Masters at Arms

by Kallypso Masters

  Then the memory of her last two clients returned.

  Ropes. Quirt. Electricity.

  Each time she’d managed to separate her mind from the clients’ horrific scene, the two sadists had become more relentless in torturing her with whatever device they were using at the time. Sometimes two at once. They seemed determined to keep her mind emotionally invested in the scene, ruthlessly pulling her back into her body to feel each blow, each infliction of pain.

  Then one of the men had pulled out his smart phone, spread her private folds, and taken several photos of her shame. They had known she’d been branded. Heat suffused her face. She closed her eyes.

  What now? Lyle and her father would be furious. She’d never lost them a client before. Last night, she’d lost two. Her punishment would be severe. She opened her eyes and glanced toward the door. Where had Lyle gone? When would he be back? She supposed her father would send a car for her. They knew they didn’t have to worry about her running away. The threat of living a hellish life as a street whore would keep her tethered in her velvet chains.

  Savannah began to shake.

  “Shhh. It’s okay.” The man on the bed—Damián—reached out a hand to her, but she pulled her body away. He let his hand come to rest on the mattress between them, as if he were training a dog to get used to him by small degrees. His brown skin contrasted sharply with the white sheets. Exotic. So different from the men who could afford her.

  No, he wasn’t her client. That she knew. So who was he? She shivered and returned his gaze, seeing regret, pity. She didn’t want or need anyone’s pity.

  “I don’t know you.”

  “I work here at the hotel.”

  Oh, Lord! The bus boy! She remembered him from the restaurant. How had she come to be in bed with him? Had anything happened? Clearly, she’d zoned out. Had he forced himself on her while her mind was out of her body?

  No. The concern in the man’s warm-chocolate eyes told her he wasn’t a threat. She didn’t think so, anyway. His pupils were so large, his eyes almost looked black. Her instincts regarding men were more than a little warped. Still, something began to melt inside her. The image of him barging into the room last night carrying a…a fire extinguisher? She tried to keep from smiling, but couldn’t help herself. So incongruous with the type of rescue she’d needed.

  Damián raised an eyebrow, then smiled back. His white teeth against a bronzed face sent a flock of swallows to flight inside her stomach. She giggled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You, barging in here last night carrying that ridiculous fire extinguisher.”

  “Someone yelled ‘fire.’”

  “Well, I read once that no one comes when you yell rape.”

  His face grew serious. “They didn’t—?”

  She shook her head. “No. Against the rules.” Tears stung the backs of her eyelids. “No one’s ever come to my rescue before.” She turned away. Don’t let him get inside your head, Savi. This stranger was even more dangerous than the sadists. He made her feel vulnerable. She needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to keep the walls of her fortress intact.

  Until she could get home and put her final plan into motion, she’d do well to remember that men weren’t safe or honorable.

  But Damián had held her for hours without taking advantage of her. Amazing man.

  She looked back at him. “Thank you.”

  “De nada.”

  Then she realized what his actions had cost him. “Oh, God. Your job.”

  A bus boy probably needed every paycheck just to survive. She assessed him. He wore a polo uniform shirt—which he filled out better than any polo she’d ever seen—and inexpensive black jeans.

  He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. But she doubted he was truly that nonchalant. He’d be fired, if he hadn’t been already, all because of her. Unfair. Yet another victim of her father’s and Lyle’s ruthlessness. His face blurred as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”

  He leaned closer. She didn’t back away this time, but her heart began beating faster.

  “I’d do it again,” he whispered. “No regrets, Savannah. No one should hurt you like that.”

  She closed her eyelids and swallowed. Damián’s fingertip brushed away a tear that rolled from the corner of her eye. His hand felt warm against her chilled skin. A jolt of electricity zapped her clit—and not the kind of zap the sadists had delivered, either. Her eyes opened wider. No man had ever caused a sexual response in her.

  When he pulled his hand back, she fought the urge to lean toward him. How could she feel so safe with this stranger?

  Dangerous. She needed to get away before he got under her skin. She instinctively knew that opening herself up to his kindness would just result in even more intense pain when she left him to return to Master. Her life, her body, were not hers.

  “I have to get home.”

  Savannah didn’t know what would happen when she got there. Her father would be furious when Lyle told him what she’d done. She looked around the room. Where was the camera? Were they watching her even now? Her skin crawled. Were they waiting for Damián to leave so they could whisk her back to her prison on the hill in Rancho? Her failure would be severely punished.

  Again, for a man who espoused no regrets, she did see regret in Damián’s eyes. “Why don’t you get dressed? I need to go clean out my locker. Can you meet me in the lobby in twenty?”

  “Sure.” She pushed the sheet aside, but groaned at the pain of moving.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “My legs are sore.”

  “Damn. Let me run downstairs and get the first-aid kit.”

  “No, really! I’m fine.”

  “Bullshit. Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll be right back.”

  He didn’t wait for her to agree, just left the room. She hobbled over on her sore feet and locked the door behind him, then went to the bathroom to relieve herself. She then washed her thighs with soapy water. At least there weren’t any open cuts. Just red welts. She rinsed the washcloth and wiped her legs free of soap, then heard a knock at the door. Her heart thudded until she heard a familiar voice.

  “It’s Damián!”

  She grabbed a towel and went to the door to let him back inside. He administered first-aid efficiently, as if he was used to taking care of others.

  “Where’d you get your first-aid expertise?”

  “I have a niece who’s a tomboy. She’s always in one scrape or another.”

  She watched his brown hands against her white thighs as he gently applied antibiotic cream before taping gauze to the insides of her thighs. Then he washed her feet. She’d never had anyone take care of her needs in such a long time. Not since Maman.

  “How does that feel?”

  “Better.” She smiled. “Thanks, Damián.”

  “De nada. Let me help you get dressed. I’ll carry you down the back stairs so we can get out without alerting security.”

  “You don’t have to carry me.”

  He glanced at her feet, then back at her face. “I’m carrying you.”

  He retrieved her black dress, bra, and panties from the chair in the corner and helped her dress. She felt like a child, and blushed knowing she wasn’t. She lifted her arms and he slipped the dress down her torso as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  Damián stood back, looking down at her. “Hope you won’t mind riding on the back of my Harley.”

  An image of her legs wrapped around him caused her nipples to harden. She watched him glance down at them, which caused them to grow even harder. Her face reddened, then he raised his gaze to her eyes. His grin caused her clit to throb. Oh, Lord. Her breasts had done the talking for her.

  “Good, querida.”

  Oh, Savannah, you’re so close to ending your suffering.

  Don’t do anything stupid and screw it up.

  * * *

  Dam
ián throttled the engine and peeled out of the parking lot. The feeling of control the hog gave him as it responded got the blood rushing through his body in a way nothing else could. Okay, maybe there was something else that could charge his engine. Like the beautiful woman plastered against his back and hips right now. He grinned.

  The Harley was the only thing he’d ever been able to call his own. He’d worked for a Harley-Davidson repair shop and saved every penny until he could buy his own used chopper. It had been a total piece of crap when he’d bought it, but he’d restored it himself over the past year and could now interpret every rumble the engine made. He hoped he wouldn’t have to sell his baby to make ends meet, not after all the time and money he had put into her.

  Savannah’s arms held him tight around the waist, her hands pressing into his stomach. He tried not to think about her sexy legs molded against his hips and thighs. His dick hardened. That she’d been game to ride on his bike surprised him. She didn’t seem like the type who’d want to get her hair mussed. And she sure as hell wasn’t dressed to ride. He’d made her wear his leather jacket, but it barely covered her black cocktail dress.

  Savannah sure was full of surprises.

  The pre-dawn traffic was light as he rode down Marine Street in La Jolla. Savannah was a natural on the bike, leaning with him as he made turns and lane changes. Now if only he could curb the ache of wanting to bury his dick deep inside her. Between the vibration of the machine and her body pressed against his back, ass, and legs, he felt like he’d explode. Mierda. He rolled on the throttle and catapulted them onto the 5. When she grabbed his waist even tighter, he grinned. Damn, she felt good against him.

  Palm trees and scrubby evergreens dotted the sides of the road. The Pacific stretched out forever to the west. She’d given him her father’s address in Rancho Santa Fe. Not that it was any of his business, but he couldn’t help but wonder why someone from a rich neighborhood like Rancho would let men treat her with such disrespect.

  He lived in La Colonia where he’d grown up, the Solana Beach neighborhood now known as Eden Gardens. It had sprung up in the shadow of Rancho to house the workers for the wealthy Rancho residents. His Chicano grandparents and father had immigrated from Mexico in the 1930s and worked for Rancho millionaires for decades. His mother, a sixth-generation Californian, had been a housekeeper behind the gates of one of the Rancho mansions. He’d lived in the shadow of the Rancho decadence all his life.

  Now he had one of their daughters on the back of his Harley. Wasn’t that a pisser? What would her family think when he rolled up at their door to drop her off? He grinned. As much as he couldn’t wait to see that, he’d much rather enjoy their brief time together staying in the moment.

  She laid her helmeted head against his shoulder and his dick jerked. Mierda. Yeah, he definitely needed to stay in this moment. But he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she was doing trusting him, a freakin’ stranger, like this. How did she know he wouldn’t just take her to some isolated place to rape and kill her? He remembered the torture she’d undergone yesterday. This chica had some serious problems with setting boundaries and making healthy choices about men.

  Soon he would have her back in her safe little world, thankfully, before they did something she’d regret later. He wouldn’t regret anything he did with her, though. No fucking way.

  Luckily, her exit was coming up. Soon he’d have her safe at home. He hoped she wouldn’t venture out on another escort assignment anytime soon with Jerk-off.

  As he came to the end of the ramp, she lifted the visor and shouted in his ear, “Don’t take me home yet.”

  He just about blew a wad in his pants. Whether it was her warm body against him, her sexy voice in his ear, or visions of having her body underneath his, he knew in an instant where he wanted to take her before he let this mariposa flit away for good. He’d never taken a chica there before….

  Don’t analyze it. Just point the front tire in the right direction.

  He turned left and wove his way through the business and residential districts of Solana Beach, and then became one with the sea air as he accelerated. Riding eighty miles an hour along the Pacific Coast Highway and the 5 always recharged his batteries. He’d begun escaping here as soon as he’d learned to drive. As a sixteen-year-old, he’d made the trip in a beat-up Chevy.

  Being locked up in juvie had nearly strangled his soul. When they’d released him, he’d spent about two weeks at Thousand Steps Beach, sleeping on the cliffs at high tide, and exploring the beach and cave at low.

  Don’t think about that now. You have a beautiful woman plastered against your body, man. Focus.

  Damián hoped she didn’t mind stairs. He loved how few people frequented this beach—probably because of those daunting stairs. Almost like having his own private beach. He couldn’t wait to share the place with Savannah. His heartbeat sped up as they came upon the outskirts of Camp Pendleton.

  Wouldn’t be long now.

  * * *

  Savannah’s body had never felt so relaxed. She’d have fallen asleep, if not for the fear of falling off his Harley. She grinned. Savannah Gentry riding a Harley hog. Good Lord. And in a skintight dress covered in a leather Harley-emblazoned jacket, no less.

  She suppressed a giggle. Escape. The feeling was so exhilarating. She never wanted this moment to end. She already knew she was in for the discipline session of a lifetime. Might as well do something to earn it.

  She raised her head and looked around. The rising sun cast a pinkish tinge over the landscape. The ocean spread out to the horizon on her left. The last time she’d been on the PCH and the 5 just for fun was…don’t think about that now. Lifting the helmet’s visor again, she took a deep breath of the salty sea air. Alive. She wanted to relish in the feeling of being alive—free—before she returned to her prison.

  They were passing through Camp Pendleton because she saw tanks on early-morning maneuvers to the west. How had they gotten this far north in such a short time? They must be flying like the wind. She loved it.

  “Where are we headed?” she shouted into his ear, feeling loose strands of his hair whipping against her lips. She felt a zing to her clit. Crazy! She smiled and closed her eyes.

  “Laguna Beach. A special place I want to show you.”

  A niggling memory flashed across her mind. Happy, yet sad. Savannah quashed the memory before it could invade her good mood. Leave the past in the past.

  She felt like a schoolgirl cutting class, or what she’d imagined that would feel like. Having had private tutors at home, skipping classes was something she had never been able to do. She’d been caned more than once by her tutors for other infractions, though. Some days, she seemed to get in trouble for breathing. More likely, they were just pervs given permission by Master to discipline her.

  Forget about that for now. Today, you’re free, at least for a little while. Lowering the visor, she slid her arms around his waist, her thumbs brushing against his pecs. His muscles felt like leather-covered steel. She loved to touch him. The rumble of the Harley motor against her clit stimulated her much better than the butterfly vibrator her father used to force orgasms on her when he wanted to exact that torture on her.

  Don’t think about Him anymore.

  All too soon, Damián pulled into a parking spot across the highway from the beach-access steps. She scooted back on the seat, ignoring the stinging pain in her bandaged thighs. She didn’t want to think about that beating anymore. She only wanted to experience this, her last day.

  Damián got off the bike first. She expected him to extend a hand to help her off. Instead, he motioned for her to swing her leg over the bike’s seat, then bent down to remove her stilettos.

  “We’re ditching the heels,” he said. He opened the storage case behind the seat, pulled out a beach towel, and stowed her shoes inside.

  “I don’t have any other shoes.”

  “I’ll carry you.” He removed her helmet—well, his helmet, since he only ha
d the one—and secured it in the compartment with her shoes.

  She laughed. “I can walk in my bare feet once we get to the beach.”

  His hands spanned her waist under the open jacket and he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. She grabbed onto his shoulders to steady herself, laughing. His muscles corded beneath his black T-shirt.

  “I’ll carry you again when we get to the rocks, then.”

  Rocks? She thought they were just going to stroll along the beach. Where did he plan to take her? Curiosity filled her thoughts as she alternated standing on one foot then the other. Seconds after her feet hit the pavement, the cuts she’d endured yesterday on her soles caused her to wince.

  Damián handed her the towel, then lifted her into his arms. “Oh!” She screamed in surprise and laughed. Holding onto the towel, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Satin on steel. His attention was intent on watching for an opening in traffic for them to cross. She stared at his profile.

  His nose had been broken at some point. Had he been an athlete in school, or had he been injured fighting? He had a closed-up hole for an ear piercing. No earring. A lock of hair fell over his forehead that she itched to brush back with her fingers. His devilish appearance did strange things to her libido—like ignite it. Strange, indeed.

  She was grateful she didn’t have to walk after all. It would take a while for her tender soles to heal. He started down the steps and she looked ahead to see where they were going.

  A flash of memory caused a momentary bout of vertigo. She held on tighter and looked back up at him, almost expecting to see Maman. No. She was with Damián. She pushed the confusing image back into the recesses of her mind.

  The steps went on forever. “My God! Are there really a thousand of them?” She couldn’t even see the beach for the overgrown arbor hanging over portions of the stairway. Guilt assailed her for making him carry her. “You can put me down. I can walk.”

  “I’m carrying you.”

  His tone didn’t invite disagreement, so she held on tight, hoping to ease some of her weight from his arms. Then she worried about putting a strain on his neck. But he didn’t even sound out of breath, as though he bench-pressed a woman every day or something.