“The Overseer was there. They made him take me back.”
“Pobrecita,” Master R murmured.
Too tired to be afraid, she laid her cheek against his soft shirt. Beneath the thick muscles of his chest, his heart beat slowly, evenly, his breathing pulling hers into a matching rhythm. Under the influence of the even pace, she found her voice again. “The Overseer was furious because he said I was damaged, but he gave them a refund since Lord Greville’d brought in a lot of referrals. One of the Overseer’s slaves sewed me up, and I didn’t do anything for a while. After the stitches came out, I helped out in the kitchen for another week. And learned to dance.”
“No hospital?”
She managed a laugh. “Hardly. Although I got antibiotics. I think they were for dogs from a feed store.”
“Well, I see why you were a bargain,” he said, breaking up her thoughts. “Almost killing your owner would definitely lower your value.” He tapped a finger on her nose. “Good job.”
She blinked, startled. A trickle of warmth crept into her at the open approval in his voice.
“Aside from being kidnapped, which would leave you insecure, most of what terrifies you happened at this Greville’s house? Rape, cage, beating. The way they treated you, being called names-you feel as if they’re right? That you’re what they called you?”
Why did it help when he…listed…things? Because it sounded like a set of problems she could deal with instead of an overwhelming chasm she’d fall into? “I… Yes.”
“Mmmmh. You get counseling already. I’ll add in some self-defense, so if you have to stab someone, you’ll do a better job.” He waited for her nod. “Getting over being raped will take time, but since you’re here in my arms, it might not be the worst of your problems. But you suffered enough that things will set you off. Unless your counselor says otherwise, we’ll stop, go through your fear so you handle it, and if possible repeat the trigger until it doesn’t work any longer.”
Maybe she could survive. Except… “Not the cage.”
He shook his head. “No, that one is for your counselor to deal with. You and I will stick with what causes you problems in your slave training.”
Slave. The word made her want to retch. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will, chiquita.”
As his arms tightened around her, she felt fear and safety mingle inside her as she was comforted…by her
With a low groan, Raoul pushed the weight slowly upward, his arms shaking with the strain. At the top, he dropped the bar into the rack, the clank loud in his empty weight room.
As he sat up on the bench and shook out his arms, sweat plastered his tank top to his skin, and his pecs and triceps burned. His body made the shadows on the wall dance. He’d deliberately left off most of the lights, the darkness suiting his mood.
He’d managed to keep from showing his fury when Kimberly talked about her kidnapping, but,
An hour of lifting weights, of pushing himself to exhaustion and beyond, had restored his control. Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees and stared at his forearms. His skin was taut over the pumped muscles. His veins bulged. Yes, he was fucking strong.
Uselessly strong. He’d been too late to save his brother from dying in a filthy alley, too late to rescue this little slave before her abuse. Even worse, next time he saw the Overseer, he couldn’t beat him into the ground. Not yet. His jaw tightened until his teeth ground together. Hopefully later.
For now, his task was to heal the damage to Kimberly’s soul…and train her as his slave. He dropped his head into his hands, despair edging through his defenses. A slave. Here, in his house, the one he’d built after his divorce, not wanting to live with any memories of Alicia and their failed Master/slave relationship.
Now he would bring it back into his life.
Chapter Four
That evening, Raoul made Kimberly fix stir-fry while he sat on a tall chair at the kitchen island, sipping a beer. The way she moved was as beautiful as the way she danced. No motion wasted, everything in order. But the multitasking was making his head hurt. When he cooked, he’d fix one part; when it was done, he’d prepare the next. The little slave had several different preparations going on at once.
The slight smile on her face pleased him. Cooking was a comfort to her. He’d remember that.
Once the meal was on the table, he took a chair, holding up a finger to stop her before she sat down. As she stood beside the table, he helped himself to a bite. The flavors were excellent- strong and well balanced. “Very good, chiquita.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said in a distant voice. She’d withdrawn emotionally from him since their talk. He understood. He tended to do the same, but it couldn’t be permitted. If she bottled up her anger and fear, he wouldn’t be able to read her or help.
“You sound unhappy.” He rested his arm on the back of the chair, deliberately letting his gaze wander down her body, the loose blue T-shirt, the baggy shorts. She’d put her hair into a long braid, and he missed seeing it free. “I think I have been a tolerant master so far. I even let you wear clothing while you were cooking.”
When her eyes widened, he frowned. At the sale house, she’d shown skill in serving drink and food. In dancing. She’d kept her eyes down, knelt gracefully, spoken only when told. Had she received more training than that? She’d said she was left alone after her kidnapping and then was sold to a sadist to be used for whippings and sex. After her return to the Overseer, she’d spent most of the time healing.
She not only had received little training, she might have no realization at what being a true full-time submissive entailed. He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. If she hadn’t been so emotionally fragile, he’d probably enjoy this. He loved teaching.
He’d loved being a master, at least until a while after he’d married. His mouth tightened. That was in the past and nothing to be repeated.
When she took a nervous step back, he wiped the anger from his expression and his mind.
As she sat down, her face was easy to read. Yes, she had much to learn.
“There may be times I prefer to feed you myself, and then you will kneel beside me and take food from my hand.” When a shudder ran through her, he studied her for a minute, trying to read her. Too many emotions there. Fear. Disgust. But was that a hint of anticipation? “The Overseer said you were in the lifestyle before this. Do you know anything about Master/slave relationships in real life?”
“Uh, not much. I dated a few doms, but that was mostly…uh, sex. Fun. Nothing else. I always thought women who wanted to be slaves… Well, it’d be like wearing a sign that said KICK ME. It’s disgusting.” An odd combination of revulsion and pain twisted her mouth.
If she had no experience, why such disgust? From someone else’s past? “So…before all this…you liked giving up control during sex. Perhaps to completely enjoy it, you need someone else in charge?”
Her cheeks pinkened delightfully. “I guess.”
He smothered his smile. “Some women enjoy giving up control for longer periods, not just in the bedroom. There are those who find that making others happy, especially their doms, fills a different kind of need.”
From the cynical twist of her lips, he saw she stuck to her opinion: slave equaled doormat.
“A good relationship is a two-way street, gatita. Submitting and serving is equaled by a master’s need to take control, to protect, to make someone happy.”
She not only didn’t believe him, but she also dropped her gaze again, shielding herself from him. Something else he would not permit. He set his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his scrutiny, feeling the way she wanted to
