Freed.
Good-bye, stiff and repressed Hunter. Sir had demolished those barricades.
“Come, kitten.”
Holding her hand, he led her to the far wall. Walking with the plug inside felt awkward initially. Soon, a twitch of arousal between her legs replaced the odd feeling.
Joe stopped before the oversized mirror she’d admired so much. He’d placed a rectangular wooden structure in front. She’d seen it the first day, but had no idea what purpose it served. The side beams with extending balance planks at the base supported the straight top. For a moment, she was reminded of the many selfies Aaron had taken in a squat machine at the gym.
The frame wasn’t too high or as wide, and much prettier. The beams and top had been carved with French baroque patterns, matching the mirror. She fit nicely inside. About shoulder height, each beam had a leather cuff dangling from a double chain. Silently, she turned to Joe.
“The chains are adjustable. Did you notice the cuffs at the bottom?”
Hunter had been so absorbed in the ornate carvings, she’d missed the lower pair. “No, Sir.”
Clasping her shoulders, he guided her to the center of the frame. “For this type of activity, which we call impact play, most dominants and masters use a Saint Andrew’s cross. But I’ll admit, I’m kind of a snob,” he laughed softly. “So I had this piece specially made. It achieves the same results, and I like how it looks.”
As she listened to his explanation in silence, he turned her around to face the mirror. Her lips parted in amazement. Joe’s reflection handling and cuffing her with his unique feline grace made her mouth water.
“How does that feel?” He skimmed his finger along the felt lining, ensuring she had space to move.
“Sweet, Sir.”
“Good,” he murmured, moving faster. “You might be more comfortable holding on to the chains.” His final action was to remove the butt plug. “You don’t need this anymore.”
Moments later, she barely recognized this Hunter. She made quite the sensual spectacle, her wrists and ankles spread out and bound to the frame, presenting her body for his use. Her backside was ready for play. If he didn’t blindfold her, she could see everything he did. A wild frisson of excitement coursed over her.
She didn’t feel helplessness or fear, only taken, possessed by her Dom. She knew with full certainty his next step would yank her out of her self-imposed emotional prison. She sighed with pleasure.
Joe evaluated his work with a satisfied smile. He then pressed his muscular chest against her as he wrapped his arms around her torso. “You’re stunning. I’ve no words, kitten.” He caressed her belly, stomach, and breasts. “You’re new to this, so I’ll start slowly, warm you up.” He massaged her nipples with his calloused fingers, then pinched them lightly.
Her sheath contracted in response to the mirror’s seductive reflection.
“When I change floggers, the intensity will increase.” He kissed her earlobe. “I will assess, and I expect an accurate response. You will use one of your words. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Releasing a nipple, he slipped his fingers past her belly to open her labia. “Perfect. You’re wet.”
He stepped back.
She held her breath.
Whatever she had imagined would happen, didn’t. The initial strike was soft. Multiple fingertips caressed her skin. The same happened with the next and the next. Joe’s strokes, applied in a rhythmic crisscross motion across her buttocks, relaxed her. His expertise in handling the flogger and the movement of his arm entranced her.
“Kitten?”
“Sweet, Sir. Thank you.”
His face was pure concentration. She was his sole focus. Heady arousal dizzied her. On the next swing, his direction changed. The soft tails landed dead center in the middle of her upper back, again and again. Her muscles warmed, and the aching knots that had formed during endless months of carrying heavy trays and drinks slowly loosened.
“Talk to me.” He frowned.
She smiled. “It’s so good, Sir. Sweet.”
He nodded and paused. He reached for a small table at his side. He picked up two floggers and changed his stance, one foot ahead of the other, and swung.
The new tails were thinner and dug harder, and the rhythm doubled. Hunter flinched.
“Hunter?” he asked without stopping.
“Sweet.”
“You sure?”
“I am, Sir.” She closed her eyes, centering all her senses on the sharp bites. Her head flopped forward.
He crisscrossed her buttocks, then her upper back. He repeated the pattern once, twice. She breathed in and out. Two strikes, one inhale. Two strikes, one exhale.
“Kitten?”
“Please, harder, Sir.”
In her mind, she could see the punishing tails digging into her skin.
The trance began. The door opened. A long tunnel stretched ahead of her.
She stood at the portal.
“Harder, Sir. Feels good.”
The stinging bites increased to pain. The pain urged her forward. The strokes continued.
“Stronger, Sir,” she begged. She needed this. This was where she had to be.
Her skin started to burn and the vision intensified. She stepped over the threshold. Her due punishment had come at last. The old words rolled through her memory:
“It’s your fault. You provoked trouble. You must pay the price.”
Chunks of hard clay, the covering she’d built through the years, fell all around her bare feet. Her pulse roared in her ears.
“Yes, Yes. I deserve it,” she screamed. A powerful sob exploded from her lungs.
Large hands dragged her out of the tunnel. A man cursed behind her. A distant voice called out her name as her wrists fell to her sides. Hands loosened her ankles. Powerful arms lifted her. The trance dissipated.
“For heaven’s sake, drink.” Sir tipped a bottle to her lips. He sounded angry.
Her eyelids fluttered. “What happened, Sir?”
Sir scowled. “That’s what I want to know. Drink. You’re dehydrated. Shit, Hunter.”
Hunter blinked, getting her bearings. She was in Sir’s arms on the aftercare sofa. She took a sip of water. He put the bottle down, then wiped her face with a cloth.
Frowning, he returned the water to her lips. “I should’ve stopped sooner, but you surprised me. Hold the bottle. Keep drinking.”
“What do you mean, Sir?”
He rubbed his forehead, studying her face.
Sir was upset, no doubt.
“I’ve used the flogger for many years. I know how to control it.” He shook his head. He seemed to sift through quick thoughts. “When you asked for harder blows, I increased the strength, but not so much as to cause such wild reaction. Your skin had reddened. But welts hadn’t formed.” He narrowed his good eye. “Something is off…”
Her heart jumped. Had she betrayed herself in the session? Much as she tried to remember, her mind was a blur. “Sir? What reaction?”
“You don’t recall?” He tilted his head. “You screamed at someone, Hunter. Your face was covered in tears. I called out your name while I released you. You didn’t respond. You weren’t here, or with me.” He arched an eyebrow. “Is it possible… Maybe impact play, being that this is your very first, triggered something out of your past. An event you’ve blocked.”
Oh, hell no. Astute man. He’d almost landed on it. But she’d vowed to leave the attack behind. She’d buried the incident in the narrow Marine Park alley, next to the Gallo’s glass rear door where it happened.
Pulling out her best expression, she glanced up at Joe with feigned innocence. She sighed for good measure. “Sorry. I don’t.” Now she added a yawn. “I’m so tired, Sir.”
“Of course.” Joe stood, holding her close. She felt cocooned in his arms. “You need a nap. Get some rest until we drive back.” He walked out of the room. With every step, his hold tightened around her.
&n
bsp; Maybe he feared she’d run away.
Never.
“You’re so good to me, Sir,” she murmured, grateful for the loving care he gave her and for her quick thinking. She’d escaped a close call.
“That’s my job, kitten. You’re my submissive. No one’s gonna take better care of you than me.”
Hunter kept her tranquil face on while turbulent thoughts roiled. From now on, she would have to devise a strategy to keep her past secret during impact play. That would take some serious planning and practice. Joe was too intuitive to fool.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JOE STEERED HIS truck to the 25A Celebration/Kissimmee off-ramp. Purely by instinct and familiarity with the road, rather than conscious thought, he took the curve and merged onto 192 heading toward St. Cloud.
During the ride south, he’d dissected every piece of Hunter’s outburst, while maintaining a casual conversation with her. In turn, she’d cooperated as well. In silent accord, they had both engaged in a cat-and-mouse game. Neither one was willing to discuss her bizarre behavior, the root causes, and possible solutions.
Hunter’s reaction had been too extreme, an obvious manifestation of trauma. He knew his own PTSD symptoms. After Billy’s death and the loss of his eye, he’d spent weeks in recovery with other wounded servicemen, too long not to recognize the lingering signs of violence. He had no doubt she’d been abused or attacked. More likely the latter, if that ugly scar on her hip was an indication. He should consult Master Kurt when he returned to Orlando. Get a second opinion.
In any case, he couldn’t force her to talk. That would be way worse. Regardless, if she wasn’t ready to discuss it, he had other methods and people he could lean on for reliable information.
One Soledad Cuevas came to mind, followed by a Kelly Jones as second option.
“Traffic is bad, isn’t it?” Hunter murmured.
“Yep. Spring break and Easter attract a ton of visitors. The parks burst at the seams.” He sent a quick glance her way. She’d spoken while looking out the window.
“It’s Tuesday. It shouldn’t be this bad.”
Traffic was big on her mind—an obvious sign that she was running out of small talk. Removing one hand from the wheel, he reached out and laced his fingers with hers.
“Do you want me to take you home first or go directly to Pete’s?”
“Home, please.” She squeezed his fingers. “I wish… I didn’t have to work and you didn’t have to leave.”
The traffic light changed to red. Joe tugged at her hand, pulling her closer to him.
“Listen, kitten. In a couple of days, we should discuss a few details. Combine our plans, dates when you’re going to pick up Kevin, living arrangements, stuff like that.” The light changed to green. He lifted his foot off the brake. The truck rolled a few feet. He stepped on the brake pedal again—the infamous U.S. Route 192 conga line extended far into the distance.
“Ugh. I think you’re going to be late. Maybe there’s an accident.” He settled against the seat, rolling his neck and shoulders. The sight ahead had produced instant muscle cramps. He sighed, praying for patience and turned to her. He swallowed. Hunter’s beautiful eyes gleamed with such hope, he was overwhelmed. A huge wave of emotion warmed his chest.
“Plans?” she murmured. “With Kevin and me?”
“Well.” He lifted a shoulder. “You’re my sub. You and Kevin are a package deal. So, yes. “ He bobbed his head. “We’ll have to figure out the play situation…”
Hunter flew over the console between the seats. She threw her arms around his neck, showering kisses all over his face.
“I c-can’t b-breathe.” He pulled down one of her arms. “Kitten. I have to drive.”
She laughed, ignoring his complaint. “You make me so happy.”
He scratched his beard, covering the fact that her happiness thrilled him. He never thought he’d get to this point in his life, where he came across the ideal submissive, the perfect match to his soul, the one he had to keep at all cost.
“Unfortunately,” he grimaced, “I’m going to be very busy for the next two days. I have a project coming up in Orange. It’s close to the large medical complex. Another in Ocoee. Both have a huge budget. Tomorrow, I’ll drive back to Orlando with Dan to hire a crew. He knows guys that are always looking for work.”
“Hmmm.” She let go of his neck and crossed her arms. “Dan, huh?”
“I know. He’s a nosy pain, but an excellent worker, though.” He reached for her closest hand. “I need him. And while I’m gone, I expect you to behave. You will be accessible to me via phone, all forty-eight hours. I call, you answer. Got it?”
“Yes, Sir.” Hunter flipped on the seat to look at him. “So… Are you rich? Have you always done landscaping?”
“Rich?” He laughed, rubbing his good eye. “What we have, we worked hard to get.”
The vehicles in front moved. Quickly, he clasped the wheel and lifted his foot off the brake. The truck rolled another few feet and came to a full stop. “This is bad.” He shook his head.
“We manage,” he continued. “We’re a middle-class family, a little on the upper side. Dad was an attorney. He owned a fairly successful firm. One day, he got tired of practicing, and his partners bought him out. He invested some of the profit in the stock market, and the rest went to buying a landscaping business.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Well.” He caressed her forearm. “I have a masters in business administration from Gainesville. My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer just before I graduated. I came home and took over the business until he went into remission.”
“I’m glad he’s okay.” Hunter dropped her hand on his thigh. “And the military?”
Her gesture raised his temperature instantly.
The conversation moved to sensitive territory. If she asked about Afghanistan, he would answer with the truth. Let the chips fall where they may.
“As soon as Dad showed me reports verifying he was in complete remission and swore over a stack of Bibles that he was okay, I enlisted in the Marines. Dad retired when I came home. Now I manage the business.”
Sure as shit, her fingertips touched the elastic band holding the eye patch in place. “Does it hurt?”
He manacled her wrist. “Not anymore.” He lowered her hand to her lap.
“But it did once,” she pressed.
“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Do you want me to relive the moment in words, tell you all about it? I can, and you’re not going to like it.”
“I’m sorry.” Hunter’s eyes widened and tears welled. “I don’t know what came over me. Why would I insist on a painful memory? That’s not like me.” She dropped her gaze.
Joe exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry too. I snapped.” He lifted her chin with his fingertip. “We’re both wounded, kitten. I have Afghanistan, and you have a private mystery. Mine is recent, yours is in the past. Don’t know which is more toxic. If we find a way to share the hurt, we could heal.”
“That’s an optimistic thought,” she murmured.
“Hey, I’m an optimistic guy. We’ll work it out.”
“All right. We’re here.” Joe killed the engine and slid to the ground. Dan exited on the passenger side and slammed his door closed.
“Tell me again.” Walking onto the lawn, Dan flipped the bill of his cap forward. “Who’s this guy, and why did we come? Our business in Orlando is finished. We hired enough men.”
Joe exhaled with impatience as he took the path to the front door. “Kurt Allendorf is a close friend, and I came to discuss an important matter with him.” He held up his hand. “That’s all you need to know.”
“Dude, I’m not one of your fucking soldiers. Ya know?” Dan barked. “Don’t snap orders at me.”
Scowling, Joe stopped in his tracks. “If you’re going to bust my balls about this, the fucking train station is a few blocks away.” He pointed in an indistinct direction. “You can walk over.”
The front door opened, and the argument stopped. Master Kurt Allendorf and his ever-present cane stood on the threshold.
“What’s all this racket? My neighbors are going to bitch at me. This is a peaceful neighborhood, you two.” Kurt laughed. “Stop the fucking cursing.”
“Sarcastic bastard,” Joe snickered, jerking his thumb behind him. “Dan over here likes to dig into people’s private affairs. He doesn’t get the meaning of minding his own fucking business.”
“Most people don’t.” Kurt lifted the tip of his cane at Joe. “Come in, guys.” He stood aside, allowing Joe and Dan to walk through. “Would anyone like a drink? I have seltzer, still water, and sweet iced tea.” He limped past Joe and Dan, leading them to the kitchen. “I’m all out of beer. Deal with it.”
Joe went behind him with Dan in tow. “I’ll take a water, if it’s cold,” Joe said.
“Got it.” Kurt took a bottle out of the refrigerator and flung it at Joe.
“Much obliged.” Joe twisted the cap open and tapped his forehead in salute.
“And you?” Kurt asked Dan.
“Sweet tea is great,” Dan answered.
Kurt pulled a glass from a cupboard and a pitcher out of the refrigerator. He poured the reddish liquid, leaving a space at the top of the glass. He motioned to the ice dispenser.
Dan shook his head. “No ice, thanks.”
“Okay, what am I good for?” Kurt asked.
“I need to talk.” Joe tapped his bottle. “A personal matter.”
“And it’s private.” Kurt bobbed his head. “Would you excuse us, Mr. Dan? You may stay comfortably seated in the kitchen, or catch a game in the living room. The TV is always tuned to the sports channel. Your choice?”
Dan stood. “I’d rather watch TV. Less boring.” He arched an eyebrow.
Joe ignored the taunt.
“The remote’s on the coffee table,” Kurt explained. “Press the power button, and you’re on.”
As soon as Dan walked out, Kurt turned to Joe.
“Would you like to talk here or out in the lanai? I leave the TV volume high, so I can hear the news throughout the house. And the glass sliders are pretty thick.”
Deception Page 25
