Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am (31 page)

The other night?

“At the club,” Gerald offered, obviously noticing her confusion.

Them?
“You’re… You do…”

Martha’s laugh sounded like…like Linda’s mother’s. “Yes, we do. We’ve been married for decades, and he’s been my Master for almost that long.”

“Decades?” Kinksters for most of their life?

Gerald gave a wheezing laugh. “We met when I wrote her a ticket for speeding, married soon after. Then we discovered the fun stuff about a decade after that.”

Linda’s mouth dropped open. “How in the world did you hear about BDSM? I mean, you were married. Did he take you to a club or something?”

“Oh my, no. Clubs like the Shadowlands were impossible to find, and heterosexuals weren’t welcome at most.” Wrinkles curved around the old woman’s smile. “A friend gave me
The Story of O
.” She tsk-tsked. “The hero showed appallingly insensitive behavior at times, but the story was fascinating. When I told Gerald, he made me read him my favorite parts.”

“She blushed with every page.” Gerald kissed his wife’s fingertips. “We experimented. Found a few people to answer questions.”

“We were delighted when Zachary opened his club. It’s pleasant knowing others in the lifestyle.” Martha patted Sam’s arm. “Do bring her to dinner sometime.” Her eyes danced. “I make a mean pot roast.”

“I’d love that.”
Jumping right into this relationship, aren’t you, girl?
She looked away and took a slow breath. She was old enough to know that loving someone didn’t mean you could live with him, after all. But everything in her wanted to go full speed ahead.

As Martha and Gerald responded to a hail from another older couple, Linda looked up at Sam. “I should be going now. I have some accounting to do.”

“Nope.” He pulled her toward the grassy dance area. “Happens I like waltzing. None of that other crap. And I got a craving to feel your beautiful tits against me. In public.” One eyebrow rose. “Especially with what you’re wearing. Got panties on under that?”

Her face warmed, and she glanced around to make sure no one was close. “Of course I do.”

“Since it’s a vanilla function, I can’t order you not to wear them.” He mercilessly pulled her against him, closer than he should for a waltz. He had a lead as strong as his attitude, and the realization gave her a quiver of appreciation.

He leaned down to murmur in her ear. “But if I find you in briefs at the Shadowlands, I’ll rip them off and whip whatever parts they covered.”

Despite the cool, high-sixties weather, heat blasted into Linda as if the weather had turned to a muggy July day. To hide her face, she pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

With a rumbled laugh, he said, “Goddamned pants weren’t tailored for a hard dick. We’re dancing till I’m presentable…or I’ll drag you into the gardens and take care of the problem in a different way.”

“Shhh. I can’t believe you talk like this.”

“Mmmmh. And I can see you’re upset.” As he spun them in a circle, he rubbed his chest against her breasts and, even through the clothing, could undoubtedly feel how her nipples had spiked.

God, I love you
. But even as she pressed closer, she knew it wasn’t something he was ready to hear. Considering his past marriage, he might never be ready.

And considering how screwed up she still was? Going slowly made far too much sense.

In the Shadowlands, Sam leaned against the bar, keeping an eye on the door. No Linda yet. His gut was coiled like a rattlesnake about to strike. Over the past couple of weeks, she’d been out of town on buying trips to restock her store. The two times she’d returned, he’d been tied up with the construction, the groves, planting.

Was she pulling away? He snorted. Men often stepped back from a relationship after a wedding, but not women. Wouldn’t that be fucked-up?

He wasn’t comfortable with how much he missed talking with her. He missed her sweet body against him in bed. Missed hearing her laugh. She’d given him her cell phone number, but damn. He wasn’t the type to talk on a phone.

“Sam.” Wearing the gold-trimmed vest of a dungeon monitor, Jake strolled up. “Z asked if you wanted to monitor the Gardens tonight.”

Linda had said she’d try to make it tonight. “Not this time.”

“Here go, boys.” Cullen handed Jake a bottled water and thumped one down in front of Sam before moving up the bar to mix a drink from the fancy-ass liquors.

“Thanks, Cullen,” Jake called. He opened the bottle and regarded Sam quizzically. “Never seen you play in the Capture Gardens.”

“Never will.” Sam studied the man. A shame it hadn’t worked out with Heather. “Served in ’Nam. I can understand the rape fantasy. Seeing it in real life left a bad taste.”

Jake lowered the bottle without drinking. “I get that. Saw the aftermath a time or two.” He paused for a moment, then said slowly, “You monitor the Gardens a lot.”

Sam shrugged. Fantasy was fine, but there wouldn’t be any
real
rapes happening on his watch.

As if Sam had spoken, Jake frowned. “Got it.” After sucking his water down, he checked his watch. “I’ll keep an eye on the Games for you tonight.”

Good man
. As the Dom strolled away, Sam watched Linda appear in the door.
And there she is
. The tightness in his shoulders relaxed.

Her black dress was midthigh—too long—but the way it clung to her ample curves left him in a forgiving mood. She was barefoot too, so Ben hadn’t approved whatever shoes she’d hoped to wear. She made it a few steps into the clubroom before the noise stopped her.

Sam grinned. Z and Jessica had returned from their honeymoon. The club had been closed for the two weeks they were gone, and now everyone was in a celebratory mood.

The music was an upbeat Lacuna Coil, making the scenes lighter than normal. The Mistress caning her blonde sub danced a few steps between each strike. Over at a suspension scene, the Dom had set the submissive to swinging in time with the music.

Linda took it in, picking up the atmosphere immediately. She bounced a little herself. To Sam’s satisfaction, when she spotted him, she headed over immediately.

When he caught her lavender-and-lime scent, he hardened. As he roused to the darker side of the Shadowlands, the beast inside him rose at the approach of its prey. A sadist’s toy.

Her pupils dilated at the look he gave her. Under her silky black top, her nipples contracted into hard spikes.

Good
. Someone wanted to play. Curving his fingers around her nape, he cupped her breast with his other hand. When his thumb circled a nipple, he saw the tension mount inside her. Damn, but he’d missed her. “I’d order you a drink, but I’d rather hurt you first.”

She looked shocked. Then red streaked her cheeks.

He kissed her lightly and whispered against her mouth, “See you cry.”

Her lips quivered under his.

“Hear you scream.”

“Oh, heavens.” Her voice was as husky as if she’d already gifted him with a few screams.

He fisted her hair, keeping her in place, then tightened his fingers on one nipple, firmly enough to hear her suck in air. As he watched, he could see how the pain slid into her like a caress.

Arousal lit her eyes and darkened her lips.

“Let’s go.” He led her through the main room, down the hallway, and into the colder, crueler dungeon room. Manacles and shackles were embedded in the rock walls. Chains hung from the dark ceiling beams. A queen’s throne near the back held a Mistress with a slave worshipping her feet. Whimpering came from a submissive on the bondage table who had a dominant couple taking turns with wax play. A thin male sub strapped in the leather sling groaned as his Dom fucked him hard.

Sam put his arm around Linda and pulled her close, studying her face. Anxiety and arousal, but no fear. She’d come a long way in trusting him. He picked a free area and yanked on the chains dangling from a heavy beam. Sturdy. Z was as careful as any Dom he’d met, but checking equipment was a habit. No submissive would suffer harm he didn’t intend to give her.

Linda’s gaze focused on the chain, and she jumped when he ordered, “Strip and kneel.”

Her sweet compliance made him smile.

“Good girl.” He really did like the submissive-masochists. And he intended to test her surrender, to push it a step further.

Her melting brown eyes showed both trepidation and need. It had been over two weeks since they’d played, since he’d hurt her. They’d both enjoy tonight.

He bent and fastened well-padded leather wrist cuffs on her with panic snaps attached to the D-rings.

Her eyes went wide, and she started to shiver. Just the way he liked his subs. Pain was meat and potatoes, but anxiety added the dessert. “Up, girl.”

She rose, moving into position slowly. Odd how a masochist craved pain yet wanted to avoid it.

He clipped her wrist cuffs to a place on the chain that would keep her steady but not up on tiptoes. Not only because she didn’t have a younger woman’s supple joints, but also because he wanted her able to wiggle her ass this time. A Velcro strap around her ankles kept her legs together and limited other mobility. Her breathing had sped up, and he took a minute to stroke her smooth back. She had the prettiest dimples on each side of her low spine. Her legs were tanned, but her ass remained a seductive white that begged for stripes.

“Relax, missy. This won’t hurt much.”

She snorted. “‘This won’t hurt much’ from a sadist is as believable as hearing a root canal is just a little uncomfortable.”

“You’re right.” He grinned and slapped her ass, leaving red handprints on the white canvas. And because he enjoyed the sound of his palm hitting skin and her sharp inhalations, he spanked her even longer. After a bit, her muscles loosened and her ass pushed back for each swat. His cock hardened, wanting to satisfy her unspoken request, but he’d wait until she was breathing in the stinging like incense.

When her skin glowed a rosy red, he decided to up her arousal. Some masochists were a straight line—pain alone. Some liked a base of pain and sex, and he loved to drive both sides of that triangle right to a peak at the top.

After pulling a stool over to her side, he donned a glove and lubed the fingers. With a hand on her belly to keep her still, he forced his slick his fingers between her ass cheeks.

“Noooooo.” Even her whining was beautifully musical.

Trying not to laugh, he pressed one finger against her anus, breached the rim of muscle, and slid in.

Her back arched in unspoken protest as she gasped.

“We’re just getting started, you know.” He emphasized the statement by sliding his free hand up to give each breast a hard squeeze. Even as she hissed a protest, her ass cheeks clenched on his hand, making him grin. He added another finger. Damn, she was tight. His dick was uncomfortable inside his leather pants.

When he moved his hand from her breasts down to her pussy, she was as slick as any Dom could want. Still seated on the round stool, he pinned her legs between his knees. Watching her face, he set his thumb over her clit and thrust two fingers into her cunt. Her asshole clenched in response around his other fingers. Circling her clit, he alternated finger thrusts between her cunt and asshole until he heard her breathing change, until he felt her leg muscles tighten as she approached orgasm.

The perfect time to add in more pain.

When he slid his fingers out, she groaned in frustration.

After disposing of the glove, Sam took a kiss, playing with her nipples at the same time. When he lifted his head, her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. Beautiful Linda.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he bent and swatted her ass. Her body tensed—no, she wasn’t in subspace yet. The beast in him loved this point, when she still felt the pain a moment before the pleasure. She was almost to the shift, after which every blow would feel good.

As guttural Lesiëm chants came from the dungeon’s speakers, Sam spanked her ass in time with the music. Undoubtedly, each swat vibrated that tender little asshole he’d just stretched.

When a few people came into the dungeon to stand by the wall and watch, Linda noticed and flushed.

Sam grasped her chin, turning her head toward him. “Attention on me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her eyes focused on him. Only him.

“That’s right, girl.” He ran his knuckles gently down her cheek. A submissive’s need to please could often override any other instinct, and Linda was deeply submissive.

And ready for more. Her breasts were puckered nicely, her cheeks flushed, lips reddened. Damn, she was pretty.

He picked up the cane from his bag and started on her ass. Eventually, he’d move around to her breasts for some fun.

SOMETIME LATER, AS Linda slid back into reality, her skin swam with lingering sensations. Her breasts ached with the most delicious burn from the light caning followed by the crop. As if in balance, her back, bottom, and upper thighs felt scalded with sublime pleasure.

Everything had felt so
good
. Her head sagged against her upraised arm; her mind as hazy as if filled with fragrant smoke that made curling tendrils in the empty space.

Time had passed. Maybe a lot. She’d gotten off twice and still wanted more. More pain, more touches.
More, more, more
. But Sam had said no—said she’d had enough. And now he flicked the crop up and down her back in mere touches of velvety pleasure rather than a conflagration. He was bringing her up slowly, barely cracking the window to reality. He was so careful of her.

And she loved him so much.

Her body throbbed, but now she could feel how the air was slightly cool against her legs. How her shoulders were starting to ache. The heavy sound of a flogger came from her right. People were talking somewhere in a low hum of conversation. She tried to raise her head and gave it up as a lost effort. Didn’t seem to matter. Everything was so comfortable. Her blood sang through her veins with lovely little surges; air flowed in and out of her lungs. What a nicely working body.

“Linda?”

“Mmmm?”