“Ladies, how are you doing?” Dr. Wang, a Communications professor pulled a chair out. Short and balding, Paul loved working lunches. “Queenie, I brought the schedule you asked for.”
As the two of them started discussing a project timeline, Valerie settled in to enjoy her meal. And to muse about spankings and sex.
The professor at the Shadowlands who’d spanked her said she was a masochist. He’d acted as if being aroused by pain was normal. And said some people were simply wired that way.
If he was right, did it explain why she’d found sex so boring?
The self-knowledge wasn’t useful, however. She sure couldn’t tell some date she’d like sex with a side helping of pain.
Besides, she was still recovering from the damage Barry and his women had inflicted, and from feeling betrayed. It was best for her to avoid the dating scene entirely.
Celibacy was good for a girl, right?
Overhead, a gull flew past, its screech sounding like the word sex.
Valerie rolled her eyes. I’m being mocked by the gods.
Deservedly so since she was lying to herself. It’d be awesome to have good sex.
But nothing more. No relationships. Nope. Never again would a bastard decide she wasn’t enough for him and wring her heart like a dirty washrag. Never, never, never.
Not even if there were spankings involved.
A shiver ran through her as she remembered the previous weekend at the Shadowlands. The skilled hands caressing her bottom, the stinging smack of a hard palm, the pain flowing through her like honey, and rousing every nerve in her body.
She’d never been so excited—not even when Barry had spanked her.
She could go back to the BDSM club. Along with the free guest pass, the application for membership to the Shadowlands was sitting on her table. Staring at her as if it had eyes. She could be a member.
No. Be practical. A membership wasn’t in her budget.
Let alone having to walk into the place all by herself. The BDSM Sampler night was over, which meant she’d have to get a…what was it called…a Top interested in doing a scene with her.
Face it, what were the chances any of them would be interested in her?
Zip. Nada. None.
It wouldn’t be worth putting out all that money to be ignored. Although the professor Dom had been nice.
More than nice.
But tempting potential members into joining was part of his job. He wouldn’t be nearly as interested in her on a regular night.
No, she couldn’t afford the Shadowlands membership—or the potential blows to her already fragile ego.
She bit into her ham and cheese sandwich. It would be best to stay away from the sexy professor, too, whatever his name was.
With a choked-off laugh, she shook her head. She’d let a man whose name she didn’t even know spank and rub her ass.
He’d invaded her sleep for the last few nights, his deep, rough voice fueling hot dreams that left her teetering on the pinnacle of coming.
Yes, she’d had dream sex with the professor.
And if she ever saw him, she’d undoubtedly turn so red her blood vessels would explode in her head.
As the discussion between Queenie and Wang turned to an argument, someone slid into the empty place beside Valerie.
“Excuse me.” That voice. Exactly as she remembered…and so much more.
She turned—it really was him—and choked on her coffee.
“Careful, woman.” He thumped her shoulders a couple of times. “One pipe is for air, the other for liquid. Don’t mix them up.”
She sucked in air and laughed.
He grinned back at her, his teeth white in a lean, tanned face, and so devastatingly masculine, he could stop a female’s heart. He held out a hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. Dr. Blackwood—Finn. History.”
“Right. Um, hi.” She took his hand, feeling the calluses, remembering how he’d touched her, fondled her ass. Spanked her ass. As she feared, her face burned with embarrassment. “Dr. Winborne—Valerie. World religions and philosophy.”
“Fun combination. As it happens, I read your book last year and enjoyed it very much.”
Seriously? “Uh, thank you.”
“Will you be writing another?”
She shook her head. “Not anytime soon. That one happened because I had things to say.”
“An excellent reason to write a book.” He eyed her necklaces with the various religious symbols and grinned. “Why the mixture?”
Today she was wearing a cross, a pentagram, a dharma wheel, and a yin-yang symbol.
“To make a point. Like most mothers, I didn’t care if my children called me mom or mommy or mother. I worried more about them being compassionate and honest. And I can’t think any god is more small-minded than a human.”
“So you quietly wear the necklaces in hopes you can get your students to think.” His approving smile sent a wave of warmth through her. “Do you have one you prefer?”
“Nope. I wouldn’t want any deity to feel left out.” She patted the necklaces. “I tend to swear by all the gods—or the generic ‘all-that-is’.”
A crease appeared in his cheek. “Generic, hmm. I like it.”
Noticing the professor, Queenie broke off her argument. “Well, hello.” The woman was totally unfazed at where she’d seen Finn the last time.
Valerie smothered a laugh. “Queenie, have you met Dr. Finn Blackwood. He’s in the history department. Finn, this is Dr. Queenie Gundersen—English.”
“Good to meet you, Queenie.”
Before Queenie could reply, another professor pulled out a chair and sat down. After greeting the women, Pohl turned to Finn. “Blackwood, I wanted to see you. Heard a couple of students discussing your lecture on the Battle of the Somme. Do you think the Brit commanders were incompetent?”
As the two talked military history, Valerie noticed Queenie watching Finn. Turning her gaze to Valerie, the redhead waggled her eyebrows before returning to her argument with Paul.
Crazy woman.
The sound of Finn’s deep voice and easy conversation sent an odd unrest tap dancing through Valerie.
Trying to ignore the feeling, she unwrapped her dessert and took a bite of the sweet date-filled cookie. Mmm. The citrusy-fennel taste of cardamom brought back memories of childhood holidays.
Finn glanced at her dessert, and his steel-gray brows lifted. “Is that kleicha?”
“Good eye. Yes, I make it when I need a sweet treat.”
The longing look he gave her cookie made her regret she hadn’t brought more. With a smile, she handed him half.
“Generous woman.” He popped it into his mouth. “Mmm, this is excellent. I used to buy these all the time when I was stationed in Baghdad, especially on their holidays.”
“Stationed?”
“In the army.”
Well, that explained the military-straight shoulders and air of command. Add in being a Dom, and it was no wonder he exuded authority.
She tapped a finger on her half of the kleicha. “I grew up in the Middle East. No matter how old I was or in what country, every housekeeper wanted to teach me to make their traditional foods.” Kitchens were happy places where she’d been liked for who she was. Really, it was surprising she hadn’t grown up to be a cook.
“Since my talents don’t extend to much more than simple meals,” Finn said, “I won’t ask for the recipe. But if you ever have extras…”
She laughed. “I’ll remember.”
His smile lightened his eyes. “We’ll have to compare notes on our travels. I bet you saw an entirely different world than I did.”
In every city, she’d run with the local children in neighborhoods and the bazaars, been scolded by housekeepers, and turned brown from the sun and dirt. In many ways, she’d enjoyed a wonderful childhood. “Probably so. I’d enjoy talking about it.”
About the Middle East or probably anything at all. He was intelligent, articulate, and had an
interesting sense of humor.
And hard hands, too.
As he held her gaze, she felt her body soften, warm.
A glint appeared in his eyes.
“Valerie, girl.” Queenie waved her hand to catch Valerie’s attention. “You were going to tell me how the self-defense class went.”
Disappointed—and relieved at the interruption, Valerie turned. “It didn’t. The students were all young and energetic and far above my skill level. But I did pick up pepper spray, so if it happens again, then—”
“If what happens again?” Finn asked in a dark voice.
“Nothing. Only a minor alterca—”
“Some skeezoid where she jogs wanted money,” Queenie interrupted, “and wouldn’t back off until a couple of male joggers helped her.”
The protective anger in Finn’s hard face made her stomach quiver.
“It wasn’t that serious,” Valerie said.
“Were you frightened?” he asked in a level voice and saw the answer in her face. “Then, yes, it was that serious.”
“I bought pepper spray.”
He nodded. “Good choice. But if he’s too close or the wind is against you, pepper spray won’t help. You need the ability to get free of an attacker, if nothing else.”
Well, damn. “I understand.”
“Perhaps—”
“Pardon, Blackwood,” Pohl called. “But, if you have the time, let’s see if admin will go for an addition to the schedule.”
“Of course.” Finn rose and bent to say quietly to her, “It was good to talk to you, and I hope to see you soon. Here or elsewhere.”
His smile left no doubt of what he meant. He wanted her to return to the Shadowlands.
The guest pass came with a free night.
Maybe…
Chapter Four
On Saturday night, Ghost spent some time simply wandering through the Shadowlands. Pausing to watch a violet wand scene, he breathed in the unique scents—leather, sweat, perfumes, citrusy cleansers…and sex. In BDSM clubs where sex wasn’t permitted, that heady fragrance would be absent.
Not all clubs held the enticing smell of leather, either. But, here, Z had filled the place with expensive leather furniture and hung a myriad of floggers and whips on the walls.
Unfortunately, although the smell was right, the Shadowlands didn’t feel the same. It took him a while to identify the subtle difference.
The sense of community had disappeared.
Why? Was it something Wrecker was doing?
Or was it because, as he and Nolan had discussed, most, if not all, the Masters had been absent for a month or so? Quite a few had been out of town or, like him, swamped with work. Others had taken February off after being here every weekend in January to help cover Z’s absence.
There would probably be a hell of a lot of them here tonight.
Last night with her honeymoon over, Josie had returned to her job as Shadowlands bartender—and had been appalled.
Earlier today, Holt had called everyone to share her concern at the state of the club.
Ghost would’ve been here last night if an old military buddy hadn’t arrived in Tampa. Instead, he’d given Josie and Linda a description of Valerie and asked them to keep an eye out.
Yeah, he’d been intrigued with the pretty professor, and his interest had grown with their second meeting.
She was…captivating. He did love intelligent women, ones who could stand on their own two feet. And the hints of insecurity she’d revealed made him want to scoop her up and reassure her.
Come on, Dr. Winborne. Be brave and show up tonight.
If she didn’t, they’d undoubtedly run into each other on campus. He could ask her out for coffee. She’d be worth taking the time to get to know…and patience was one of his strengths.
“Ghost. How is the evening finding you, sir?” The overly loud, edgy music playing over the speakers almost drowned out Marcus’s slow Southern drawl. Impeccably dressed in a silver-gray suit, the Master had his arm around his wife, Gabi.
Gabi smiled, but as a good submissive, she kept silent.
Betting her docile behavior wouldn’t last long, Ghost smiled back, then answered Marcus. “Actually, I’ve been unpleasantly surprised this evening. And you?”
“The same, I fear.” Marcus appraised the room, then shook his head. “We have much to discuss.”
“I plan to collect more information tonight. Let’s plan on getting everyone together.” Because it appeared they had a mess to fix.
“Agreed.”
A few minutes later, Ghost stopped when greeted by Wendy and Smith. The bulldog-faced burly trucker had a rough manner…and the sweetest submissive.
“How are you two doing these days?”
“Hauling is good.” Smith glanced around. “Club’s not doing so well, gotta say.”
The Dom and his wife tended to pop in once or twice a month for a scene but always seemed oblivious to anything else. If they were concerned, things really had gone to hell. “Can you put your finger on what’s bothering you?”
“Eh, part of the problem are the dungeon monitors the manager hired. Lazy bastards. Spend their time drinking at the bar, so shit happens.”
Ghost felt his jaw tighten. Shit happening meant scenes were going bad. People—submissives—were being hurt. Rather than cursing, he nodded. “We’re assessing what needs to be fixed. Anything else?” He looked at Wendy.
“Go on, baby. Tell him,” Smith prompted.
“We have a lot of new members, and their behavior is…” Wendy leaned against her Dom. “Master Z didn’t tolerate disrespectful submissives, but he also came down hard on Dominants who were pushy or rude. People in the club used to be polite. Respectful to everyone. That’s changed.”
Fuck. Ghost tilted his head. “I think you’ve put your finger on what’s been bothering me, too. Thank you for your honesty—and clear vision.”
Her soft smile was probably part of why the brusque trucker was so in love with her.
With a nod, Ghost continued his stroll around the room, making mental notes of what he saw.
Like the two DMs at the bar talking with Wrecker.
Ghost paused to interrupt a scene where the bottom was obviously panicking, and the newbie Top wasn’t paying attention.
A DM should have been closely monitoring the scene.
Dammit.
Z was supposed to be back any day now. But even if he showed up tomorrow, then what? Ghost shook his head. The Shadowlands owner’s clinical practice was probably screaming for his attention. He had a pregnant wife, a toddler, and they’d moved into a new home. Z wouldn’t have time to breathe, let alone deal with this mess.
Well, if nothing else, Ghost would help organize the Masters to—
“Hey, Colonel. You’re back!”
Ghost turned. “Evening, Cameron. What’s up?”
The young man approaching him was perhaps, early twenties, reminding Ghost of the soldiers he’d commanded. And he had a newer Dom’s enthusiasm. He’d mentioned how he spent all the years since puberty not understanding the urges simmering under his skin. Here, he’d found a place where he was understood.
“You’d said once you’d show me how to use a cane.”
“Of course.” Ghost eyed him. “That was a while back…”
Cameron’s expression was disgruntled. “Yeah, I’d hoped to attend a class, but there haven’t been any or even demos for maybe a month or more.”
It appeared Wrecker had abandoned the teaching Z considered to be one of the club’s main functions. Not being here, the Masters hadn’t realized. Z rarely scheduled classes—he’d simply draft whatever Master or Mistress was at hand when he wanted something taught.
Here was another way they’d let the club down.
Cameron gave him a hopeful smile. “Maybe, if you have time now…”
“Absolutely.” Ghost tilted his head. “Do you have a volunteer?”
Cameron flushed. “No. I haven’t met
many of the submissives.”
Ah. “Let’s see who we might find. How sadistic are you?”
“Uh, I like fairly hard, but not to the point of blood.”
“All right. We need one who likes some pain.” Turning, Ghost led the way to the sitting area near the bar where the unattached submissives tended to hang out in hopes of being approached by a Dom. He checked them over.
There was a nice variety of young to old, with various genders and orientations. A few nearly vanilla types. Two who wanted to be dominated, not hurt.
Three were masochists.
One called herself a pain slut. Being on the old-fashioned side, he’d never been able to embrace the term.
He glanced at Cameron. “I’d suggest the lady in the red corset. Angelica likes pain and domination both. You two might suit for a scene.”
Cameron firmed his shoulders—good lad. He was an attractive man, and the young woman brightened when he approached.
After a few minutes, they both returned to Ghost.
He smiled at her. “Did Cameron explain we’ll be using you for a lesson on caning?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Ghost went through his usual negotiations, finding out if she had any triggers, physical problems, things to avoid. From her expression, Cameron had already covered most of the questions.
The lad listened carefully, obviously adding a few more items to his own mental list of questions.
Good, this was what mentoring was all about, after all.
Taking the two over to a bondage table, Ghost pushed a box step close to the foot. “Stand on this and bend over the table, Angelica.”
Once she was situated, he let Cameron take the lead in restraints and reassurance, pleased the young man was careful about circulation and comfort. He left the woman’s thong and corset in place.
Done, Cameron returned to Ghost. “Now what?”
“Go ahead and warm her skin up. There’s no hurry—and the impact from a cane isn’t something to jump into unless punishment is what you’re after.” Ghost retreated to one side.
With more confidence, Cameron ran his hands over the submissive’s ass, working his way into a light spanking, checking in on pain levels frequently.
Ghost nodded to himself. The Dom wasn’t a newbie. Learning caning was appropriate for his skill level.
The Effing List Page 5