by Jane Henry
Donnie felt a cold chill pass through him.
“Mikey’s paranoid. From what I’ve heard, he always was,” she said with a shrug. “But over the last few years, it got worse. Suddenly, there was no one he could trust. Nobody was loyal enough. Not Pedro, not even Joe. He needed leverage on everyone, the kind that would ensure no one would ever betray him. And I was part of his leverage on Pedro.”
Her voice was stark and hollow. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but he knew he would never be able to stop with a single hug. She took a shuddering breath and continued.
“Mikey decided that I was untouchable. Not allowed to date, not allowed to leave the neighborhood, even for work. Told the guys I was some kind of honorary Nolan, and he’d marry me off to one of the family eventually, like this was medieval times and I was gonna make some marriage alliance. You believe that shit?” She laughed, but it wasn’t funny.
Donnie shook his head. He really couldn’t believe it. Mikey had always been a psychotic asshole, but this? His mind swirled with regret. He’d thought it would be for the best for everyone if he stayed away, that he’d been keeping everyone safe. Now it seemed like he’d left them at the mercy of a madman.
He stood up to pace the small room and turned on her. “Why didn’t you leave? Mikey might think he’s all-powerful in the neighborhood, in the city of Boston, but you know he’s got no pull if you got far enough away. God, baby, why didn’t you just fucking leave?”
“Yeah, leaving’s pretty easy, huh?” she demanded, scraping her long hair back from her temples with both hands. “Just pack up your shit and disappear for a year... or a dozen?”
God, she killed him. Did she really believe he’d walked away without scars? That exile from his family and friends, from her, hadn’t cut him deeply? He shook his head. “You think leaving was easy? Leaving everyone I ever knew, the only home I’d ever had, with nothing but the shirt on my back? Not even a fucking high school diploma to my name?”
She swallowed and looked away. “Maybe not easy. But you managed to do it, didn’t you?” she whispered. She squared her shoulders, and when she spoke again, her voice was angry once more. “I couldn’t. My mom lives and works in the neighborhood, remember? We have no money in the bank, no contacts anywhere, no way to get a decent job. My family in Puerto Rico is all gone now, too. And even if, by some miracle, I’d found a way to leave? Well. If I was Mikey’s leverage on Pedro, I guess you could say Pedro was Mikey’s leverage on me.”
She took a deep breath and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “Mikey has evidence of Pedro committing a bunch of crimes. Shit he did for Mikey, under Mikey’s authority, but, of course, there’s no paper trail. If I didn’t toe the line and behave myself, and if I breathed a word to Pedro about it, Mikey would have an anonymous source deliver the evidence to the police. He told me, ‘Be a good girl, Grace, and your brother will be fine.’ Be a good girl. Just like my dad used to say when he’d keep me locked in the apartment, watching summer pass by from that shitty third-floor balcony. Just like Pedro used to tell me when I was back in high school and I’d talk about moving away and finding you again.” Her voice cracked when she continued, “I’m so tired of being a good girl, Donnie, I can’t even fucking tell you.”
Donnie shook his head wordlessly, while those words played over in his mind. I’m so tired of being a good girl, Donnie.
“But I played the part anyway,” she said brokenly “I got up, I went to my job, I took care of my mom. I toed the line. And what the fuck do I have to show for it?” She spread her arms wide, a gesture that encompassed Donnie’s tiny apartment, her borrowed clothing, and the nuclear bomb that Pedro had dropped on her life. “My idiot brother manages to fuck up anyway, gets himself in debt to Mikey, without a single thought for the consequences to Mama or to me. Mikey decides I’m no longer untouchable, I’m fucking property, and he’s gonna auction me off. And now I’m alone. I can’t go home. I have no skills and no friends to help me.” Her smile was wry as she concluded, “You’ll have to pardon me if I have a shitty attitude.”
He took a single step toward the sofa, and crouched down in front of her. God, but her face was beautiful. He pushed a strand of her hair back from her face with his index finger, knowing that if he touched her skin, he’d never be able to stop.
“I will help you,” he said, his voice deep and serious. And though the idea of sending her away when he’d finally gotten to see her again caused a physical pain in his chest, he forced himself to continue. “I’ve got friends I can call who can relocate you and Pedro, your mom too. I’ve got some cash stashed away, and it’s yours. Listen to me, Grace. I promised you when you were ten years old that I would always protect you, and I will.”
Then he let his voice go deeper, sterner. “But I asked you last night if you knew more about this situation than just P being in debt to Mikey. You didn’t tell me the truth.”
She shuddered at the threat he let hang in the air.
“You left that life behind years ago, and I didn’t want to drag you back in anymore than you already were,” she said simply. The look she gave him, the way those gorgeous brown eyes held his, flayed him to the core. “You know, I understood why you had to go. You did the right thing, and I was even proud of you for going. You always were my hero. I just… wished you’d taken me with you.” Her mouth twisted into a half-smile.
“Ridden away with your thirteen-year-old self on the back of my motorcycle?” He shook his head at the image.
Her smile was more genuine now. “Yes! Total hero montage, while the sappy music played.” But then she shook her head. “I’m not leaving town, Donnie. I’m not running away. I can’t take the chance that Mikey will hand the evidence against Pedro to the authorities and land P in prison, and he would, you know he would, just to be an asshole. And… I don’t want to live my life in fear, always looking over my shoulder and wondering if today will be the day that Mikey catches up to me. I want to find a way to fix this. Please.”
He stood up and took a step back, but he couldn’t look away. Inside, his desire to protect her was waging war against something even deeper—a desire to give her the life she always should’ve had. A life where she wasn’t always locked in a tower, but was free to be truly herself and to make her own choices.
You always were my hero.
He prayed that this time he wouldn’t let her down.
“Master Nolan?”
Donnie glanced up from inspecting the equipment he’d selected for his demonstration tonight, expecting to see Carly, the submissive who’d volunteered to participate in the scene. But instead of the tall, cheerful blonde, he found Julie standing in the doorway of the demonstration room.
Just what he absolutely did not need to deal with.
His voice was colder than usual as he said, “Can I help you, Julie?”
The woman shifted her feet and licked her lips suggestively, tossing her long, brown hair behind her.
Donnie raised an eyebrow. If she was attempting to pique Donnie’s arousal, she was failing mightily. Julie couldn't hold a candle to the girl he'd ordered under no uncertain terms not to set foot out of his apartment upstairs.
“Julie, I’m really busy,” he growled impatiently. “You’re scheduled on the bar right now, and my demonstration is going to begin in ten minutes.”
And not a second too soon. He was clearheaded enough to maintain total control of the scene, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he was looking forward to the opportunity to blow off steam… somewhat more than usual.
Primal instinct, vicious and clawing as a rabid animal, had been straining against the leash of his control all day, demanding that he either go back upstairs and finish the seduction he’d started… or else march Grace out of Boston to safety right this minute, gagged and trussed up in Shibari ropes if she refused to comply.
“That’s what I needed to talk to you about,” Julie said. “Um, Carly went home sick.”
Donni
e raised an eyebrow. “Sick?”
She shrugged innocently and wrinkled her nose. “Stomach thing. Vomiting. Came on her really suddenly. So weird.”
Fuck. He’d have to go see about finding a replacement, and it wouldn’t be easy. Most of the women who worked at The Club South weren’t into open, public demonstrations when they chose to play, but preferred to keep things private. Still, maybe he could find someone.
His thoughts turned to Grace, who was right now sitting in his apartment, watching TV on his sofa. I’m tired of being a good girl…
He swallowed against the image that leapt to his mind of Grace, splayed out on the padded leather spanking bench he’d placed in the center of the room, ready and eager for him to cane her, to mark her.
He inhaled sharply. Never going to happen.
“Thanks for letting me know,” he told Julie, turning back to his inspection and dismissing her.
In his peripheral vision, he saw her hesitate, twirling a lock of hair around her finger and watching him avidly. “I, um, checked around already. None of the other girls working tonight are into demos, and especially not for caning,” Julie continued, confirming his fears. “But… I am.”
Her voice was soft and husky, and Donnie ground his teeth together. Goddamn it. “Julie, we already discussed…”
“I understand,” she told him, taking a step forward and clasping her hands in front of her chest. “You said you’re not really into me, so this scene won’t be personal for you. That’s fine. I just want to help out, Master Nolan. I really love this job, remember?”
He turned and stared at her with narrowed eyes, searching for any sign that she wanted more from him than the endorphin rush that most submissives achieved with a good caning, but her expression was neutral and she kept her eyes on the floor.
“You know caning scenes are intense,” he warned her, but she nodded.
“I know,” she assured him. “I’m into it.”
He gave one quick nod. Listening to a submissive, establishing limits, and trusting her to give her consent without second-guessing was an ingrained aspect of his role as a dominant.
“Talk to Connie,” he said, referring to the domme who would be handling the floor while he was doing the demonstration. “Sign the forms. Be back here in five.”
She nodded and scurried away excitedly.
By the time she returned a few minutes later and positioned herself on the spanking bench, a group of onlookers had already flowed into the room, quietly talking and chatting as they waited for the demo to start.
The demonstrations at The Club were always popular, even when they were held on a random Tuesday evening. Tonight, Donnie would peg about half of the observers as voyeurs who enjoyed the spectacle, and the other half as dominants looking to build on their skills. He nodded to himself, pleased. To his mind, a good dominant always wanted to learn more, always sought to improve his technique.
“Welcome to The Club,” he began, his voice deliberately low and intimate. “I’m Master Nolan, and this is going to be a caning demonstration. First, I’ll explain everything I’ll be doing, then I’ll get into the demo itself. Out of respect for me and our volunteer, Julie, you’ll need to keep quiet. No interruptions during the demonstration, yeah? If you need to leave at any point, go ahead. If you have questions about implements, technique, positioning, or anything else, I’m happy to answer after we’re done.”
Everyone in the crowd easily nodded their assent. This was an established practice in the BDSM world, and one of the first rules that club-goers learned was the taboo of interfering with a scene.
Donnie took the crowd through the routine he planned to use.
“Before beginning, it’s important to determine the purpose of the caning, which will determine the number and severity of the strokes you’re gonna be using. Caning has a reputation for being a pretty effective form of punishment…”
He saw one man, a dominant, raise an eyebrow and exchange a pointed glance with the woman beside him. The woman lowered her eyes and flushed in a way that made Donnie suppress a smile. Clearly the woman was well aware of the cane’s effectiveness.
“But if you use gentler taps, the kind that don’t bend the cane,” he continued, “and you space ‘em well apart, both in timing and placement, caning can actually be a very sensual experience. It focuses a submissive’s attention like no other punishment I’ve found.”
He saw one or two people’s eyes narrow thoughtfully, and he smiled. He fucking loved his job.
“It’s important for a dominant to establish his or her submissive’s pain threshold in advance—this is not an activity for first-timers. And as most doms know, starting off with a hand-spanking and/or paddling will help your submissive handle the caning better and for longer,” he told them. Then he briefly took them through the specifics of positioning for both dominant and submissive to ensure the strikes landed in the proper place and serious damage didn’t occur.
Once his spiel was over, though, he turned away from the crowd and trained his attention exclusively on Julie. Whatever strain might exist in their relationship outside of this room, in here, for this moment, he was her dominant and he had a responsibility to focus on her needs, her responses, her tolerance, and getting her where she needed to go.
In the same way that physical punishment was sometimes cathartic for a submissive, he found that dominance—the routine, the ritual, the calm focus on someone else’s needs, the absolute control—soothed something inside of him.
In real life, in scenes that occurred outside of the public eye, the consensual giving and accepting of pain was a big part of the draw for him, as well, but he expected none of that gratification tonight.
He eyed Julie dispassionately. She lay face-down across the spanking bench, her long brown hair caught up in a neat ponytail. She wore a halter top that exposed most of her upper back, and the type of short, loose skirt that most of the volunteers wore in demonstrations since it could be pushed up easily. He questioned Julie carefully, making sure to establish any hard limits and to ensure that she knew her safe word.
Her voice was high-pitched and she was shivering slightly, either from nerves or anticipation. Unmistakable signs that it was time for him to begin.
“I’m gonna warm you up first with my hand,” he told her in a low voice. “The first set will be ten strokes. You’re gonna count them off for me.”
She nodded, her cheek moving against the bench, though Donnie hadn’t required any further consent.
He delivered the first sharp swat to her fabric-covered ass and she jumped, just slightly.
“One,” she said.
He raised his palm again, and again, and again, priming her ass, warming her flesh as she counted.
Without warning, he flipped back Julie’s skirt to deliver the next set of blows, pleased to see that her skin was flushed a slight pink, when one sharp, swift gasp from the crowd snagged his attention, stole his focus.
He turned to glare at the offending observer, to deliver a silent rebuke to the gasping woman, when the unmistakable scent of cinnamon gum overwhelmed his senses.
What the fuck was Grace doing down here?
His first instinct was to stop the scene—to interrupt, exactly as he’d warned the observers not to do, haul Grace over his shoulder, and lock her in his apartment until she’d forgotten anything and everything she’d witnessed so far. His gaze found hers. Shock and outrage swam in her big brown eyes along with… holy shit. Arousal.
He felt a wash of heat roll up his back and over his shoulders. Rage. The woman had left his apartment, his locked apartment, and was strolling around The Club without a thought to who might see her, to who might harm her. After all he’d risked to keep her safe, after all the things they’d spoken to one another that morning.
Then Grace’s eyes dropped down to his hand, which was poised to deliver another blow to Julie’s ass, before meeting his again, burning in their intensity. Silently, Grace bit her lip, begging
him to continue… to let her watch.
And suddenly this public demonstration became very, very personal.
He looked away, returned his gaze to Julie, where it belonged. But as he reached for the paddle, testing it against his hand while Julie trembled in front of him, a part of his consciousness was focused on one particular spectator in the crowd, one shuddering breath that caught and held as he raised the implement to strike. It wasn’t Julie that he was imagining punishing, it wasn’t Julie’s ass that he imagined reddening with each smack of the paddle and each bite of the cane, it was the infuriating woman who had been tying him in knots for years. The smell of cinnamon overwhelmed him, and with thoughts of Grace consuming his mind, he let the paddle fly.
Chapter 4
Holy fucking hell.
Grace’s heart slammed against her rib cage so hard, she feared others in the room would hear the rapid pounding. She grew so lightheaded she was barely conscious of more than a whoosh, whoosh, as the flames licked straight through her body and throbbed between her legs.
She’d had her fair share of dreams of Donnie, and conjured up so many fantasies that they’d become her own personal bedtime fairy tales. But never, ever, in a million years, had she imagined anything like the scene that played out right in front of her now. Now, as in her fantasies, he was dressed as she’d always known him—faded jeans, worn t-shirt, leather jacket, and boots. But as she watched him, she realized that her fantasies had never compensated for the way Donnie Nolan had grown up, had become a man. Though she’d seen him last night and this morning, she hadn’t really seen him, not the real him.
She hadn’t truly grasped the sheer breadth of him, the muscles that went from his neck and shoulders and down his back with perfect grace, evident under the thin fabric of the shirt he wore. Nor had she ever imagined him wearing all black like this, from his shirt, to his pants, to his boots, making him look dark, powerful, amazing. His entire body and posture commanded obedience, the very picture of authority as he stood, feet planted apart, a fucking paddle in his hands. She hadn’t imagined the way his jaw had hardened, growing from a boy to a man, his eyes riveted now not on the woman splayed out in front of him ready to have her ass spanked, but on Grace herself.
