To Command And Collar

had taken Mom years to regain her independence and stop doubting everything she did. They’d both worked their asses off after he’d died, drunk, in a car wreck. The stab of pain hit her unexpectedly. His life had been the stupid trawler, and when the boat had died, so had he. Mom hadn’t been enough to live for. Neither had Kim. Hell, they were only women. Slaves.

Not slaves. Mom was an office manager at a real estate firm now, and Kim was a marine biologist. So there, Father. We’re better off without you. That hurt too. Mom should have…have left him, shouldn’t have taken his abuse.

How could a wife suffer as many restraints as a collared slave?

Kim snorted. And gee, look at me now. I’m a slave, just like you were, Mom.

When she returned to the house, Master R would put those cuffs on her wrists. And she’d feel torn. Like she wanted them. Hated them.

She sometimes hated him too, but she was starting to want him more. Need him. She worked to win his smile, loved it when he laughed.

Don’t go down that liking path, Kim. First, he was just doing what had to be done to get the slavers. Second, he’d want his girlfriend to be a slave. That’s so not me. So, Ms. Romantic, do not get attached. He’s another team member like the FBI agents. Clear?

She looked up at the house and stopped.

Master R stood at the foot of the steps to the beach, leaning back on the railing, arms crossed on his chest. Just watching her.

That was nothing new, but the way her heart leaped… Now that was a problem. Dammit, heart, didn’t we just have a talk? Weren’t you listening?

She detoured around the weathered chair on the shore and paced toward him, trying to ignore the delight fizzing in her veins like frothy surf. When she reached him, she dropped to her knees, in exactly the correct position, and bowed her head.

“ Muy bonita,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You are so very pretty.” He grasped her arms and lifted her to her feet with that effortless strength that took her breath away. “Now, I need to talk with you.”

Wasn’t that what a man said to his wife when he was going to ask for a divorce? Honey, we have to talk? She grinned. At least, not being married, she’d sidestepped that one. “Yes, Sir?”

“The Overseer called yesterday.”

“The-” Her knees buckled. He tightened his hands on her arms and held her up, his brown eyes steady on her face. A cold sweat broke out over her skin, and her heart raced until her chest hurt, hurt bad. Maybe she was having a heart attack, and her air was all gone and-

He shook her once, making her head jerk on her shoulders. “Kimberly!”

She gasped in a breath, then moaned as her eyes fixed on the house. He’d come here. Maybe he was already here. Her lungs squeezed down again.

“Look. At. Me.” Each word was accompanied by a ruthless shake.

Her gaze returned to his face.

“There. Much nicer.” He smiled, the tiny lines beside his eyes crinkling. “Did you know your nose is pink?”

“Have you gone crazy?”

“Have you gone crazy, Master.” Still gripping her arms, he bounced her, obviously testing if her legs would hold her up. “I’m perfectly sane, thank you. Kimberly, we meet him at the Shadowlands next Saturday for drinks. For a civilized conversation. He’s not going to run amok and slaughter the club members like chickens.”

His bland tone made her choke on a laugh, but she gave him a dark look. “So little you know.” Her legs started to work, and she stood under her own power.

He leaned against the railing again, clasping her waist and pulling her between his long legs as he liked to do. Why did that make her feel safe instead of trapped? His eyes were level. Intent. “There’s something else, gatita. We will do a scene at the Shadowlands. A fi-” He broke off and said, “An erotic one.”

She was the Titanic hitting an underwater iceberg. Hulled. Sinking into the freezing water. “A scene?” In front of the Overseer? The burn of anger-of betrayal-drove the ice away. She hit his wide chest, once, then over and over. “No. No. No!”

His hands were still around her waist; he didn’t move as she pounded on him.

Her fists slowed. “No,” she whispered. She’d agreed only to pretend to be his slave, not to do a scene with him. But then she saw the tightness of his jaw. Not anger-unhappiness. She pulled in a shuddering breath. “Tell me why.”

He curved his hand around her nape in support. Comfort. “During my initial interview, Dahmer said they bring in people to do scenes for the entertainment of the buyers, and I thought that might be another way to get into an auction. The night I bought you, I agreed to an audition during the follow-up visit.”

“I vaguely remember hearing you.” But she’d hurt badly enough that their conversation was a blur. Vance had mentioned it at Gabi’s house too. “There’s a waiting list though.”

He sighed. “That’s the problem. He wants someone for this coming auction. If Sam’s referral falls through, this might be the only chance to get in. I’d use an FBI agent at the auction, not you. But next weekend”-his jaw tightened-“Dahmer expects to see you.”

Me. Do a scene. With the Overseer watching.

Master R started to speak, and she pulled away. “Just…just give me a minute, okay?”

He nodded, and she walked toward the waves. A few tiny plovers skittered in front of her, their bird feet leaving shallow tracks on the sand.

Okay, Kim, put it all in order. Neatly. First, he wanted her to do the scene this weekend but wasn’t planning to make her attend the auction. Good.

The original plan had always been for the Overseer to see her. That was the point of the follow-up visit. Doing a scene with Master R wouldn’t be that different, would it?

Only he’d said erotic. That meant…his hands on her. Arousing her. She hugged herself against the cooling breeze. He’d been touching her, washing her. Intimate but never sexual. He often kissed her. I do pretty good with all that.

Actually, sometimes she almost wanted more, but then she’d freeze. Really, she just wanted to stay celibate and icicle cold for a while. A few years.

If Master R refused to audition, how could he justify it? They’d be at a BDSM club. And she’d be there. No excuse came to mind, since no slaver would care if his property had the jitters.

She scuffled the sand over her toes, letting the warmth sink into her skin. Could she do this?

Well, a lot of her fears concerned the Overseer, but she’d put those in a mental box. Stay closed, box. So what was really bothering her?

She stared at the rain clouds forming into a mass. Her nerves were because Master R would be touching her. Deliberately trying to arouse her. In front of people. The Overseer.

He’d never gone sexual on her before-what if she panicked? Let him down? It’d almost…almost be easier if he’d actually done some of that intimate stuff, like that day in the weight room. She shivered, remembering the feel of his fingers between her legs, pushing inside her. She’d been wet.

The waves lapped at her toes as she walked. She watched how the water gave way to her feet, and yet the same substance carved canyons in the earth. Strength could be found in the determination to get where a person needed to go. In just keeping on.

I need to go home, and that means I need the slavers in jail. She had to keep on.

Master R was still waiting when she walked back to him. He waited even longer for her to speak.

“I understand why we should do the scene.” She swallowed, tasting the briny air. “I’m scared I might panic.”

His eyes filled with tenderness. “Is there anything that would help?”

“I think you’d better…touch me some. Before.” Her face heated, her blush a dead giveaway as to what she meant. Six days until then. Maybe she’d be ready.

“I think you’re probably right.” His lips curved, and he stroked a finger down her hot cheek. “It will be my