right." Obediently she took another sip.
"Have you eaten today?" She looked as if she hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. Anger surged through him again.
"No, sir." She wet her lips. "No. I have not."
He hated the edge of fear underscoring her words. Hated that someone had done it to her, and hated it more that he'd have to find a way to deal with it and not frighten her any more than she already was. Meanwhile his stomach reminded him that the last food he'd eaten had been well before noon.
"I'm going to fix something to eat. Nothing fancy, just sandwiches. I'll make one for you."
"I-I can do it. Just tell me where—"
"No!" Again he had to dial back the force of the word. "Thanks, but it's easier if I do it. Sit down at the table."
She nodded. "Thank you."
Swallowing another stream of curses, Zane set about preparing the food for them. They were sure to have plenty of time alone here. The storm showed no sign of letting up at all. Somehow he'd pry out of her what had happened. He'd rather deal with someone else's crisis instead of his own.
How the fuck had this happened? Fate must be having a good laugh by now.
Chapter Two
They ate in a silence so thick with unspoken words that Zane thought he could reach out and touch it. Dara finished first, then sat there with her hands folded in her lap, eyes focused on her feet while he ate the rest of his meal. The extremeness of her subservience was making him angrier by the minute. Anyone who lived a real D/s lifestyle knew that it was the only relationship built one hundred percent on trust. That the power exchange was what made it work. A sub giving that power of domination to someone was a true gift.
Zane still recalled the first time a friend had taken him to a private club and given him the opportunity to explore urges and desires he'd had no idea what to do with. That first night he'd just watched the performances, stunned that people were doing these things in front of an audience, but totally aroused both by their unselfconsciousness and by the performances themselves. He'd gone back again and again, finally applying for his own membership, and begun training to be a Dom.
Yes, training. Something people outside the lifestyle didn't know about. It took skill and knowledge to dominate, to make bondage a pleasure for one's sub, to inflict just the right amount of pain in the correct places. He learned about safewords and aftercare, and all the things that made subs trust their Doms. He'd become skilled with the Florentine flogger and the many ways in which a sub could be bound to give both of them pleasure. The club had become his lifeline when he was between missions that sucked the soul out of him.
However, there were assholes out there who confused domination and abuse, Doms who had not been properly trained. They gave the lifestyle a bad name and created emotionally destructive situations like the one Zane was sure Dara had run from. He was torn between wanting her to talk about it and bring her fear out in the open, and telling her to just sit in a corner until he could get her back to the mainland.
Being around her was dangerous for him, calling up memories and needs he had to keep submerged. Looking forward to a reunion with Lily was what had kept him going this last time. That made her betrayal that much worse for him. He wasn't sure he'd ever trust a sub again. He was very grateful that Derek had stepped up and offered this cottage where he could hide away from the world.
Until today.
Don't get involved. Don't get involved.
Zane chewed and swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, washing it down with the rest of his beer. He knew he was drinking too much and should cut back on the alcohol, but it smoothed out the rough edges so well. He justified it in his own mind by sticking to
beer and staying away from the hard stuff.
The moment he set the empty bottle down on the table, Dara popped up from her chair, gathered the plates and debris, and carried it all to the sink, scurrying like a frightened mouse.
"Leave that." He hoped his voice wasn't as dictatorial as he thought.
"It's my job." She found the dish soap and began filling the sink. "I'm a good dish washer."
She said the words in such a flat tone it made a tiny chill run down Zane's spine. She sounded as if she'd had to defend herself so many times that she spoke the words by rote. The more he listened and watched, the angrier he became. He was sure if whoever the asshole was who had turned her into little more than an automaton was right in front of him, Zane would smash his face to pieces. Then he put a rein on his anger, roping it in. Not getting involved, he told himself. He'd tell Dara he'd take her to the mainland as soon as the storm let up, give her some money, which she no doubt needed, and come back to his isolation.
But somehow things weren't working out that way. Dara finished the dishes, wiping them until they sparkled, then cleaning the sink and the counter. When she was through, she folded the dish towel and sat in one of the straight chairs, as if waiting for instructions. Which Zane was pretty sure was the case.
He started to take out another bottle of beer, then changed his mind and went for a soft drink, to his own amazement. He gestured with the bottle to Dara in silent offering. She just shook her head and sat there, hands folded in her lap and eyes focused on her feet.
Okay, enough of this shit. If a Dom is what she needs, a Dom is what I'll give her, no matter how difficult it is for me.
And difficult didn't begin to describe it all. Zane was seized by an overwhelming desire to erase everything this asshole had done to her, and he had no idea why the fuck that was. He'd felt nothing but pain for so long. Maybe what he needed was to absorb someone else's for a change.
"Where are you from?" He tried to make his tone of voice level and calm.
Dara twisted her hands in her lap. "Tampa. Sir."
"And how did you get to Fort Myers?"
"With—" She caught herself and sucked in a breath, as if not sure what to tell him.
Zane couldn't stand it. "Come here, Dara."
Face pale, she walked over to him and stood in front of him, waiting.
"Sit on my lap." He patted his thighs.
This was a dangerous game he was playing. He had to be careful not to send the wrong signals, but this woman was pushing buttons that had been stuck in place for a long time. She sat where he indicated, her movements wary, and waited again for him to speak.
Zane began to stroke her back in an idle rhythm, running his fingers along her spine. She was stiff as a board, but he kept up the slow, gentle strokes, moving his fingers to her neck, down her spine again, and along the swell of her ass. He wanted to squeeze those delectable globes, run the tips of his fingers into the hot crevice, maybe turn her over his knee and spank those rounded globes until they turned a beautiful shade of red.
No! I am a miserable ass. This woman has been terrorized by someone and all I can think about is all the things I want to do with her.
On the heels of that came a jolt of awareness. For the first time since the clusterfuck in Afghanistan and the emotional disaster with Lily, he had the desire for a submissive. Unfortunate for him that the woman in question was in a fragile emotional condition. He dug deep for inner control, telling himself to focus on her. That was the key.
"It's obvious you're running away from something," he began. "Or someone. No right-minded person would put themselves out on the water in a storm like this. Not when it was so obvious to me you had no idea what the hell you were doing."
Dara hunched her shoulders and seemed to draw in on herself.
"I'm sorry, sir. Please forgive me."
"Dara." He sighed, even as he continued to stroke her body. "I am not your Sir." At least, not yet. "I'm not anyone's Sir. At least right now." And maybe never again. "But I take it you've been in a D/s relationship gone very wrong. I think you need to tell me about it."
She jerked at his words. "You-you know about the lifestyle?"
"I do. It's who I am."
"Do you—" She wet her lips. "Do you have a sub now?"
Lily's betrayal slammed back into him and it took all his mental willpower to shove it in the back of his mind.
"No. Not now." Zane ground his teeth. "I'm not in the proper frame of mind to be a good Dom. To anyone."
"But—"
"Don't push me." He hadn't meant to sound so angry, and wished he could take his comment back. Or at least his tone of voice.
If possible, she tried to shrink herself even smaller. Then, twisting, she tried to push herself off his lap and out of his hold. He wasn't about to let her go, however. He turned her and tilted up her chin with the tip of his finger. She tried to avoid looking at him but he refused to let that happen.
"Please let me go." Again her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it. "I don't want to cause trouble. You should have just left me out there."
"Not a chance." He shook his head. "Everything else aside, that storm out there is a killer. I'm not about to go out in it again, and I'm your only way off this little island. But I'm concerned about what drove you out there."
She bowed her head. "Nothing you can help me with."
She twisted in his grasp and when she did, her T-shirt twisted and rode up, exposing her back. It took every bit of Zane's self-control not to gasp out loud or mutter a curse. He himself had applied the whip to his subs. Lily loved it. But lightly, so that although there were red stripes crisscrossing her skin, the lotion they used afterward soothed them and made them fade. He didn't use it to create permanent marks on her or any other sub.
In contrast, Dara's back was crisscrossed with visible scars, a network of welts that combined both old and new marks. This was not the use of a whip for erotic pleasure. This was the work of someone determined to cause the most pain possible. Looking at her back made him sick to his stomach. Unable to stop himself he coasted his hand over the delicate skin, fingers tracing each and every one of her marks.
With unexpected strength Dara pushed herself off his lap, yanking herself away from him.
"Don't." She bit her lip, her eyes cast downward. "Don't look at them."
"Whoever did this should be whipped himself." Zane could barely control the fury in his voice. "Tell me who did this, Dara."
"It… doesn't matter." She refused to look at him. "I deserved it."
Zane had to get hold of himself before his blood pressure went through the roof. If he stroked out he wouldn't be any good to either of them. He wanted another beer in the worst way, but he knew alcohol would only impede what was needed of him. Besides, if he focused on Dara's situation, he didn't have to think about his own.
"No one deserves that." He pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to where she was standing. "Not for anything. And I'm damn sure you in particular couldn't inspire that kind of punishment."
"You don't know that." She still would not look at him; just stood there, eyes downcast. "I was disobedient. I disrespected my Master. I needed to be taught a lesson."
Zane knew all about that. He'd seen men with cruel streaks who got off on the punishment, on dispensing pain, on an extreme situation that had nothing to do with sex or affection or anything the least bit erotic. They were satisfying a bloodlust and showing no respect for their subs. He counted to ten before he spoke again.
"Dara." He pitched his voice low and even. "There is absolutely nothing you could do that would justify this kind of treatment."
"My Master said pain is cleansing." She sounded as if she was repeating it by rote.
Who the fuck was this guy, anyway?
"Only if both parties agree to the level of pain." Zane sighed. "It's a contract, Dara. A verbal agreement. Whether you are playing for one night at a club or involved in a full on relationship, everyt
hing has to be agreed to. Everything," he repeated.
"Have you not punished subs before?" Curiosity laced her words.
He nodded. "I have. But never in a way to mark them permanently. Not unless it was with their complete agreement. I'm guessing you didn't give your permission for those scars."
"Could we talk about something else? Please?"
"One question. Answer one question and I'll leave it alone." For now.
For a long moment he was sure she would refuse to answer him. Then she nodded. "One question."
"What did you do to make you think you deserved it?"
Another pause. A sigh. "I burned his dinner."
What the fuck?
Zane had to be very careful here, because he was ready to shake this guy's name out of her and strangle him with his bare hands.
"Dara." He used his best Dom voice, but softened it just a little. "Look at me."
She turned so slowly he had to rein in his impatience. "Yes, Sir?"
He didn't correct her use of the honorific this time. If it made her more comfortable, he would deal with it.
"That is not punishment. That's abuse. One of the first rules in a D/s relationship is never to raise a hand in anger. Only for erotic pain and pleasure. Didn't you know that?"
She shook her head. "No." Again the word was soft, as if she was ashamed of her lack of knowledge.
"I'm going to assume that something happened which pushed you over the edge and sent you out on the bay in this hellish storm. When you feel more comfortable, you will tell me what it was," he said.
He was playing a dangerous game here, assuming the role of a Dom when in fact they had no relationship. But it seemed to be her only comfort zone, and right now his main focus was making her comfortable and less afraid of… whatever she was so afraid of.