If only

Someone pulled her headphones off. Lifted her blindfold. Galen stood above her.

She tried to close her eyes, but he gripped her chin. “Look at me, pet.”

Vance’s tongue skittered across the top of her clit, and he slid two fingers inside her. Three fingers. Stretching and pressing, thrusting in and out. Pushing her toward the top. His tongue never stopped.

Her breath caught as Galen’s burning eyes kept her pinned to his gaze, and she felt the surge as her moorings broke loose, as her climax threw her into the riptide.

Somehow Galen was in there with her, pushing past her defenses to see who she was.

She shuddered and, as she came down, tried to turn her head.

“Not yet, pet,” Galen murmured, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “I like that you can’t hide from us. Not when you come.”

She couldn’t look away, was held by his gaze, his voice, his hand as her being dissolved.

“Shhh.” The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened with his smile. “Relax for a minute.” He kissed her lightly. Lingeringly. His spicy, masculine scent wrapped around her.

When he moved away, she felt the invisible restraint of his determination snap.

As Galen released the straps, Vance took his place, laying his big hand along her face. His eyes were dark, deeper than sky blue. His light brown hair angled past his broad cheekbones to end slightly below his collar. “Pretty Sally,” he murmured and kissed her, slowly, surely, coaxing a response she didn’t want to give.

Smoothly, Vance pulled her to a sitting position. The straps were gone. His arm braced her, and he fondled one breast, almost absentmindedly. “Blanket?” he said to Galen.

Blanket. Like for aftercare? She shook her head. “No. I don’t need— My dress is there. I need to get back to work.” Surely they wouldn’t know she’d finished her trainee’s shift.

Galen pulled a blanket from the white cupboard over the sink. His displeased stare shut her up. “You’ve already worked your stint, and I find your attempts at prevarication annoying.”

Oh poop and shit and crap. Her chin lifted. Too bad for him that she annoyed him. “I don’t need any aftercare. Not for this kind of scene. And I don’t want you to touch me.” She gripped Vance’s wrist and tried to push him away.

“I like touching you, and since I’m the Dom and you’re the trainee, guess who gets what they want?” Vance didn’t move. “You’re with us because you fucked up, Sally. Maybe the club members got a treat, but this demonstration happened because Z thought you needed a lesson.”

She waited until her voice would emerge without quavering. “I understand. Lesson learned. I’m sorry, Sir, and I won’t do that again.”

“Good to know.” Vance had seemed the more even-tempered of the two, but boy, he changed when he was pissed off. His square chin looked like a chunk of granite. He still didn’t move.

Instead Galen came to stand in front of her. Although the sympathy he’d shown her before was gone, he wasn’t furious like Vance. He looked as if nothing would upset his confidence. His black hair in a conservative business cut wasn’t mussed. No wrinkles showed in his black shirt or slacks. Totally in charge.

The assholes. She never had any trouble with scenes until the Feds showed up. They made her feel stupid. As if she didn’t have any say over what was going on. Which seemed strange, because she wanted to give up control, but not to them. The other Masters, yes, but not to these two.

Two. Maybe she could deal with one—although she’d begun to wonder about that—but both of them? She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

Gregorian chants drifted in from the main club room. Sweat was cooling on her body, and a trickle ran down the hollow of her back. Vance stood close enough she caught whiffs of his aftershave. Old Spice maybe. The one that smelled like the outdoors with sex added. He shouldn’t smell so good; one more strike against him.

Against them both. Galen wore something rich. Amber and sandalwood. Damn them.

Okay. She pulled in a breath. “I apologized to Casey and you. I did as you asked for my punishment.” Her voice came out level and reasonable. She couldn’t help the way her teeth clenched before and after.

“You aren’t a new trainee, pet,” Galen said. “Surely you’ve learned honesty is integral to a BDSM scene.”

“Yes. I know. And I messed up.”

He pinned her with those dark eyes again. “I’d like to hear why you weren’t honest.”

The two of them kept backing her into a corner, and she scrambled for a way to escape. One came to mind: fight back. “You’re not my Dom. Neither of you. I didn’t negotiate with you for a scene, and I wouldn’t have volunteered to do this.”

Vance narrowed his eyes. “You feel you didn’t earn it?”

“I did, but the punishment is over now. And I don’t know you. Or trust you enough to want to talk to you.” That was a hit. As new Masters, they probably wouldn’t push a trainee—and they were digging deeper than the others ever had. “I have some say in who I want to work with.” Kind of. Unless Master Z stepped in.

“Sally—”

She jumped off the table. “Thanks for the lesson. Sirs.”

* * *

In his New York condo office, Drew Somerfeld frowned at the e-mail from one of his managers. What the hell? Two of the women chosen for his Harvest Association summer auction had disappeared before they could be abducted.

Suddenly. Without any advance notice to their family or employers.

Could they have been warned?

He uncurled his fingers and forced them flat on the black desktop as he considered possible reasons. Complications. What his next step should be…

Perhaps one of the contract agents had talked or been compromised. The overseers occasionally hired less than ideal individuals, after all. Kidnappers weren’t exactly at the top of the character charts.

He’d have to play a wait-and-see game for now. Meantime, he’d put in an order with a different manager. He not only needed more women for the auction, but Ellis had used up his slave when he’d slaughtered that cop. His twin needed to be rewarded for his excellent work—and his favorite bonus was a new slut to play with.

A shame Ellis went through them so fast.

Chapter Four

Sally parked at the side gate of the Shadowlands, turned off the car, and wearily leaned her head back against the seat. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to meet Jessica and a couple others for the afternoon. She was seriously short on sleep.

Why the punishment demonstration would give her nightmares all week, she didn’t know. Or perhaps the cause was the poor police officer that the Harvest Association had killed? She’d been unable to keep from watching the funerals for him, his wife, and her mother. At least he hadn’t left little children behind—but his boy and girl were about Sally’s age.

Damn the Association. According to their e-mails, they were still planning an auction. She’d sent a warning to the New York police about another woman targeted for kidnapping. Hopefully the cops weren’t blowing off her information.

This Robin Hood business wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Since she’d be working as a trainee tonight, she picked up her diet soda and finished off the last few sips. Come on, caffeine.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. After a glance at the display, she accepted the call. “Hi, Father.”

So stiff a word. Father. Back before she was ten, she’d called him Dad. But then her mom died and the world changed. Darkened.

She shook her head at the maudlin thought. Gonna get all self-pitying now? But…it was true. That year, the sky over the cornfields had seemed to turn from an Iowa royal blue to a cold gray.