Hurt Me So Good

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  Victor took a moment to respond. He’d definitely seen the flare of darkness in Shiloh’s eyes, the softening of her luscious mouth, and the pink flash of her tongue across those tempting lips. She hadn’t been repulsed by his admission, not at all. When he’d regained control of his voice, he answered, “Yes.”

  “And did you notice her likeness in the—”

  “Of course I did,” he snapped, jerking his legs down off the table so he could pace.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “She wasn’t on my staff for Internet Secrets, so it’s highly unlikely that she’s your spy. Her entire body screams submission when she looks at you. She’s perky, creative and well liked by everyone on her team. Her instincts are dead on and she’s developed an incredible show that’s perfect for you and VCONN. If you snapped your fingers and ordered her to heel, she’d be at your feet in a heartbeat.”

  He made himself halt in front of the window and jerked the blinds open. Blindly, he stared out at downtown Dallas, blinking his eyes against the light. “That’s not what I want.”

  “I’m worried about you.” Mal joined him at the window but he couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in her gaze, so he pretended extreme interest in the skyline. “You haven’t been serious about anyone in years.”

  Since Kimberly, echoed in the silence. Despite his best friend’s care not to mention his ex-fiancée’s name, he still winced. “I’ve dated.”

  “You’ve taken women to charity events,” Mal said in a flat, careful voice. “You may have even taken them to your bed. But you haven’t taken a woman who knows your true needs and makes damned sure you’re satisfied.”

  He couldn’t help the twitch of his mouth into a grim, sad smile that matched the emotions he kept buried in his heart. “No one can satisfy me.”

  With a growl, she thumped him on the back. “Don’t give me that crap. You and I share many of those darker urges and you know I’m more than happy with Andy. He needs me as much as I need him. He likes me mean and nasty with a flail in my hands.”

  “Kimberly knew what kind of man I am.” Each word sliced Victor’s throat like razorblades. “We met at Silken. She still couldn’t deal with the truth.”

  “She liked you well enough to accept your engagement ring and enjoy your money for months.” Mal didn’t bother keeping the disdain out of her voice. “She used you. She wanted a top who would tie her up and dedicate hours to her enjoyment, without demanding anything from her in return. She acted like it was a privilege for you to devote hours to her pleasure. She never took care of you. She never loved you.”

  “That’s unfair. I know she loved me.” Victor closed his eyes. Kimberly’s delicate face blazed in his mind, an image from the night she’d left him. Tears streaked her face, her eyes wide, white, rolling with terror while she babbled her safeword over and over, a litany to save her from the nightmare. She’d sobbed in his arms for an hour before leaving for good, and he’d never forget her parting accusation. You hurt me. “She couldn’t handle heavy edge play.”

  And I’m always on the edge. He shook his head ruefully. The sad fact was that the longer he denied himself, the sharper and more vicious that edge became.

  “She couldn’t have loved you, not the way you deserve,” Mal insisted. “Not if she couldn’t handle your kink. You’re punishing yourself, V, and I hate it. I hate seeing you close yourself behind prison bars just because one sub couldn’t deal with the full Master.”

  “It’s not just one and you know it. I’ve trained dozens of bottoms over the years, introduced them to the scene, and time after time, they leave me and move on to another top. Someone safer. And I can’t say that I blame them.”

  He finally met his friend’s gaze and let all the disappointments and failures of his thirty-six years weigh in his gaze. “I’m tired, Mal. I’m tired of breaking in the young ones while knowing full well that they’ll never be able to handle my kind of needs. I’m too old for this shit.”

  “You’re burned out.”

  “No. Far from it.” Victor smiled and even the strongest, proudest Mistress in Dallas flinched and dropped her gaze. It took constant control to keep that vicious clawing need buried deeply enough for him to function like a normal human being. “I’m a sadist in the truest sense of the word. Why do you think I didn’t make a play for Shiloh months ago? My brief meet-and-greet interview with her after she was hired almost set my desk on fire. It’s been pure hell to know she’s been under my power here at VCONN this entire time, close, available, as attracted to me as I am to her, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. All it takes is one phone call to the police, one trip to the hospital, and I won’t have to worry about this season’s ratings. I’ll be in prison.”

  “I know the risks all too well, but that’s why it’s important not to shut yourself off from the people who understand. You quit going to Silken—”

  “For good reason,” Victor said dryly. “My ex-fiancée married the owner.”

  “Which is why I started hosting my own parties, but you always refuse to come. You can’t just turn off being a Master no matter how much you want to. Why else do you think Shiloh picked up on your vibe? You can’t help broadcasting your power, and she’s not afraid of you.”

  “Yet.” He destroyed the small hope that threatened to sprout. “The green ones always start out interested, but a little bondage and spanking are typically all they want. Anything heavier sends them running for the hills. I can’t do the light stuff anymore and pretend that’s enough. I just can’t. I need…”

  He jerked his ponytail tight enough his eyes watered. He relished the small pain. It sharpened him, woke him up, made him feel alive and in control. He needed pain, and if he couldn’t give it to somebody else, then he’d at least give it to himself.

  “In her storyboards, did that whip in your hand look like a toy? What about those stripes on her back? She knows, V. She’s offering you a blatant invitation to try her out under the guise of this show. This is your chance to approach her in a safe, controlled environment.”

  “If she freaks out, the show is ruined and the season goes down the shitter.”

  “We can do nothing and the season still goes down the shitter. Or,” Mal drawled out, “Master V and his new sub melt everyone’s socks off and the show is the biggest hit in Dallas history.”

  He took a deep breath and let the big picture form in his mind. He’d always had the ability to scan the field of play in an instant, evaluate the defense and guess which receiver was most likely going to break free for the big play. His competitive senses vibrated with excitement. Win it all and go home with the trophy, or lose and cry in the mud, at least he’d never been afraid to play the game.

  He’d been The Victor, the leader who took his team to victory, no matter the cost.

  This was the biggest game he’d ever played in his life. This game was for his heart, and he always played to win. If Shiloh Holmes had wanted the Master’s attention, she had him brutally focused. On her.

  “Well then. I guess we have ourselves a new show.”

  Victor schooled his face back to the stern CEO mask, took his seat and nodded to Mal at the door. She opened it and gestured for Shiloh to return to the room, then took her seat across the table from him.

  Head high, eyes bright, Shiloh stood at the front of the room, her nerves betrayed only by the tight clenching of her hands together at her waist. She wasn’t afraid but excited, her eyes sparkling with energy. She might be a submissive in the bedroom, but she displayed no cowering wallflower tendencies, even though she stood before the two most powerful executives of the company whom she knew were both Dominants.

  Victor tried to remember her exact age from her file, but when he’d first met her, he’d been too entranced by her personality. She was older than he’d first thought, closer to thirty than twenty, not so much younger than him that he’d feel like a dirty old pervert.

  Is
she experienced—or is she going to need slow, careful hand-holding?

  He glanced at the storyboard with the woman wrapped around the Master’s legs, her back striped red from his attentions. No, she wasn’t going to need hand-holding. She just needed a strong, skilled hand when it came to the whip, or in his case, the crop.

  He shifted slightly, working down the desire threatening to burst free. “Why don’t you tell us what you envision for the pilot?”

  He’d thought it impossible for her to light up any more, but she flashed a bright smile, her eyes as warm as molten chocolate, and turned to her storyboards.

  “Typically, a reality show begins with tryouts.” She shuffled forward a board that showed three Dominants seated at a table with a hopeful contestant standing before them. This time, the bottom was a man with spiky red hair and slim shoulders and hips who looked exactly like Andy, Mal’s current live-in submissive, dressed in normal street clothes. “People who can’t carry a note in a bucket try out for American Idol; people who have two left feet try out for So You Think You Can Dance; so we need a few people who absolutely freak out or become hysterical when the judges begin their evaluation. Tryouts are all about the drama.”

  “So we should test them in some way,” Mal said, her voice huskier than usual.

  Victor hid a smile. Even a simple storyboard image of her boyfriend affected her. He watched Shiloh and noted the tiny quirk of her mouth. She’d noticed too, and was pleased by the Mistress’s reaction. More, he guessed Shiloh had deliberately started with Andy’s image to ensure Mal was interested. Just as she deliberately challenged me to win the title of the Master.

  “Absolutely,” Shiloh continued. “It can be something small or more meaningful. An order to remove an item of clothing or to serve one of the judges in some small way. We should show both sides: rude, desperate bottoms who cling and make nuisances of themselves, as well as the polite, trained ones who know exactly what to do when approaching a Dominant for the first time, trying to garner interest on the scene.”

  Shiloh pulled another board forward. In this one, a contestant sat in a comfortable chair with another woman. The contestant wore a simple white shift and corset, while the other lady was dressed in a vintage—but not riding—gown. They were faceless behind elaborate masks.

  “We need a host for the show whose main job is to interview the contestants and talk the audience through the judges’ expectations. This scene should highlight the importance of the questionnaire about what the sub wants to do, is willing to try, and the absolutely-do-not-want-to-do list. Since our underlying concern is education, we should also touch on the contestant’s medical history and make it very clear that the scene should always be safe, sane and consensual. To keep it interesting, we should highlight the emotions, making it arousing or even comedic, depending on the final contestants. The host should be unafraid to touch on the emotional or sensitive topics but still have a great sense of humor.”

  “I think Georgia would be perfect for this,” Mal said. “That would certainly take some of the sting out of losing her star role on Internet Secrets. Her Southern charm will appeal to the audience.”

  “Agreed.” Victor had to admit he was impressed with the way Shiloh had managed to weave basic, solid good sense of the scene with interesting, dramatic show content. “One question, though. Why the Victorian wear?”

  “I thought the corsets and strict morality of the era made a nice contrast to the openly sexual tone of the show.” Shiloh gave a little shrug, her cheeks touched with an endearing blush. For the first time, her gaze slipped away, giving him the cue that she was personally affected by such clothing. “Plus we had all the costumes on hand thanks to the Victorian Country House Party spoof VCONN did three years ago.”

  “Creativity and frugality,” he drawled out, letting his voice heat. “I like it. Plus, corsets are damned hot. Don’t you agree, Mal?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” Mal purred out a laugh that had been known to send male submissives into a helpless squirming heap at her feet. “It might be fun to give it a modern twist, though, so it’s not obvious that we’re recycling old costumes. How about we mix in some steampunk elements? Something a bit futuristic with wings, goggles and weird machines. I bet Andy could concoct a fantastic steampunk contraption that will blow the subs’ minds.”

  Smiling, Victor stood and reached out to take Shiloh’s hand. “You’ve sold us, Ms. Holmes. Mal and I will co-produce the show, but I’d like for you to be the show runner.”

  Her eyes gleamed, shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you so much, Mr. Connagher. It’s an honor to work with you.”

  He didn’t release her hand and she made no move to pull away. “Mal, get to work on the contracts for our in-house people. For sure, lock Georgia into the host position if she’s interested. We need to be taping by the end of the week. Preferably tomorrow if we can swing the set. Make sure every single person down to the lowest gaffer on set signs the confidentiality agreement. I don’t want a single word of this leaking before we’re ready.”

  “I’m on it.” Mal gave Shiloh a knowing smile and headed for the door. “Welcome to the team, Ms. Holmes.”

  “Just Shiloh, please,” she said, smiling.

  The door shut. Victor watched the emotions flaring in her eyes and across her face: pure, sunny excitement, lip-biting anticipation, growing warmth in her eyes the longer she stared back at him. Slowly, he tightened his fingers. Her breathing caught, quickened, and her eyes turned smoky and heavy-lidded without a single hint of fear.

  “If I must be one of the judges competing for the title of Master, then you must be a,” barely, he managed to avoid saying my, “submissive for the show.”

  She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and it was all he could do not to lean down and place his own teeth on that tender flesh. “I hope it’s not too presumptuous of me to admit that’s exactly what I planned.”

  He squeezed harder, waiting for that little gasp of pain that said he’d gone far enough…so he could go just a little bit further. “There were easier ways to approach me than to devise an entire show to lure yourself into my clutches.”

  She laughed, a low groan that was music to his ears. God, it had been entirely too long since he’d worked a responsive sub over and enjoyed that symphony of pain and pleasure. “It wouldn’t have been very professional of me to prance into your office stark naked.”

  “Not professional,” he agreed, drawing her closer. “But a damned pretty sight. Are you going to be able to handle show runner duties as well as putting up with me on set?”

  “Of course.” She blinked away some of the haze darkening her eyes. “I’ve dreamed of nothing else for months. I can do it, Mr. Connagher.”

  He squeezed harder, his grip brutal, he knew, crushing her delicate hand in his big palm that could still throw a football in a perfect spiral at fifty yards. Greedy, starved, he felt as crazed as an addict who’d fallen off the wagon after years of abstinence.

  She whimpered, a cry that sliced his heart into ribbons even while lighting a fire in his blood that wanted her writhing and screaming, begging him to stop.

  It’s better to know now, he tried to console himself, waiting for her to jerk away. Maybe she’d slap him and stomp out of VCONN entirely. It would be the best for both of them. Certainly safer than putting herself into his hands, hoping he’d have the mercy and decency to control himself without committing serious harm.

  Knees crumpling, she fell against him, sliding down his legs so she knelt at his feet. Rubbing her cheek against his stomach, she twisted her head so she could look up at him. “What may I call you, sir?”

  Hauled up and tossed into a chair, Shiloh sat shaken and confused, staring at Mr. Connagher as he paced back and forth. She cradled her throbbing hand in her lap. Each thud of her heart spread that pain like a pulse through her body, melting her bones and priming her for his full attention.

  What did I do wrong?

  “When we’re alone
, then you can call me Victor, a mean sonofabitch, or a low-down dirty bastard, anything you want.” He jerked to a halt and whirled to face her, his eyes blazing. “But we need to take care that you’re alone with me as little as possible.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said carefully. “Are you not…available?”

  He jerked his hair tighter, and she winced in sympathy for his tortured scalp. He must have one hell of a headache. “I’m so available I’m about to tear the seams in my pants.”

  Studying his hair kept her gaze from wandering lower to see just how available he might be. He hadn’t made any outright claims on her, so she didn’t feel like she had the right to ogle him. Yet.

  “It will be safer for us both if we limit our interaction to the show, at least until I’ve been able to take some of the edge off.”

  He looked so glum, that she started to rise so she could wrap her arms around him. Throwing up his hand to ward her off, he resumed his furious pacing while he slapped his right thigh. Her skin heated, tingling with longing. She wanted those slaps on her body, not his.

  The longer he paced, the more he began to favor his left knee, until his limp was pronounced. Victor Connagher had been a college football star on the verge of the NFL when he’d blown his knee in a championship game. Pictures from his glory days were in the case downstairs. By all accounts, he would have been a star for any professional team.

  Tears burned her eyes. Until now, she’d never seen him display any weakness, any hint that the old injury still pained him.

  Finally he growled out, “I don’t want to go too fast for you.”

  “Too fast?” She laughed, but it came out harsh to her ears. “I’ve been planning this show for months, hoping, praying you might…”

  That you might need me as badly as I need you.

  Although she’d often seen him around VCONN Tower, she didn’t know how to approach him while at work. It was just too sleazy for her to come on to him as she’d joked. She’d even gone to a mixer hosted by the bondage club to get an introduction, but the frenzied feeding-ground atmosphere just wasn’t her style. Besides, he hadn’t even been there. During her research, she’d scanned Silken’s current membership roster, but it hadn’t included his name, which didn’t really surprise her. Many prominent members would rather keep their names secret or at least low key, which was one of the reasons she’d devised a show where everyone could wear masks.