To Command And Collar

He stopped, oh God, he stopped and was stroking away the hurt, his hand tender on her burning flesh. “Very good, sumisa mia.” As tears streamed down her face, he helped her to her feet and pulled her onto his lap. Pressing her face against his chest, he held her firmly, engulfing her in security.

Her pain had changed to mere throbbing, but she couldn’t stop crying. What was wrong with her? Tears and choking and then…her worries dissolved. The noise and tension inside her receded with the tide, leaving only clean emptiness behind.

She lay still, lulled by his heartbeat, not wanting to move. After a while, she took a long breath. Another. The tight band around her chest had gone, washed away with the storm. She sniffled and lifted her head, felt the chair turning. A tissue was pressed into her hand.

She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and with a sigh of regret, pushed to a sitting position to toss the Kleenex in the wastebasket. Her cheeks were probably all purple, her eyes puffy and red. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop crying.” Feeling humiliated, she dared a look.

“I know. That was the point.”

She frowned at him. “You spanked me so I would cry?”

“Si, sumisita.” He kissed the top of her head. “Pain can be used for several purposes.” She heard the note that came into his voice when he was instructing. Not like her pompous professors-maybe this stupid person can be taught-Master R had an undertone of gentle humor as if to lure a person into learning. “As you know from the clubs, pain can be erotic.” He pulled her against his chest, and she snuggled closer with a sigh of content. Just listening to him and being held was sheer heaven.

“Or used to punish,” he continued. “But some people bottle up their feelings, their worries, fears, emotional pain. If they are physically hurt enough to make them cry, then sometimes the crying serves for the emotional pain as well. They can release it all.”

Bottle it up? Me? Well, maybe. She lived enthusiastically, but her inside feelings were her own. Sharing emotional problems was…not her thing. The counseling sessions had been difficult, even with Gabi. She inhaled slowly, savoring the scent of soap and man. Maybe she did suppress things a bit. Her father had wanted perfection, not emotions. “A Moore doesn’t show fear.” “Stop that bawling. It didn’t hurt that bad.” “That’s lousy. It looks like a five-year-old did it.” “You can do better than that.”

Like her mother, she’d learned to bury her feelings. The counselor had disapproved. Kim snickered.

“Share that thought.”

“Faith told me I bottle stuff up and need to learn to let it out. Maybe I’ll teach her to spank her clients.”

He laughed. “This is, perhaps, more direct than she’d like.” He sat Kim up so he could frown at her. “I expect you to learn how not to reach this point. And we, you and I, will work on you sharing those emotions before you need to be hurt to get them out.”

His smile creased his cheek. “Write about it in your journal-and starting today, you will again fill a daily page to share with me.”

Hell, back to doing homework. But, okay, so maybe she’d missed their bedtime chats when they’d talk about what she’d written for him to read. Long-term boyfriends, even her fiance, had never known her as well as Master R did now.

“That reminds me-I want you to start practicing the dances you learned. Show me one before bed tonight.” He nuzzled her hair and murmured, “If it is adequate, I will take you and please us both. If not, I’ll beat on you first for a while and then take you anyway.”

She gave a sigh of utter content and leaned back on his chest. “Yes, Master.”

Chapter Twelve

Black clouds blocked the late-afternoon sun as spatters of rain hit the windshield. Kim grabbed the seat belt as a gust shook the car, and debris swirled across the tiny country road. “I didn’t notice how isolated the Shadowlands was last time.”

“It was dark,” Master R said. “And you were busy worrying.”

“Well. Yeah.” Her brows drew together as she stared through the rain at the palmettos and swamp. “How many members do you lose to alligators?”

“None, except for the occasional smart-ass subbie who we toss to them for their supper.” He turned between open iron gates, drove up the long, palm-lined drive, and parked in the lot adjacent to a six-foot wooden fence. “Let’s make a run for it, gatita.”

An umbrella wouldn’t have helped, considering half the rain was traveling sideways. They ran through the gate into a huge landscaped yard.

Ten or so people congregated under the covered, screened lanai, watching the storm. The FBI agent, Vance Buchanan, and a black-haired man with an olive complexion sat at a table. The rest were in chairs around a long oak coffee table.

“’Bout time you got here,” came a yell from the giant bartender from the Shadowlands. More greetings followed, a hash of male and female voices.

When Kim stopped, overwhelmed at being the center of attention, Master R pulled her next to him as if to remind her she had support. After a second, she realized she’d met most of them. By the coffee table was the bartender, Cullen. Next to him were Gabi and Marcus. When Gabi tried to get out of Marcus’s lap, he wrapped his arm around her, keeping her in place. She rolled her eyes and gave Kim a smile of welcome.

Kari sat beside her husband, looking even more pregnant than before. She grinned and waved, not attempting to get out of the chair. Next to her was Master Z and then the meanestlooking man Kim had ever seen.

Master R nodded toward the men at the table. “Do you remember Vance from the FBI?”

Her stomach tightened at the reminder of why they were meeting today. “Unfortunately, yes.”

She got a nip on the neck. “Until you move from under my roof, sumisita mia, you will observe respect.”

His submissive. An unsuspected knot in her stomach loosened. “I’m sorry, Master. Yes, Sir.”

The stranger at the table regarded her with eyes even darker than Master R’s. The man’s white button-down shirt didn’t hide his lean musculature, but he was smaller than the other FBI agent who was built like a Viking warrior. Yeah, she could see Vance leaping off a boat, heavy axe in his grip, or-with a name like Buchanan-maybe wearing a kilt and swinging a claymore.

The dark-haired man rose and walked over, leaning on a cane. “Ms. Moore, I’m Galen Kouros. We talked on the phone a few days ago, but it’s nice to see you in person. Vance and I are in charge of this investigation.” After a glance at Master R, he offered his hand.

“I’m glad to meet you, Agent Kouros.”

“It’s Galen.” He kept her hand in his for a minute as he studied her. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you had to endure what you did, but I’m pleased you’re looking so well.”

“Thank you.” Wow. Actual pleasantries. And everyone wore casual clothing with no collars, no BDSM equipment, no floggers in sight. Being in the normal world seemed unreal.

Galen gave her fingers a squeeze, smiled at Master R, and limped back to the table. Although polite, he was as intense in person as he’d been on the phone.

“Everyone here is either FBI or Shadowlands Masters and submissives,” Master R said in her ear. “Since Kari’s husband Dan is a cop, Galen asked him to help with coordinating the raid.”

Dan’s gaze moved over her in a lingering look, as if the cold-faced cop was memorizing her. He nodded but stayed beside his wife.

Master Z said something to the others and then crossed the patio. He glanced at Master R, then held his hand out to her.

Her fingers were in his before she had a second to think. Damn. Like Master R, the man simply exuded power.

“It’s nice to see you again, Kimberly.” His gray eyes held hers for a moment, then narrowed, and he gave Master R an unreadable look before smiling slightly. “I can tell you and Raoul are…getting along. You look good together.”