Shelby grabbed it and downed the precious liquid before giving her friend one last look.
Emory chuckled as they stepped away. “It might help your nerves, but it won’t bring you the luck you need. There is no helping the pain from my whip.”
The whip. She’d been so focused on being on display that she’d forgotten she was to be whipped tonight. Crap! How could she not remember something like that? It had taken her days to get over the spanking scene. This was sure to hurt a lot more.
Hmm…it was going to hurt again, no doubt, but maybe he’d go easy on her. Bondage had been difficult, but it showed her that BDSM was more about the mental and less about the physical. Pain wasn’t a requirement.
And Emory seemed like an easygoing guy.
He picked up some kind of whipping tool and her jaw dropped. He swung it, and it snapped in the air, cracking the stillness like thunder. He smiled and crooked his finger at her to come closer. The smile on his face was anything but friendly. He seemed more than just willing to do this for Mason. He looked eager. It was then she realized he wanted to inflict pain on her. There was a word for Doms like that. Her eyelids fluttered shut as the term filtered through her mind.
He was a sadist. A real sadist.
The crack of the whip jolted her to open her eyes and stare at him.
“Now, Shelby,” he said sternly, no longer wearing a smile.
Oh, fuck.
Mason hit the alarm on his Porsche and strode to the back entrance of the club. The meeting with their Tokyo office hadn’t lasted as long as he’d feared. In fact, it almost seemed pointless. The discussion of last month’s quarterly earnings was old news, in his opinion, and the projections for this quarter weren’t out yet. What was discussed could’ve been covered in an email or postponed until this quarter’s predictions were finished. Time was money, and that meeting had been a waste of both.
Just another example of why William needed to be removed from his position, and Mason would be damn glad when that happened. Not that he’d gotten word yet from his silent helper. He didn’t know how the man worked, and frankly, he didn’t care. As long he got him something he could use.
The club was packed, but he knew it would be. In the years since they’d opened Scene, it had grown in regular membership at a steady pace, but it wasn’t cheap. Not everybody had the cash or assets to join, so open night was always a success, regardless of the admission cost. But he wanted to consider a different business model, change the number of times they were open to the public from once a week to once a month. As long as memberships continued to increase based on previous trends, he figured they could do this next year. Limiting the number of nights they were open to the public would increase demand, so they could charge a premium for the admission to offset the loss of income from the other nights.
A scream from around the corner jolted him out of his money-making thoughts. Shelby.
He checked his watch. He was only forty minutes later than he’d planned on being here originally. He’d called Emory after he left the office, so he could start the scene. He wanted to be here for it, but knew he’d only miss a few minutes, if any. Jackson had the room booked months ago for his anniversary, and Mason wasn’t going to do anything to screw up his member’s plans. It was either start Shelby’s scene without him or reschedule. Ultimately, he knew he would be seeing her tonight anyway, and he didn’t want to risk spending more time with her than he needed to. His instincts had screamed for him to not make the call to Emory, demanding that Mason be there for every second she was with another Dom.
So he did it anyway.
When he rounded the corner and came to the roped off area where the crowed had gathered, the air locked in his lungs. Emory had her strapped to a St. Andrews cross. The costume he’d instructed her to wear had been unzipped, the top half hanging over the skirt, but she still had on an apron. Her full breasts had engulfed the top of it. Seeing her partially clothed was sexier than if she’d been completely naked.
Her head hung down, hair covering her face.
Her welt-covered back exposed.
She was fucking beautiful.
Emory swung and tagged her again, and she screamed, her hands fisted, neck corded. The silver streaks lining her face sucker punched him.
“I-I can’t,” she sobbed.
He struck her again. “The only word out of your mouth should be your safe word.” He whipped her again.
“Oh God,” she screeched.
Mason shucked his jacket as he stormed over there and tossed it to the floor. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. She needed grounding because when he’d seen her begging, she’d looked lost. This was what she needed him for. To help her accept the way of life, learn how beautiful it could be.
“M-Master,” she sobbed.
His heart seized, and he stroked her hair. “You can do it, pet.”
She shook her head. “It hurts. It hurts.”
He looked to the side at Emory and lifted a finger for him to wait. The man nodded back at him.
Mason kissed her tears as she sobbed against him, and he kept kissing her cheeks and neck, trying to soothe her, until her crying finally eased. When she took in a stuttering breath, he moved his lips to hers and claimed her mouth. It was difficult to connect with her while she was strapped to the cross, but he needed to touch her, to comfort her. As she relaxed into him, he knew he’d gotten through her haze of pain and pulled away slowly to gaze into her wet eyes.
“Tell me why it hurts,”
