If only

Fire bit into her skin. She tried to blink the tears away; the pain was coming from her heart as well as her skin. “Yes, Sir.”

After setting the paddle on the table, he rubbed her bottom. His hand felt cool against her burning skin.

With a long sigh, she let herself relax. That was it. Not so bad—except for the shame simmering deep inside her. The worry that he’d find her too much trouble.

He could easily find someone who’d work hard to please him. A good submissive.

She let out a breath. She should be relieved that this hadn’t been so bad. Not a deterrent at all. Was that good? Some submissives worried about upsetting their Doms, knowing they’d get an ass walloping nasty enough to make them think twice about—

“Up you go, sweetheart.” Vance helped her stand. Rather than pulling her into his arms for some after comforting, he rose. With a cop’s grip around her upper arm, he led her across the room to Galen.

“Warm-up finished. All yours.” Vance’s words didn’t register for a moment, not until Galen stood up.

Warm-up? That was a warm-up? And Galen would… She shrank back against Vance.

The corner of Galen’s mouth tipped up. “This is the difference between playing at the club and actually having a Dom. Your own Doms will take disobedience a bit more seriously. Because they care enough to make you obey.”

Your own Doms. The phrase ran like liquid sunshine over Sally’s soul before her mind scrambled back behind her defenses. “Are you saying you’ll beat on me because you care?”

Galen’s black gaze softened. “Actually, yes.” He stroked her cheek with his fingertips, holding her gaze with his.

Her breathing stopped. He cared. For me?

And then he took a step back. “Bend over the bed. Rest your weight on your forearms.”

Oh fuck fuck fuck. As she complied, her arms sank down into the puffy blue quilt. The bed was low, positioning her bottom higher.

“Move your feet out.”

She inched her bare feet outward. The position lowered her butt slightly but put more weight on her arms and made it more difficult to stand. More helpless.

He picked up a thin rattan cane. “All right, pet. I’m not going to count. I will continue until I think you’re properly repentant.”

“But I am. I—”

His sigh was loud. “Don’t bother to talk to me. I’m not sure you even know what true remorse means.”

The first slash of the cane struck her bottom and it hurt, blasting across her skin like fire.

No! She tried to stand and realized Vance sat at the foot of the bed. His hand curled over her nape, holding her in place.

Blow after blow smacked into her flesh with a nasty stinging pain. And suddenly, shockingly, she was crying. Hard horrible choking sobs that hurt her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t—didn’t mean to disappoint you. I’m sorry.”

“There we go.” Galen’s voice was rougher than normal, raw as the pain of her skin. “That was repentant.”

Vance released her.

Hard hands mercilessly pulled her onto a lap. Her bottom scraped on the harsh material of jeans, and she tried to jump up—and was pulled back down, secured with muscular, adamant arms. His hand—Galen’s—tucked her head against his shoulder, holding her as she cried.

Her face pressed against his chest, wetting it with her tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

“I believe you, pet.” She felt his lips against the top of her head, and the jagged glass fence around her heart began to thaw.

His scent, masculine and rich, wrapped around her, confirming his presence with each breath she took. As the burning subsided, she could feel, even more than his strength, the controlled gentleness with which he held her. How his hand cupped the back of her head. His slow breathing. His patience.

Gradually her crying changed to hiccupping sobs.

Vance sat on the bed and took her hand. “All done, Sally.” He stroked her head and tried to release her hand, but her fingers closed around his.

Stay. Somehow she needed him there—both of them. Their presence was as comforting as having a man in the house if opening the door after dark. Knowing, despite the monsters in the night, that they’d keep her safe.

GALEN FELT THE tightness in his chest ease as Sally clung to him. A true submissive, she wasn’t fuming at her punishment but had let the tears wash away her shame and free her from guilt.

When he checked Vance, his partner made a small rotation of his shoulder. No trouble interpreting that unhappy movement.

Galen too, had been surprised at how long it had taken to break through her defenses. This one didn’t cry easily. And he hadn’t liked administering the last few strokes needed to push her there. He liked erotic pain—and maybe a touch beyond—but this had gone past his comfort level.

But apparently she’d forgiven them both, and damn, she was wonderful to hold.

As Sally’s breathing evened out, Vance rummaged through the fridge to get bottled waters. He drank one and set Galen’s on the table. After handing Sally one, he plucked her out of Galen’s arms and sat down with her on his lap.

Galen nodded approval and rose. She’d need Vance’s arms around her during the next phase. Meantime, he circled the room, drinking his water, stretching out his leg…and formulating his strategy.

She’d finished drinking by the time Galen took the bottle from her. She gave him a wary look. Smart little submissive.

Galen moved the chair to the bed, straddled it, and leaned his arms on the back. “Interesting man, your father.”

She flushed.

“You know, my parents are almost as uncaring as he is,” Galen said lightly. Even as a teen, he’d compared his parents to frozen fish. Vance’s family had shown him how much he’d missed.

Sally frowned at him. Her color had returned to normal, although her eyes were still reddened. “My father isn’t—”

Vance squeezed her in warning.

She closed her eyes for a second. “Yes, my father is cold.” She reached out to touch Galen’s hand. “I’m sorry if your parents are too.”

There was that compassionate heart he’d seen before. The little brat had a generous spirit. “How did your father punish you when you messed up?” The bastard hadn’t let her have pets. This evening, he’d edged into what Galen would consider verbal abuse. How far had he gone with a child?

As she stiffened, Vance combed her hair with his fingers, saying, “Now my dad was a firm believer in spankings, but my mom preferred time-outs. Personally, I’d rather be spanked than be stuck inside all afternoon.”

Good guy; bad guy. If Galen couldn’t scare a perp into talking, Vance’s sincerity often lured the answers out.

“He usually sent me to my room.” Her expression darkened, like ink spilled into clear water.

Galen felt his instincts twang.

“Without supper?” Vance asked lightly. Over her head, his worried gaze met Galen’s.

“Huh. At least.” She turned her head into Vance’s chest.

At least? Galen controlled his voice, keeping it even. “How long did he usually leave you there, Sally?”

“Oh, just till the next day.” Despite her efforts to make the words flippant, the strain—and hurt—came through. “I’d get to come down to breakfast.”