She had one last question. “Did your wife do all right once you let her go? After being a slave, could she still function?”
The humor returned to his face. “Because a woman places her power in my hands doesn’t mean she’ll give it to anyone else. My wife was CEO of her own company. She ripped young executives apart without ever raising her voice.”
Wow. That was… He was screwing with all her preconceptions. Pretty rude. “And your first slave?” Slave—the word sickened her.
“She makes an excellent living as a real estate agent, specializing in million-dollar-and-up properties.”
Not comforting to know he apparently had liked being a master and having a slave. But, oddly enough, it was reassuring that two women had willingly given themselves over to his care…without being kidnapped. Sold. “They cooked and cleaned your house too?”
“No, gatita, that’s what housekeeping services are for. I only assigned you those responsibilities since you have nothing else to do. As it happens, I enjoy cooking and will take a turn on weekends, as I used to do.” Amusement danced in his eyes. “And when I didn’t want to cook, then my slave did, wearing only an apron. As will you.”
Oh boy.
“Now, fetch the book you were reading earlier, and you may join me on the couch.”
When she came back with her book, he didn’t look up, just murmured, “Remove your shirt and bra first, please.”
She stared at him.
He turned a page.
She’d agreed to this. He hadn’t wanted her to do it. But clothes were a…a defense. Her own kind of chain mail. I don’t want to.
He appeared so relaxed, his attention on his reading. Another page turned.
Swallowing down tears, she pulled her T-shirt off, then her bra, and stood waiting.
He looked up then. His gaze ran over her, nothing in his expression except approval at her obedience. “Good, gatita. You took a big step. Now come and sit beside me.” He patted the couch.
She sat gingerly beside him, stiffly upright until he pulled her to his side. Her fingernails dented the cover of the book as she waited for the inevitable groping, the attack…
His heavy arm settled on her shoulders, and his fingers curled around her upper arm. He shifted, settling her against him more comfortably, and then picked his magazine up.
After a minute or two, he sighed. “A slow breath, please, Kimberly. You are not running a race.”
Oh. Her pulse pounded, but she managed to even out her breathing, from racing to maybe a jog. After another minute, she lifted her book. The room was cool enough that where his body touched hers felt…nice, warm against her bare skin. His hand occasionally stroked her arm.
Another minute or two, and she actually read a few of the words in her book.
When the little subbie leaned against him in earnest, her head nodding, Raoul sighed. He’d known this would be difficult for both of them. He hadn’t realized how terrifying it would be as well. He’d dealt with emotional trauma before, since scenes tended to open a submissive to bad memories, and it was a rare human who reached adulthood without picking up a problem or two.
But she’d experienced way too much trauma, too recently. Even worse, much of her turmoil was related to being enslaved, and everything he did would bring back those memories.
This wasn’t going to be easy. During the afternoon while Kimberly napped, Raoul had a conference call with her counselor, Gabi, and Z, the owner of the Shadowlands BDSM club. Since Z was also a psychologist, he knew the emotional problems associated with the lifestyle.
Gabi, Z, and Faith had all had qualms over what might happen, but also some hope. The counselor thought patients with PTSD did better if they learned what caused their panic attacks and had help working through them. Gabi agreed and said that, in her experience, having a purpose—like defeating the slavers—was a strength and spur to confronting fears.
Unfortunately, they also agreed this FBI operation was moving too fast, especially since Kimberly would have to face the Overseer again.
Raoul sighed. He not only couldn’t protect her, but would, in fact, often be the one giving her nightmares. Yet this was what she’d chosen, so they had to make the best of it.
He shook her lightly. “Kimberly, it’s time for bed.”
She jerked away, the blank panic on her face tightening his throat.
“Easy, gatita. You’re safe.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Bed. Right. Okay.”
He cleared his throat.
“I mean, yes, Sir.” She hadn’t cringed this time, and the way she peeked out from under her long black eyelashes made him grin as he helped her to her feet and up the stairs. Resilient little chica, wasn’t she?
Bed. Dios, another problem. He’d have to do this in stages as with everything else. He let her go to her bedroom but waited in the hallway until he heard her return from her bathroom. The bed squeaked. He tapped on the door.
Her sharp inhalation sounded clearly. “Y-yes?”
“Open the door, please.”
“Oh God,” she whispered. The door opened. When he saw the terror in her wide eyes, he almost gave up then and there. But she possessed more courage than he did, and after a hard breath, she lifted her chin. “I bet I’m losing my bedroom, aren’t I?”
The lump in his throat made his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, but I think it best.” She nodded, and her mouth firmed. Her hands fisted with her struggle to step forward.
So brave. He moved close enough to rub his hand over her lower back. Soft cotton pajamas. Comics, no less. Had Gabi chosen them? “I see Wonder Woman looks worried also.”
Kimberly gave him a confused look, so he ran a finger over the graphic at her waist. With her surprised laugh, the tight muscles under his fingers eased. For the moment.
In the master bedroom, he motioned to the bed. “Tonight, you may leave your nightclothes on. Tomorrow, you will wear nothing to bed.” He paused. “What do you say to me?”
She swallowed. “Yes, M-master.” Another hesitation before she jumped up and onto the high bed. Raoul had bought it because it was the perfect height to take a submissive leaning over the bed. Not a fact he’d share with her.
Kimberly buried herself under the covers.
In his bathroom, he cleaned up and donned a loose pair of cotton pants. After flipping the bedroom lights out, he joined her in the bed. Curled into a defensive ball, she was a huddled mass of misery, watching every move he made. She’d never get any sleep that way.
He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. Would Z’s suggestion work? “On a scale of one to ten, how frightened are you?”
Kim frowned. The moonlight streamed through the balcony doors, a pathway of light, falling over Master R’s face. No lust, no anger. He simply watched her with those quiet, steady eyes. She was grateful for how her loose hair fell forward and screened her face. “When my mom had surgery, they had her rank her pain that way. You want me to use the numbers for how scared I get?”
“You will do so, yes.” He reached out as carefully as if she were a wild animal and, using one finger, pushed her hair out of her face, behind her ear.
So much for her shield. She barely kept from glaring at him.
His firm lips curved slightly. “You will not hide from me, gatita.” He gave her hair a tiny tug. “So. I think you will show me your scale with your fingers. One finger tells me you are fine; all ten fingers extended means you’re going into a panic attack. Use this starting now, so when we…entertain…you will not have to think, and we’ll have worked out the best response.”
“Response?”
“Yes. If you get to—we’ll say seven for now—I’ll stop and hold you until you are steady again.”
“I—” His plan shouldn’t sound good at all, yet it did. Knowing he wouldn’t ignore her fears helped. And she’d already learned he had a comforting hug. “Sounds good.” He deserved more than that. “No, it helps…M-master. It helps a lot.”
He tsk-tsked and ran a finger over her cheek. “There will come a time when your tongue does not stumble over the word.”
She sincerely doubted that, and her doubt probably showed in her face since he grinned, that mesmerizing flash of white against his bronzed skin. “Do you usually sleep on your left or right side?” he asked.
“Huh?”
Silence.
Darn it. “On my right. Sir.” Especially after she got stabbed when her left ribs had been so tender. When his hand closed on hers, she realized she was tracing the wound.
“The right. Then turn over,” he said. Ordered.
Her body stiffened until she felt like an unbending board as she rolled onto her right side. No. Oh no.
His arm slid under her head as he pulled her against his body, spooning around her. His bare chest warmed her back, his groin—and a thickening erection—pressed against her bottom. Her breathing hitched. No, oh God, please no. I can’t. She couldn’t move, as if whatever she did would incite him to attack.
A laugh rumbled through his chest. “No sex, Kimberly. However, before the Overseer visits, you must be comfortable with me touching you. And so your lesson is merely to accustom yourself to my arms, to being against me.” A pause. “You will sleep better if you are not so tense though.”
An awkward gasp jolted from her. As if she could control that?
“Breathe when I do.”
The man was breathing way too slowly. But she tried.
A minute later, he said, “Very good. Now think about your toes. Relax the muscles in them. Let them go limp.”
Toes? Get real. But he was being so kind. No sex. She wiggled her toes to remind herself where they were, to take her attention from the huge thing pushing against her bottom. Toes. Then she let them still, relax.
“Good girl. Now your lower legs—ankles and calves. Let the tenseness drain out onto the mattress, onto the floor. The bed will hold you up.”
The exercise had her attention now. Right ankle. Left ankle.
“Good. Feel how heavy your legs are, how they sink down into the mattress.”
By the time he reached the top of her head, she was just awake enough to feel a gentle kiss on her hair, the soft exhalation of his breath, the firm arm holding her against him. And she let herself fall into sleep.
Chapter Five
Raoul woke, feeling the pressure of time. The auction, according to the Feds’ best guess based on their tracking of kidnapped women, would be in about three weeks. Sam needed to be referred before then and in enough time to get approved. When the Overseer made his follow-up visit, Kimberly needed to be well into the slave mindset, comfortable with him touching her body, comfortable with submitting to his will. If the Overseer had doubts, Sam’s referral would get nowhere.
At least, Kimberly wasn’t an inexperienced submissive, even if she’d never gone further than light erotic submission.
He smiled, inhaling the faint citrus scent of her hair, the fragrance of her feminine musk. But no perfume of arousal filled the air.
Kimberly was solidly asleep, her arms curled around his forearm like a stuffed toy, and… He frowned, realizing his hand had cupped her right breast during sleep. No, Sandoval. He released her—regretting the loss of the soft roundness in his palm—closed his fingers, and resettled his hand between her breasts. His cock ached like a torn muscle, and he sighed. This was going to be a long few weeks. And a very long morning.
At least they’d both slept well. Her shivering had woken him once, but he’d been able to soothe the nightmare away before it took her over. Better than the first night when her gutwrenching screams had dragged him from sleep. So much pain yet willing to face the Overseer, to save the other women. Her courage awed him.
He squeezed her slightly. “Kimberly, time to get up.”
Her arms tightened around his, and her breasts enclosed his hand in softness.
“Dios,” he said under his breath. He pulled away slowly and slid out of the bed.
She muttered and woke, pushing herself to sit in the bed, frowning at him.
“Sorry, chica, but I have work to do, which means you get up also.”
Her frown deepened.
“Use the bathroom to take care of business and brush your teeth, then call me.”
She was wide-awake at that point, fear edging into her eyes. But she didn’t argue, just moved into the bathroom.
He entertained himself by picking out the clothes she’d wear today.
A few minutes later, she reopened the door, and he walked in.
After removing his loose pants, he stepped into the walk-in shower and turned on the water. The dark green tile steamed up immediately. Turning, he motioned her in. Her hands fisted at her sides, and she’d started to tremble.
“Show me a number,” he said firmly, snapping her out of panic before it could take hold.
Oh God, he was naked. And fully erect, his cock huge and pointing toward her like a weapon. Her gaze dropped away immediately.
He’d rape her now… Then Kim heard his voice, and a second later the words registered. A number. Ten, twenty, a hundred! With the exaggeration, her brain clicked back on. He wasn’t hurting her. Not even touching her. Really, she’d been more scared than this, hadn’t she? Yes. And she was with Master R, not…a monster. With the thought, the fear edged down further, and she forced her hands open to show him six fingers.
“Good. You did very well at making yourself think.”
The approval in his voice warmed her far better than the steam from the shower. She forced herself to lower her head and wait for his command.
“Look at me, gatita. This morning, you may remain in your pajamas…although you will join me in here. Today you bathe me.” Silence.
Relief eased her breathing.
“Tomorrow we bathe each other. Understood?”
A reprieve, not a stay of execution. But it still helped. A lot. “Yes. Yes, M-master.”
He snorted. “If you are with me long, I will begin to spell Master with two M’s.” He held out his hand. “Come, chiquita. Wash me so I can get some real work done today.”
The brisk tone had her moving forward. His blunt fingers closed around hers, pulling her under the water. Warm spray soaked her pajamas, and they clung to her skin, hiding very little. He said nothing, simply handed her the soap and turned his back.
Well, okay. She worked up some foam and started. Impossibly wide shoulders, down the muscled planes of his back. Skip over his butt. His thighs were as thick as her waist, with light coarse hair. His ankles and feet solid. She stepped back—the metallic taste had disappeared from her mouth—and looked at him. There was nothing graceful about this man; he was sheer blunt power and strength.
His ass remained…and he didn’t turn around. She eyed the soap. “Um…”
“All of me, Kimberly.”
Dammit. Biting her lip, she washed his tight buttocks and between. So intimate, touching him there. “T-turn, M-master.”
His laugh echoed through the shower. “Is this going to give you a permanent stutter?” When he faced her, she could see the amusement in his eyes. Her tenseness retreated a step. At least until his erection bumped her stomach. She jerked back so quickly her feet skidded.
His firm grip on her arm held her up, but he released her as soon as she caught her balance.
“Wash my face, please,” he said gently, the command forcing her to pay attention. The understanding in his expression made tears burn in her eyes.
“Yes, Sir.” She soaped over his forehead, the hard cheekbones, and the blunt angle of his jaw. His morning stubble rasped her fingers. “Rinse, M-master.”
He stepped under the spray and back, wiped his eyes, and stood quietly as she soaped his corded neck, the steely muscles of his arm, tracing the line between biceps and triceps, his thick, powerful wrists. After washing each broad palm, she worked on his fingers, scrubbing thick calluses and short fingernails.
She soaped the soft black hair under his arms, then the inverted triangle of dark hair over his pectorals that hid flat brown nipples. His chest was a solid wall of muscle. Mesmerized, she ran her finger across the ridges of his abdomen. Damn, a real six-pack.
“I like the feeling of your hands on me,” he said softly, unsettling her so she paused to look up at him warily. “Continue.”
She averted her gaze from his groin and washed the front of his legs, his feet, and ankles. Then… Oh God, did she have to do this? But he wasn’t touching her, grabbing her, or forcing her. A shiver ran through her as he stood in place, silently waiting.
Why did he have to be…erect? She stared at the wall, frozen.
“Chiquita,” He lifted her chin. “You are learning to control your fear. In exactly the same way, an honorable man will control his lust. My body desires you, yes. Any living man would, and I’m not dead, after all.” A smile flickered over his lips. “But my body doesn’t get everything it wants, or we’d still be asleep in bed, no?”
The logic made sense. He’d rather have slept in but didn’t. He’d rather…fuck…her, but wouldn’t. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome. Now wash me so I can begin work, and you can take your own shower.”
Wash his cock. Got it. No problem. She looked down and gasped. How had she missed seeing that? “You have a piercing.”
He chuckled. “So I do.”
Oh wow. A silvery barbell with a ball on the top of his shaft went straight through to underside of the head. Straight through. “Didn’t that hurt?”
“A bit.”
Uh-huh. A bit.
He clucked his tongue. “Kimberly? You’ve been given a task.”
Right. Although her fear had eased, worry constricted her chest. His cock was almost the same color as his skin, thick and long with a slight bend to the left. She gave him a quick glance as she touched it, tensing, half-expecting him to grab her and… But he just watched her calmly with a small smile. Her soapy hand slid around his shaft, slickly up…and she brushed over the metal on the tip. Circled it with a finger, then did the one on the underside. How would those feel…inside?
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