Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am

by Cherise Sinclair

  Her hands opened and closed convulsively as she realized he’d do exactly what he wanted. Her arousal expanded like a balloon. Need to come. Oh, need to come.

  When the anal plug plopped into place, throbbing and burning, she whimpered at the jagged onslaught of fresh pleasure.

  She heard his belt, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper, and his grating laugh. “Now for the part that you’ll hate—and will really enjoy.”

  What? The pulsing sense of need eroded her thoughts and tied her tongue.

  His hands slid over her bottom, down her inner thighs. And then his fingers settled on her clit, pinching hard enough that she screamed and tried to buck.

  The urgent coil in her lower belly tightened and grew.

  His fingers released her. Then something else locked onto her clit, tighter and tighter, as if tiny teeth were gnawing on her. The exquisite bite was shocking, overwhelming, and everything inside her exploded. Oh God! Her body spasmed, tried to move…couldn’t…and the waves of sensation spread outward through her body, filling her mind.

  Before she could recover, she felt his finger opening her labia. His thick cock pressed against her entrance, pushed inside, stretching her ferociously. Too much. As the tidal wave of ecstasy swept her away, she screamed.

  LINDA’S SCREAM ALMOST sent Sam over the edge. The sound of a woman screaming and coming at the same time was the finest of wines, filling his soul. As her cunt convulsed around him in an unstoppable orgasm, her body shook like she’d break into pieces.

  He gave her a few seconds to adapt to his entry, then pulled back and thrust in harder. Faster. Damned if she didn’t keep spasming around him. Couldn’t complain about that.

  She finally sagged against the sawhorse, gasping for breath as if he’d held her underwater.

  She was incredibly wet, and by God, he wanted to see her come again. He changed to a gentle sliding in and out as he ran his hands over her reddened back, savoring her moan. He’d never had someone more fun to play with. To hurt. To fuck.

  He kept his thrusts slow enough to maintain control until she stirred. As her eyes blinked open, he ran his hands over the backs of her thighs. When his fingers encountered the tiny raised lines, he knew she’d get a fine burst of pain. As if in agreement, her cunt clenched around him, and he grinned. He could fuck her for years and never tire of it.

  Mercilessly, he massaged her ass, pleased at the light welting, even more pleased at how she wiggled when the tender skin was further abused. As she started to pant, he tugged on the anal plug, adding new sensations. Overloading her system.

  When he leaned forward, his cock rammed in deeper, right up against her cervix, and he heard her sharp inhalation, her attempt to squirm away. But the low back strap kept her right where he liked her, kept her feeling just what he wanted her to feel.

  With his chest against her back, he reached around to palm her swaying breasts. Gorgeous breasts, heavy and large enough to fill his hands. He massaged them, tugged at them.

  Her nipples were already sore from the wheel, the vampire glove, even a few hits from the quirt. When he pinched hard, her body stiffened, and her low shriek made him laugh. The way she tightened around his cock reaffirmed she was hardwired for pain, and those sensitive breasts made a direct circuit to her pussy. As he played with them, her breasts swelled, increasing his pleasure.

  Increasing hers. She gave a sweet moan and slid deeper into subspace.

  “That’s my girl.” He pounded into her hard enough to make the sawhorse rock. As he shoved her toward coming again, her cunt clamped down and tested his control.

  Her breathing quickened, the sound mingling with her moans as he teased her nipples. Goddamn. His jaw clenched. His straining cock felt as if it would split; his balls seemed as if they’d been compressed between boards. Almost there—both of them.

  Reaching around, he removed the clamp from her clit and could almost hear blood rush back into the abused nub. He drank in how her wailing scream filled the room, how her neck arched to lift her head, how her core clenched and spasmed around him as her orgasm hit her like a pile driver.

  He gripped her hair, pulling as he released control and drove into her fast and hard. His balls were boiling, and the heat poured out of them and through his cock in bone-jolting jerks as he came and came and came.

  God. Damn. With an effort, he released her hair and buried his face in the scented silkiness, content to stay just where he was—buried as deep as a man could go.

  Chapter Eleven

  Seated at a chair near a suspension scene, Aaron watched the little brunette trainee clean off a nearby table. Quite amusing how Sally—wasn’t that her name?—never looked at him if she could help it. Not since he’d slapped her face for speaking up during a scene.

  Her horror had been delightful—her tears even more so.

  But everything had gone to hell after that. Z’s mouthy sub had charged in, which meant Z had gotten involved. Truly a mess. At least the trainee had admitted she hadn’t specified no slapping. When she said she’d been too shocked to safe word, he’d almost laughed. What was the point of slapping someone if you didn’t shock her?

  But it had pissed him off when Z monitored him closely for a time afterward. That was the slut’s fault. He motioned to her. “You. Come here.”

  Her jaw tightened. Didn’t it just break his heart that the trainee bitch had to acknowledge a Dom, even one she hated?

  She approached, although he almost laughed at the ample space she left between them. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Bring me a…” He frowned, remembering he’d already had his two drinks. Cullen kept careful track. “Bring me a mineral water.”

  “Right away, Sir.”

  “Wait.” When he raised his hand and she flinched, he laughed. “Remember our scene, do you? I enjoyed it.”

  Her whole body turned statue still, and an angry flush lit her cheeks. But, oh, too bad for her, the trainee couldn’t yell at a Dom. Couldn’t do shit.

  “Maybe I’ll ask for you again.” He massaged his hand, enjoying how warily she watched him.

  She clenched her tray so hard her knuckles turned white, but her voice stayed polite. Cold. “I’m afraid that would be a waste of your time…Sir.”

  The slut had a backbone. And he couldn’t prod her further without chancing Z’s attention. He flicked his fingers at her. “Go.”

  Her posture displayed a cock-hardening mix of anger and fear as she walked away. He shook his head, regretting that the Harvest Association hadn’t picked her up. She’d have been perfect for the “rebellious slave” themed auction. Unfortunately, she’d gone to visit relatives before the contractor could kidnap her.

  Truly a shame. He’d have loved to break the insolent bitch. Easy-peasy. Force her mouth open with a spider gag and let everyone face fuck her until only whimpers came out. Wouldn’t take long before that cocky walk would turn to a slink, showing her fear of attracting any attention.

  But that opportunity was gone. The Harvest Association wouldn’t expand back into the southern quadrant for quite some time, if ever. Stinking FBI.

  However, the northeast quadrant was in operation, and the Harvest Association took vindictive to new levels. The two asshole agents leading the investigation might well come to regret their actions.

  Something to look forward to.

  Turning, Aaron eyed the unoccupied submissives near the bar. His need wasn’t urgent since he’d indulged in a whore last night. When he’d flashed a wad of money, the foolish woman had climbed right into his car. Poor safety awareness on her part. A shame she’d never learn any better.

  She hadn’t been a bad fuck. After getting off, he’d played with her, hurting her with his fists, then his knife. He’d been furious when she got quiet, like she’d mentally retreated. But no—she’d been dead. No stamina. Truly, the older slaves were more fun.

  Damn Davies for latching on to the redheaded slut.

  Then again, she’d undoubtedly be around. Without Davie
s. Her hair would look good in his drawer. Maybe he’d tie it up with a black ribbon for contrast.

  For now…Aaron studied the submissives again. Perhaps the sharp-nosed slut with dark hair would serve his tastes.

  * * * *

  Linda blinked. Dark. Had she gone blind? She tried to work up some concern, but at the moment, her body felt…awesome. So replete that her insides throbbed with satisfaction. Her ass was tender, her clit ached, and her skin sizzled with delicious pain. With each breath she took, her breasts rubbed against soft fabric. Warmth radiated into her from… Oh.

  She was on Sam’s lap, his powerful arms holding her firmly to his chest. A blanket had been wrapped around her, and her face was buried in the hollow of his neck.

  She considered lifting her head, but that seemed like too much effort.

  “You back with me, baby?” The rumble of his voice was delicious.

  When she wiggled, the scrape of his rough jeans on her tender, bare bottom was like sitting on white-hot coals. She jumped to her feet.

  He yanked her back down. “Stay put.”

  Ow, ow, ow. “Sadist.” But already the burn was sliding into a sweet throb.

  He snorted. “That supposed to be an insult?” His calloused hand stroked down her bare back, making her hiss at the wash of wonderful pain, and he laughed again before reaching for something. A bottle. “Drink some of this.”

  The strawberry-flavored sports drink poured into her parched mouth like a river of coolness. “Mmm.” She sipped more, glorying in the taste and all the bright sensations—the feel of Sam’s warm body, how her skin burned in places, ached in others, the sound of his heartbeat, and music from outside the room. Everything. The comfort of being held—cuddled—made her want to cry and burrow even closer. She’d never felt so close to another human being, as if a ribbon of awareness cycled from him to her.

  At a discreet tap on the door, she reluctantly lifted her head. The time for their special world must be over since she saw Raoul in the hallway. “There’s a window in the door.”

  Sam rose and set her in the chair. “Someone’s always on duty up here. Z doesn’t take chances with his submissives.”

  She frowned. Surely someone didn’t stand at the window all the time. “So if I’d yelled red?”

  “Audio is handled by computer. He’s got some odd software that can pick out words and distress—though the distress category gets a lot of false positives.” Sam winked. “Seems that to a computer, an orgasm sounds like a heart attack.”

  He stepped outside. The men’s voices drifted in through the open doorway.

  Pulling the blanket higher, Linda watched. How come men looked so…edible…in the morning when women looked like hell? With a frown, she tried to smooth out what was probably the worst case of bedhead in all the world.

  Sam glanced back at her, and his eyes lit with laughter. “I like the rumpled look…since I made you that way. It’s a turn-on.”

  Oh. Well. Far be it from her to deny a man his little diversions. Then again…

  When she kept finger combing her hair, his lips quirked. “Raoul and Kim are leaving. Do you want to go with them, or—”

  “Oh, heavens!” Where were her brains? How could she possibly have forgotten she’d arrived with people? “Tell him I’m sorry! I’ll be right there.”

  Her clothes were folded on top of Sam’s toy bag. She donned her halter top and skirt, inhaling hard when the fabric encountered sore skin. Memory after memory of how her skin had gotten that way sent heat flushing through her until her face probably glowed. I want to stay.

  Leaning against the door frame as he talked with Raoul, Sam wasn’t bothering to conceal his enjoyment. Once she was dressed, he walked over and pulled her into a hug. “If you stay, we could move to one of the rooms with a bed. I’d like to run my hands over you and hear those noises before I took you again.” He squeezed her welted bottom, making her moan. He rumbled a laugh. “That’s a good sound.”

  As the sultry burn washed through her, every drop of blood pooled in her lower half and set up an urgent need. She wanted it all again. The pain. His demands. Him taking her. She rested her forehead against him, trying to burrow closer. To hang on forever. “I’m opening the store tomorrow. I have to go.”

  “All right.” She felt him kiss the top of her head.

  When Linda stepped into the hallway, Raoul was leaning against the railing. His dark gaze swept over her in a slow perusal before his lips curled in an easy smile. “You look as if you had a good time.”

  After all the things Sam had done to her, how could she possibly have a blush left? But she did.

  Beside her, Sam ran a knuckle down her cheek, obviously enjoying the color show. “If you get depressed or weepy, you tell Raoul or you call me. Clear?”

  A definite order. Sometimes that military background of his popped right out, didn’t it? “Okay, Sarge. Got it.” Oh, bad mouth. And if he slapped her butt right now, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet.

  He stilled, gave her an assessing look from ice-blue eyes, then snorted. “You look so sweet, but you got some brat in there.” He tugged on her hair, and Lord help her, even her scalp was sore. She didn’t make any noise, but his eyes crinkled with what he must have seen in her face. “Want me to come by tomorrow?”

  Her heart lifted. Yes yes yes. Then she felt a twinge of guilt. He was always driving to her house. That didn’t seem fair. “I can come to your place instead.”

  The laughter disappeared from his eyes, as did any trace of softness. “Ah—”

  She took a step back, realizing he’d never invited her over. Never even talked about his farm. Because he didn’t want her there? “Oh. Never mind.” The inside of her chest suddenly hurt worse than her back and bottom. Did he think she’d contaminate his home?

  Sam reached out, but she stepped away.

  “Linda.”

  No laugh, no apology. All she heard in that one word was reluctance. Regret. He really didn’t want her at his house.

  The Overseer’s voice slid into her head. “You’re a slut. A fuck hole. That’s all you are.” She swallowed. She’d thought Sam liked her…liked her for more than… The cold wind of reality ripped any lingering warmth away, leaving her exposed and chilled. Trembling.

  “I really need to go.” She took two steps to Raoul, hoping, still hoping, that Sam would react.

  But it was Kim’s Master who put an arm around her. “Come, chiquita.”

  When he gently pulled her to his side, she blinked back tears. Had there ever been such a nice man? “Thank you,” she whispered, burying her face against his chest.

  “Shhh,” he whispered into her hair. He lifted his head. “My friend, you are a fool.”

  Sam didn’t answer.

  As Raoul guided her down the hallway to where Kim waited, no footsteps sounded behind them. Eyes blurry with tears, Linda looked back. Sam was gripping the railing. His head was bowed.

  He didn’t come after her.

  * * * *

  Nolan’s construction crew took Sundays off, which suited Sam just fine. He was irritable enough without the noise of construction—had been irritable ever since he shoved both boots in his mouth with Linda. Hell, his boots hadn’t gone in his mouth; instead they’d trampled all over an innocent submissive.

  You’re a bastard, Davies. He’d picked up the phone several times, intending to apologize and to…to do what? What did he want to happen between them?

  Tilting back on his porch chair, feet up on the railing, he drank coffee and watched the cold, gray world come to life. From the chicken pen, the rooster announced dawn. In the pastures, the cattle and horses trailed down toward the pond. Connagher was doing perimeter patrol, lifting his leg in some preset canine pattern to mark his territory. With no field hands today, the orange groves were quiet.

  Chores or not, he couldn’t summon the energy to start moving. Caffeine hadn’t helped his energy level. Time hadn’t helped his guilt.

  The pain
in Linda’s eyes had stabbed right through him. Made him realize how badly he’d screwed up. He hadn’t thought, just reacted. The idea of a woman in his home—after the war zone it had been during his marriage—had paralyzed him completely. Seemed that four years of quiet hadn’t erased the bitterness and memories.

  He wanted Linda—hell, yes—but for what? A play partner? An occasional fuck buddy? The thought thinned his mouth. She deserved better. He had plenty of play partners and fuck buddies. She meant more. The feel of her around his cock was fantastic; the feel of her in his arms, warm and soft, was even better. The hollow of her neck smelled faintly of lavender.

  Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Got it bad. He could remember every laugh line on her face and see how her freckles faded into the pure white of her breasts. He liked how unexpected things would catch her fancy and her laughter would escape, so surprisingly full-bodied that he’d grin every time.

  She hummed when she cooked. Sang when she scrubbed. She wore her music as another woman would wear jewelry.

  She was fucking brave. And smart. Fun to talk with. Cute with her grumpiness in the mornings.

  If she lived here, they’d… Yeah, that right there was the problem. He liked being single. Compared to the alternative he’d experienced, he could live with occasional loneliness.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the small window he’d replaced after Nancy’s door-slamming tantrum had shattered the antique glass. For a year after the divorce, it seemed like her screams and vitriol had continued to echo off the walls. He and Nicole had moved around the place like shell-shocked survivors. Then they’d slowly redecorated the entire house. Breakables had worked their way back in.

  How could he bring someone into this carefully crafted peace? Even briefly?

  Hell, he hadn’t even known Linda that long.

  Like Nancy. Three dates and she’d turned up pregnant. He’d had no clue about her messed-up welfare family or her drug habit.

  Then again, he’d spent long hours in Linda’s home, enjoying her company. He’d scened with her, bared her body and her soul. And sure as hell he’d been a Dom long enough to know when a submissive was lying.