Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  Vance glanced at his watch. “They’re probably finished by now.”

  “Good enough. I’ll wander on back.”

  “You should wear a gold coin pouch and make the submissives happy,” Sally piped up. “They’ve missed you.”

  “It’s good to be missed. But I have something else in mind for tonight.” Near the rear, he spotted Z and Jessica leaving the back hallway.

  Short and curvy, the blonde wore a black and white striped “prison” outfit. The skimpy halter-top and short skirt were less a uniform than an excuse to riot. Her hair damp with sweat, Jessica looked as if she’d had a good hard session.

  Z had his arm around her, half holding her up. The Shadowlands owner had on a black uniform shirt complete with silver badges and insignia. He gave Holt a swift perusal. “You survived returning to work, I see.”

  “The first night, they stuck me on the desk, doing paperwork, and relieving people for breaks. I had to beg to get to do something on Thursday night.”

  “It’s good to see you back,” Jessica said.

  “Thanks, sweetie.” He smiled. “Now that I’m out and about, can I stop by and play with Sophia sometime?” Z and Jessica’s baby was around six months old and cute as a button.

  “Of course.” Jessica gave him a stern look. “But you have to stop spoiling her with a toy whenever you show up.”

  “She’s smart; she’s brave; she’s inventive. She deserves some spoiling.” He turned to Z. “On another subject…”

  Z chuckled. “What can I do for you?”

  “Let your bartender quit at 1 a.m. so I can see how she does with a real scene.”

  Jessica’s mouth dropped open. “You want to play with Josie?”

  “Excellent idea.” Z didn’t appear surprised. “You have my permission…if she agrees.”

  “Of course.” The little bartender might have had second thoughts, but he didn’t think so. She’d wanted to play. And damn, he wanted to show her the joys of true domination and submission.

  “You be careful with her,” Jessica demanded. “She—Mmmph, mmmph.” Master Z’s hand over her mouth reduced her admonishments to unintelligible sounds.

  “Kitten,” Z said gravely, “a submissive giving orders to a Dom in the Shadowlands rarely ends well.”

  “Mmmph…mmmph, mmmph, mmmph.” The last one ended in a high note and a glare.

  Holt smothered a laugh.

  Z grinned. “I have a theory that crime might decrease if police officers were allowed to spank impertinent prisoners. Let’s test that, shall we?” The Master took a couple of steps back, sat on a couch, and pulled his pretty subbie belly-down over his knees.

  Grinning, Holt headed for the bar.

  Behind him, the first loud smack was accompanied by an outraged shriek.

  Midnight had come and gone, and the crowd in the Shadowlands was thinning.

  Holt hadn’t showed. Disappointment was a hard coil in Josie’s chest.

  With a sigh, she pushed her police hat back and leaned against the bar. She’d been…foolish. Too excited about being with Holt. She should have known better.

  Aside from Holt’s nonappearance, she’d had a great night…and was adapting nicely to the Shadowlands. On her first weekend, in addition to learning the members, the bar setup, and the protocols, she’d had to work past the shocking costumes—or lack thereof—and the distraction of the scenes. And the conversations. “She screamed so loud…” “His testicles turned blue and I knew…”

  Last night, she’d found her footing, and tonight, she’d thoroughly enjoyed being the bartender. Smiling, she set a vodka Collins in front of a brunette submissive in a half-ripped-off prison uniform.

  She’d even found herself some sexy cop apparel. The approving glances and smiles she’d gotten from the various members felt good.

  This place sure knew how to throw a costume party.

  The munchie table had cookies in the shape of police badges and an incredible variety of donuts.

  Bad submissives were imprisoned in the iron-bar cages placed in a row down the center of the room. The short cages forced the prisoner to kneel. Two were tall, upright, and coffin-sized, keeping the submissive standing. One cage displayed a sign: PLEASE TOUCH and passing Doms would reach through the bars and fondle the naked captive.

  The variety of costumes was amazing. She watched a Dom in cop uniform leading his horse—a male submissive in full “pony” regalia.

  Josie had assumed a police uniform would indicate she was in the untouchable Dom category. Then she’d seen two Doms dressed like slum escapees hauling around a restrained, very subdued submissive in a cop’s uniform.

  Apparently, no matter the costume, the Dominant always won.

  And boy, people really got into this roleplaying stuff. Submissives kept snatching the coin pouches and getting chased. One Domme officer dragged a submissive to a couch and spanked him for “excessive speed when walking”.

  She glanced around. The few people lingering around the bar still had full drinks.

  “Looks quiet.” Smoother than an aged Glenmorangie whisky, the dark smoky voice stole her breath. Holt.

  He was here. Her heart started doing disconcerting somersaults in her chest. She turned…and her mouth dropped open.

  He’d cut his hair to ear-length. And shaved. Oh…wow. He’d been gorgeous before, but now nothing concealed the sharp, stern angle of his jaw or the firm line of his mouth. The now completely visible scar made her want to kiss it and make it all better.

  And kiss his lips right afterward.

  He leaned on the bar, his gaze on her. The masculine appreciation in his gaze was heady. After a second, she noticed his clothing. Interestingly enough, the firefighter hadn’t donned a uniform. He wore a black leather vest over a skull-decorated black tank top. Black dragon tats—real ones—wound around his muscular biceps, and he’d roped a dark blue and black bandanna around his head.

  “You really do look like a biker tonight.” Her voice came out disconcertingly husky.

  “Guess it’s a good thing I have a bike.” His voice dropped. “You wanna ride?”

  “Oh my God, that sounds incredibly perverted.”

  His grin flashed white in his tanned face. “Little girl, you’re in a BDSM club. We are perverted.”

  A delicious thrill seared over her nerves at the reminder. “Of-of course. What can I get you to drink, Master Holt?”

  “Nothing.” He smiled slowly. “Z gave permission for you to abandon the bar and have some playtime.”

  Holt still wanted to do the scene. Her mouth went dry. She took a step toward him. “B-but what if someone needs something?”

  After a quick scan of the area, he called to an approaching man, “Cullen, I’m going to go beat on the bartender. If someone is desperate for a drink, can you handle it?”

  “Aye.” The giant Dom who’d trained her had his arm around Andrea, his tall, lush brunette wife. He grinned at Josie. “Go have a good time.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to Holt and hesitated. Those clothes made him look awfully mean. And she hadn’t ever seen him play. What if he was a sadist or something? “You…wouldn’t really…”

  He gave her a level look. “You can trust me, Josie.”

  She did, really. Mostly. “I… Okay.”

  “Good girl.” The purr in his resonant voice sent warmth curling inside her.

  He lifted the pass-through to let her out and then stopped her with an upraised hand. “Let’s keep you out of trouble with Master Z. Leave your boots and socks here.”

  “What?”

  His lips twitched, but his face held no laughter. “The correct response is: Yes, Sir.” And he waited, not for her argument but for her to comply.

  “Right. Yes, Sir.” Come to think of it, Zuri and Linda had discussed barefoot submissives. She toed off her boots, removed her socks, and set everything on an under-bar shelf. She was instantly another inch shorter…and this Dom already loomed over her.

 
“Good.” He studied her for a second. “My subbie, you’re still over-dressed. Let me fix that for you.”

  “What?”

  His arched eyebrow reminded her there were rules to the game. This was a game, right? “Uh, yessir.”

  “Better.” He pulled her tucked-in shirt out of her jeans and unbuttoned it, pushing her hands out of his way. Rolling up the shirttail, he tied the ends beneath her breasts, snugly enough her breasts were forced half out of her bra. When he ran a finger over the plumped-up curves, her nipples bunched with excitement.

  “Holt,” she protested.

  “You have beautiful breasts, Josie.” His gaze held hers. “If I want to share the sight with others, that’s my prerogative for the next couple of hours. You think about that before we start. Because I intend for you to be wearing a lot less than this.”

  The entire room had heated to that of a sauna, and with every brush of his fingertip over her skin, the temperature went up another degree. She swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.”

  He nodded approval and curled his hand around her nape, his grip not painful, but…firm. The heat of his hand seemed to sear her skin as he guided her toward the back of the room. “Let’s talk for a minute.”

  Foliage plants in tall planters divided the sitting areas, lending privacy and muting the sound of the music and various scenes. When he sat on a couch, she moved to sit beside him.

  “No, sweetheart.” He pointed to the floor directly in front of him. “Let’s start with the basics. Kneel, please.”

  She closed her eyes. Years of not buckling under to a man warred with the bewildering need to obey. “That’s so wrong.”

  “I understand,” he said evenly. “Josie, submissiveness has nothing to do with being male or female. You’ve been here long enough to see men kneeling as well.”

  She had. And there were female Dominants. In all reality, female equality was perhaps honored even more in the Shadowlands than outside its doors.

  And when it came to her and Holt, there was sure no question of who was the Dominant.

  She knelt.

  “Very nice.” He leaned forward, muscular forearms resting on his knees. “Straighten your spine and lace your hands together behind your back.”

  The posture arched her spine, pushed her breasts outward, and made her shirt gape.

  “Good.” He brushed his knuckles over her collarbone and between her breasts. “Some Doms prefer their submissives to look down. I’d rather have your eyes on me. Always on me. Clear?”

  Her lips were dry. “Yes, Sir.”

  “For this scene, I’m not planning on having anyone else involved. It’ll be just you and me for an hour or two. Nothing terrifying. I’d like to give you a taste of bondage and see how you like various impact toys. On a pain scale of 1 to 10 where 10 is bad, I don’t plan to go over a 3 to 5, and any red marks will disappear within a few hours.”

  In rehab, Oma’s nurses had used a pain scale like this. Hadn’t Carson mentioned Holt worked in a hospital as well as the fire station? The knowledge was reassuring. “Okay.”

  “And, as I warned you, the amount of clothing you’ll wear is up to me.”

  She pulled in a breath. Submissives here were often stripped down to briefs…or nothing. Oh, God. But skin didn’t…really…bother her. Mostly.

  “I need a verbal yes or no, pet.”

  “Okay. Yes, Sir.”

  “Brave girl.”

  He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and the knot of worry relaxed…slightly.

  “I looked at your application file. You have no medical problems, no triggers, no phobias that you know of, right?”

  Oh, God, he’d actually looked at that embarrassing Limits List. Her stomach felt as if she’d swigged an entire bottle of fizzy water. Answer him, Josie. “No problems, right, Sir.” The words were coming easier the longer she was on her knees.

  “We’ll use the club safewords. Yellow means you’re uncomfortable, emotionally or physically, and you want me to pause and fix the problem. Red means everything stops, and the scene is over.” He smiled. “But tonight, because you’re new, I’ll also quit if you say no. However, ouch isn’t a safeword in any way, shape, or form.”

  She snickered—and made a mental note. Use red and yellow.

  “Good. Next, let’s come to agreement on sexual contact.” He smiled into her eyes and ran his fingers over the top of her breasts. “This, by the way, is considered sexual contact. If you’re comfortable with my touch, I’d like to be able to play with your breasts and your pussy—outside and inside, with toys and fingers only.”

  A flush scorched its way from her breasts to her face. Her heart had sped up…and his palm was pressed against her sternum. Maybe she could tell him she didn’t want him to touch her.

  He would know she lied.

  “Okay.” She licked her lips. “But what about you? I mean—do I touch you?”

  “No, baby. Not this time.” He brushed her hair out of her eyes. “That’s not what this scene is about.”

  This scene sounded like there might be others in the future. Sexy ones. What a terrifyingly exciting thought.

  “Do you have any questions or concerns?”

  There was a riptide in her brain, drawing her thoughts away from logic and out into an ocean of desire. She shook her head.

  “All right.” He studied her for another minute, then leaned forward and kissed her. Lightly. Gently.

  She sighed and started to put her arms around his neck and heard him chuckle. “No, sweetheart, you weren’t given permission to move. Arms behind your back.”

  She stared at him. Not allowed to touch him? He wanted her to stay in position while he touched her? Doing what he wanted? The floor seemed to drop slightly under her knees as she slowly put her hands behind her back again.

  He watched her obey, his face unreadable, then a dimple appeared in his cheek. Again, he leaned forward and kissed her, his hand curling behind her nape, holding her as his kiss deepened, as his tongue took possession, as he nibbled on her lips, and then he took her mouth again.

  And she wasn’t permitted to move or touch. A shaking started up deep inside her.

  When he sat back, her gaze dropped, only to have him remind her, “Eyes on me, Josie.”

  As her gaze met his, he simply regarded her, and it felt as if he saw…more. Too much, too deep. Could he see her trembling?

  After studying her for an eternal moment, he grasped her arms and lifted her to her feet. “Let’s go visit the dungeon—or, I should say, the jail.”

  He held her hand and led her to the very back of the clubroom. A small hallway had rooms on each side, each with a large display window. One was set up like a medical exam room. Across from it was an executive’s office. The back left had a room almost filled with a mattress. On the right was… She glanced at Holt.

  “This is the dungeon.” He swung open an actual door with wrought-iron bars. An ancient prison cell door.

  The room felt very medieval with stone walls and roughly fashioned black iron sconces that gave off a red-tinged light. A Domme sat in an ornate throne near the back wall. Her legs were propped on a naked man’s back as she talked with another Domme.

  A leather sling—a sex sling—hung in one corner, and Josie stiffened. Please, not that. But, no, he said it would only be touching, not fucking.

  Holt led Josie to the other corner. A steel bar dangled from chains attached to the exposed beams of the ceiling. Nearby sat a black leather bag—a Dom’s toy bag. Holt slid the bag to one side with his foot.

  She bit her lip, feeling her anticipation…and worry…rising. Was she sure about this?

  Smiling slightly, he kissed her again, even as he pulled off her police hat. He tossed it next to his bag and slipped off her shirt. When she stared up at him, his eyes danced with laughter—and she realized he’d managed to get her bra off, as well.

  “What—” Shocked, she crossed her arms over her breasts.

  “You wouldn’t believe
how hard I practiced that move when I was a teenager.”

  She choked. “I can’t believe you told me that.” Couldn’t she just see him—a lanky blond teen, elated with how expertly he’d removed a girl’s bra?

  Her anxiety eased when he grinned at her. Weren’t BDSM scenes supposed to be all serious and ominous and stuff? But…he’d seen her fear, hadn’t he? Relaxing slightly, she smiled back at him.

  “That’s better.” He ran warm hands up and down her upper arms. “Breathe, pet. Nice deep breath.”

  She sucked in some air.

  “Better.” His hands closed on her forearms, even as he held her gaze with his. “A submissive doesn’t hide her body from her Dom. Arms at your side, please.”

  She swallowed, and her arms dropped.

  “There’s a good girl,” he murmured. He stepped back and looked at her, openly, not embarrassed in the least, even as the heat of a blush filled her face. “You have a beautiful body, sweetheart.”

  As the air wafted over her bared skin, he took leather cuffs from his toy bag. He wrapped a cuff around her left wrist, and despite the soft fleece lining, she couldn’t escape the feeling of…imprisonment…when he buckled it. After cuffing her right wrist, he fastened each cuff to the steel bar over her head. When he finished, her arms were raised over her head in a wide V.

  A tremor surged over her. When Peter had restrained her arms to the St. Andrew’s cross, it hadn’t felt like this. It’d been entertaining. Kind of fun. She’d felt a bit silly. Not…vulnerable.

  She gave a tug on her arms. Restrained.

  And naked from the waist up. She tensed, waiting for him to fondle her. To touch. To…

  Arms crossed over his chest, he stood still. Waiting.

  Slowly…slowly, she realized he was in control, not only of her but of himself as well. Her muscles unknotted.

  “There we go,” he murmured. He moved close enough she could feel the warmth of his body. With a hand at her waist, he ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp gently, sending happy fizzles up her spine. His fingers were firm. Just right.

  He finished by cupping her cheek and ran his thumb over her lips, leaving tingles behind. Taking a knee in front of her, he removed her duty belt and unzipped her pants.