She burrowed closer, her head fitting nicely in the hollow of his shoulder, and he caught the faint scent of strawberries and lemon. She was so light; he could hold her all night without a problem.
So he slid down on the couch, leaned his head back, and enjoyed the simple contentment of having a snuggly, satisfied sub in his arms.
She woke to the rumble of conversation around her, hearing men’s voices before she was quite awake. Where was she? A body shifted under her. A man’s arms were around her. She froze, her breath stopping as panic surged through her. Kyler. Memories flooded her mind, how he’d hold her lovingly after whipping her for hours.
With a thin wail, she pushed away from him, rolling off his legs, and landing on her butt on the floor. She scrambled backward, breath heaving, seeing only men’s legs around her. She’d woken to a nightmare.
“Stop.” A command.
Her muscles froze.
“Beth, look at me.”
Panting in terror, she looked up and into dark, dark eyes. Not pale blue ones.
He simply pointed to the floor beside his feet. His face showed no reaction or anger, as if subs panicked and fled from his arms every day.
Her bustier gaped open as she crawled back to him, the wooden floor hard and cold against her knees. She knelt next to his legs, keeping her eyes down. He must be furious. Her insides shook so violently that her stomach twisted, and she swallowed hard. Carefully she placed her trembling hands palms up on her thighs. She closed her eyes, tried to breathe, tried to remember where she was. Florida. The Shadowlands.
Master Nolan.
After a minute, he pressed her head against his solid thigh, letting her rest there. And he stroked her hair lightly. Little attentions, nothing special, the sort any Dom might give a sub to let her know he wasn’t upset, to let her know that he hadn’t forgotten her.
She kept her eyes lowered, blinking fast, and the conversation continued around her. Master Z’s voice. The bartender, Cullen. Another Dom…maybe Master Dan? They were discussing upcoming activities. Theme nights. The Fourth of July. The Dom’s monthly meeting at the Palms Restaurant.
“So when are you going to start having your play parties again, Nolan?” Cullen’s voice. “I’ve missed them.”
BDSM parties? At Sir’s house? As the implications of that registered, she stiffened.
And he could feel it. The hand that had been stroking her hair tilted her chin up. “Don’t worry, sugar. You’ll have fun.”
No question as to if she’d attend, just the simple assumption she’d bow to his will. He lifted his eyebrows and waited.
Here in Florida, she had never, ever done a scene anywhere but the public areas of the Shadowlands. Never dated. Never used the private rooms upstairs. Do a play session at someone’s home? She shivered. But others would be there, right? So it wouldn’t be too much different than doing a scene here in the club with others present. She wouldn’t be alone with a Dom. With him.
“Yes, Sir,” she said finally.
He nodded as if he’d known she’d comply, and yet his “brave heart” was like a splash of warmth.
But the room still felt cold, and the tremors inside her were working their way out.
His hand stilled on her hair. With a firm grip, he pulled her between his legs and wrapped the blanket around her, tucking it securely beneath her knees. His legs against her sides felt like hot iron bars.
A trainee sub appeared in response to some motion, and Sir said, “Bring me a hot chocolate.”
When the hot chocolate appeared, Master Nolan put it into Beth’s hand, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t spill. She sipped, and warmth flowed through her, heating her inside as surely as his surrounding body heated her outside. She felt enclosed and safe between his legs with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. She finished the cocoa and set her cup on the floor.
As the conversation flowed around her, she dared to rest her head against his leather-clad leg. When his hand stroked down her hair, the sigh she gave was of perfect contentment.
For this moment, this moment only, no fear intruded.
He stepped into the BDSM club in downtown Tampa, grimacing as the music of Velvet Acid Christ assaulted his ears. Two sluts, drenched in nauseating perfume, lined up behind him. As the fat one chattered away in a shrill voice, he could almost feel his favorite cane in his hands and how he’d whip it across her insipid face and split the thin tissue of her lips. Blood would splatter the wall and drip down onto the glossy pink latex corset she wore.
“Sir.”
He blinked, shook his head.
“Sir,” the doorman repeated, holding his hand out for the fee and shoving a clipboard forward. “Sign here, please.”
He scrawled his name,
She might be clever enough to use an assumed name. Anger coiled in his stomach, a growing monster biding its time before bursting free. He’d given her his name, one of respect and dignity. If she’d abandoned it as easily as she’d rejected his home-and him-her punishment would be quite severe.
Nolan had sent Beth home an hour before, her nerves obviously overloaded. She’d done better than he’d anticipated. Of course, she still didn’t trust him worth a damn. Taking a sip of beer, he twisted on the bar stool to watch the scene at the St. Andrew’s cross. A Domme was doing sensation play, running a feather up the inside of her sub’s legs. The poor guy was trembling, his shaft pointing straight up. If he got off now, his cum would probably hit the ceiling.
Nolan grinned. Mistress Anne would have locked that cock in some metal cage and added weights. Amazing what a difference there could be between Dommes.
And that brought his thoughts back to Beth and the Doms she’d known. He understood her wariness. After her experiences, she wouldn’t trust
That little sub was definitely a piece of work. He scratched his jaw. On a work site, cement trucks tended to empty unused dregs on the ground, sometimes right in the way of something else. So the crew had to shatter the heavy concrete mass and then dig it out. What tools could he use to break up the ugly mass of memories in Beth’s mind? It wasn’t going to be easy or quick.
Holding his beer, Nolan wandered through the room. This late at night, the club was quieter, although most of the stations were still occupied. At the stockade, a burly gay Dom in biker leathers paddled a willow-thin sub who groaned with every slow stroke.
Farther down, at the lacing table, a Domme indulged in wax play with an older blonde whose breasts were covered with white streaks. The sound of the sub’s moans as she approached her peak almost killed Nolan. His cock had been throbbing like a sore tooth since he’d touched Beth’s wet pussy.
Nolan turned and went the other direction, finally taking a chair near the suspension station to watch Cullen play with Sally. The trainee sub was in her mid-twenties. With a golden tan, long, curly hair the same rich brown as her big eyes, and a very soft, full figure, the sub was a pleasure to fuck. A bit mouthy, too smart for her own good, but thoroughly submissive once a Dom got past the attitude.
Totally focused, the bartender worked a flogger up and down the pretty brunette with nice rhythmic strokes, alternating the pressure, sometimes hard, sometimes soft. As Sally’s cries changed, showing she couldn’t
