The Effing List

by Cherise Sinclair

  Last weekend, she’d given a demonstration on Florentine flogging along with some instruction on when it was useful. Too many Doms learned because it was flashy—instead of understanding it was merely one more technique. In this case, one to be used for the rather delightful effect that continuous rhythmic sensations could have on a submissive.

  She half-smiled…because Natalia had started to drift into subspace illustrating exactly what Olivia had been saying.

  As they headed for the bar, Natalia returned a silent wave to a couple of submissives. A group of Doms gave Olivia chin-up greetings.

  Yes, the Shadowlands had returned to being the friendly place Z wanted for the community.

  Ghost studied them as they approached, and his lips quirked. “Olivia, if Chelsey pisses herself at the sight of you, you get to mop the floor.”

  Aaand that was all it took for Natalia to break down into giggles. “I said about the same thing to the Mistress.”

  “Natalia.” Olivia shook her head. “I can’t have you laughing—”

  Her normally quiet submissive giggled harder—and Ghost grinned.

  Olivia grabbed her hair firmly enough to make her gasp, hard enough heat rose in the liquid brown eyes.

  Don’t get diverted by thoughts of sex. With a bit of work, she kept her voice hard. “Girl, are you going to behave or should—”

  “She can sit with us, Mistress Olivia,” Gabi called from a nearby conversational area. “She’ll be able to watch without having to be involved.”

  Olivia turned to Natalia and raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, please, Mistress.” Laughter gone, Natalia pulled in a breath. “When Chelsey is actually here, it’s not going to be funny at all and…”

  And Natalia would probably end up in tears. Olivia pulled her tenderhearted submissive into her arms. Over the past twelve days, they’d done as Ghost asked and discussed consequences for Chelsey. They’d arrived at a plan.

  Ghost had agreed, arranged for several other Masters to be here as witnesses, then told Chelsey when to show up. If she wanted to remain a member, she’d be here.

  Olivia looked around and realized Ghost was surrounded by Masters: Sam, Anne, Vance, Marcus, Cullen, and Alastair. Their submissives were seated with Gabi.

  Olivia gave Natalia a squeeze and murmured, “All right, love, sit with the submissives.”

  Natalia turned her face up for a kiss—and got one. Then she hurried over to the submissive group and tucked herself up against Ghost’s Valerie. Gabi moved in closer on the other side.

  Olivia smiled. Her love was as buffered against what would come as she could possibly be.

  Friends could become closer than family, couldn’t they?

  And a lover could be…everything. She drew in a slow breath of happiness.

  Cullen moved over. “I’m surprised you didn’t decide to simply kick Chelsey out of the Shadowlands.”

  The other Doms halted their conversations, turning to listen.

  “We talked about terminating her membership,” Olivia said. “But starting fresh somewhere else wouldn’t force her to deal with her actions.”

  “Interesting,” Marcus said. “What’s your reasoning?”

  “I’m from an exceedingly small town. Everyone knows everyone—and their history. If you mess up, for years afterward, you’ll have your nose rubbed in what you’ve done. People watching to see if you’ve changed, if you were sorry, if you worked to regain the trust. Peer pressure can be a force for good as well as bad.”

  Max nodded. “Our town in Colorado is the same way.”

  Olivia’s gaze fell on Natalia. How wonderful it was to have her back.

  And they’d been miserable for over two months solely because of the jealous woman who was now walking up to the bar.

  Chelsey saw Olivia and stopped dead. After a second, she continued forward until she halted in front of Olivia. “Mistress Olivia.” Her gaze met Olivia’s for barely a second, then she dropped to her knees. “I’m sorry.”

  Not nearly sorry enough.

  “Chelsey, explain to me—and everyone listening—why you’re here to be disciplined.”

  Chelsey gripped her hands together in front of herself. “I…changed a photo and—”

  “I cannot hear you, missy,” Sam growled.

  The submissive swallowed and spoke louder. “I found a picture of two women together in bed, and I photoshopped Natalia’s head onto one woman’s body. And then I lied to you, Mistress Olivia, and said Natalia was cheating on you.”

  “Holy crapping doo-doo,” someone said from farther down the bar.

  “Yes. That is what you did. Here are the consequences.” Olivia kept her voice steady and firm. “This incident will be added to your Shadowlands record and visible to whoever wants to play with you.”

  Chelsey went pale.

  Yes, she’d now get to live with the effects of screwing up in a small community.

  What Chelsey wouldn’t know was the record would also contain a suggestion to the Dominants to observe this submissive for lying—and to reward honesty.

  “After six months, if the Colonel feels your behavior has improved, he will wipe it from your record. We will all be watching you, Chelsey.” Olivia paused and her voice lowered. “Your lies hurt me and Natalia—and damaged you, as well. Because, at heart, you’re a good person, and I cannot imagine that you haven’t felt ugly inside about this.”

  Chelsey burst into tears, confirming Olivia’s belief.

  She waited long enough for the young woman to be able to listen, then added, “This is your chance to fix what you damaged. Work on your character. Become the honorable, honest person I know you can be. Then you will have made things right with me and Natalia—and the club.”

  Olivia stepped back and paused. Bloody hell. The girl was in no shape to leave right now.

  “I got this,” Ghost murmured. Ignoring the submissive’s tears, he lifted her to her feet, then put a notebook and pen into her hand. He set her on a barstool at the end of the bar and Olivia heard him say in a low voice, “The journal is for you. For the next hour, set down your thoughts on what you’ve done, how it made you feel, and what actions you’re going to take to do better.”

  Despite her tears, Chelsey gave him an appalled stare.

  “No one will read what you write. But you will sit here and work on your task until the bartender says your hour is up. Then you may go home.”

  He glanced up, and Josie gave him a mini salute.

  “Am I clear?” he asked Chelsey.

  “Yes, Sir,” Chelsey whispered. “I understand.” She took a better grip on the pen and opened the journal.

  When Ghost returned to the group of Masters, Olivia nudged him. “You are such a bloody professor.”

  He grinned. “It’ll give her time to settle down, so she’ll be safe on the road.”

  “Good thinking.” Olivia sighed. “Thank you.”

  “Part of the job.” His gaze was on Natalia, who looked a bit shaken. “A suggestion?”

  Olivia eyed him.

  “Saxon commandeered the orgy room for a pet corner again. Why don’t you turn your subbie into a kitten and let her play pounce until she feels better?”

  “It’s, actually, a very good suggestion,” Olivia said slowly. She turned to Alastair and Marcus. “It would be even better if Natalia had a couple of buddies in there.”

  “I do think that is a fine idea,” Marcus said in his slow Southern accent. “Gabrielle makes a most adorable puppy.”

  Alastair grinned. “Uzuri had buyer’s meetings all day. Being a kitten would be particularly good—and she can release some of her irritation by bouncing off a clueless puppy.”

  Marcus just laughed.

  Olivia shook her head and gazed at the Dominants who’d come to support her. “When we all stopped coming to the Shadowlands, I hadn’t realized how much I missed you all. I’m glad we’re all back together.”

  The smiles she received showed they felt the sam
e.

  Then her adorable submissive wrapped her arms around Olivia and batted her innocent brown eyes. “Mew, mew, mew?”

  Of course, the submissives had been listening. Olivia burst out laughing.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sleeping in, sex, then a nice workout were excellent ways to enjoy a Sunday. After finishing his push-ups, Ghost sat on the mat to watch Valerie working the big sandbag.

  After two weeks of being naked, she’d grown comfortable with her body—at least around him. So now, she was wearing a tank and shorts.

  Punch, punch, punch.

  He frowned. She was barely denting the bag. Still.

  “Put some effort into it, Dr. Winborne,” he called.

  Lifting her shirt to swipe sweat off her forehead, she gave him a nice glimpse of her stomach. Nice. Since they’d started working out, she’d put on some muscle, but she still had a beautiful roundness to her belly. So damn bitable.

  She turned back to the bag for more punches.

  No. “The power comes from your toes, growing in strength all the way up. Turn your hip into it and let loose.”

  She did try, but she still wasn’t committing to the all-out effort it would take to flatten an opponent. Sure, her punches would hurt. But in a real fight, she needed to do more than inflict some pain.

  Ah, well, he’d keep working on her. Emotionally, she was a strong woman, but also had a gentle spirit. Hitting someone with all her strength went against her very nature.

  “Go ahead and take the first shower,” he suggested. “I still have some sit-ups to do.”

  She laughed and patted her damp shirt. “I definitely need a shower. And I’m blaming you for at least part of why I do.”

  “Lass, it’s not my fault you’re too sexy to resist in the morning.”

  “You’re male. You think wake-up boners mean anything is sexy in the morning.”

  “Ahh.” There was some truth to what she said. However… “You’re confusing available with sexy. If I’m starving, I’ll eat whatever I can find—even porridge. But I’d far prefer a big meal of bacon and eggs, which is always amazing, even when I’m not particularly hungry.”

  He flashed her a smile. “You, woman, are always sexy…any time of the day. I see you naked, and boom, there I am”—he wrapped his fingers around an imaginary hard-on— “pitchin’ a tent. Popping a chub. Sporting a woodie.”

  She flushed. Had she and her dickhead ex never talked about sex? Even after almost living here for a month, she still easily flustered.

  The sadist in him totally enjoyed turning her red.

  “You’re so bad. I’m going to shower and you”—she pointed at him—“you stay here and finish your workout.”

  It was almost a dare, but he was still content from a vigorous bout of sex this morning, and his dick liked a bit of recovery time. He wasn’t eighteen any longer, after all.

  Instead, he finished off his sit-ups, then tidied up the living room to cool off while he waited for her to finish.

  He liked that the room now showed someone lived here. The coffee table held his notes for the military history book he was writing and his latest crossword puzzle. E-readers sat on the end tables, since Valerie also preferred reading to television watching.

  He tucked her embroidery stuff back into its basket and shook his head. Although she often meditated in the garden, she used her cross-stitching as a mindfulness exercise.

  No wonder she radiated peacefulness.

  The shower shut off, and, giving her a few minutes, he finished cleaning the room.

  Hearing her in the bedroom, he leaned against the doorframe to savor the scenery. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

  Startled, Valerie jumped, dropping her dress.

  As she bent to retrieve it, his dick hardened. “Damn, I love your ass.”

  And he really liked how she looked in the underwear he’d bought her. The tiny briefs were more lace than substance, and the deep blue contrasted beautifully with her fair skin.

  If she didn’t have anything planned—

  Rather than using a bra, she pulled a blue sundress over her head, then captured her breasts in some sort of built-in rigging.

  No wonder women had less trouble with bondage than men; they’d been doing it for years.

  As she tied the laces at the back, she glanced over her shoulder, noticed where his gaze was focused, and laughed. “You, sir, are insatiable. I have grading to do, a test to prepare, and I need to visit my apartment. I haven’t been there in a couple of days, and I’m out of clothes.”

  Her place. Joining her, he ran his hand down her bare arm. “Valerie, why don’t you move in with me? You’re practically living here anyway.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Interesting. Why did the suggestion come as such a surprise?

  “Lass.”

  “Wait. Just wait.” She took a couple of steps back.

  The way she retreated from him was concerning…even frustrating.

  Rather than responding, he moved back to the doorway. “Can you tell me why you appear to be upset?”

  She pulled in a breath. “I… It’s too soon, okay?”

  Irritation prickled his nerves. “Not everything needs to be on a time-table. I love you. You love me. Yes?”

  “Those are feelings, Ghost.” She tried to run a brush through her hair, the bristles caught, and she spat out. “Al’ama.”

  It was a mild curse, the Arabic equivalent to “damn”. But she wasn’t one to curse often, although, he had to admit, a bout of vigorous sex—and his hands—had rather thoroughly tangled her hair.

  He studied her for a moment. “Feelings are usually involved when people move in together.”

  “I suppose.” She moved forward, then stopped, obviously expecting him to get out of the doorway.

  He didn’t move.

  Her color rose. “There’s more involved than merely feelings. Like being practical and looking forward and…and—” She sputtered to a stop.

  Hmm. “You’re rarely at a loss for words when you’re comfortable, which makes me think there’s something else at play here.”

  “I’m simply not…not ready, okay? I don’t want to give up my apartment, my place. Even if it’s more work to run back and forth.” Her face had flushed.

  “Do you still think I’m going to…to replace…you like your husband did?”

  Her expression changed, flattened until no emotion showed at all.

  She did think that.

  “Seriously?” Anger sparked inside him. His jaw tightened until it hurt.

  After a second, he stepped out of the doorway to let her out.

  “I’m… I know you’re not like him, but”—she shook her head—“I know, but I still—”

  “What…exactly…can I do to reassure you?” Despite his efforts, he could hear the frustration in his voice. Because he’d been basking in a glow of happiness, and she’d been worrying he was going to… What, dump her? Go after some youngster? “Let’s talk about what you’re feeling.”

  “I don’t think so. No.” Rather than caving in, she turned to glare at him as she crossed the living room.

  “Valerie.”

  “I’m really sorry if my worries don’t conform to your timeline, Colonel. Feel free to give me a detailed schedule, and I’ll get back to you.”

  Snatching up her purse and sandals at the kitchen door, she walked out.

  Not slamming the door, no, not his professor. But it closed with a very decided sound.

  It was good to know she could stand up to him—and it was also as annoying as hell. Because she’d walked out in the middle of their discussion…argument.

  Fight.

  Yeah, he’d fucked up quite nicely.

  Early in the evening, Valerie ran a finger around the rim of her glass of sangria, half-heartedly listening to the other women around the round table. The upscale bar was crowded with tourists, probably there for the “happy hour” drink special.

>   She wasn’t much in a happy hour mood, but Linda had called and talked her into joining some of the Shadowlands submissives.

  What a messed-up day.

  Earlier in her apartment, she’d started a list of the pros and cons of giving up her place. Then, annoyed, she’d abandoned it and instead scrawled Finn’s name at the bottom of her F list. Because he was an item that definitely needed work.

  Effing man.

  After enjoying the momentary satisfaction, she’d done her grading and finished preparing the tests for the remainder of the year. Cleaned her apartment. Did the laundry.

  Being angry with someone was more energizing than a potful of coffee.

  So was being angry with herself.

  She certainly could have handled the discussion about her apartment in a more reasonable fashion. Instead, she’d stomped away—no, fled—like a child.

  Even worse, she wasn’t sure what to do at this point. Should she stay away? Or show up as usual with her suitcase. Could she even assume he still wanted her there?

  Or at all?

  A burst of laughter brought her attention back to her friends.

  Really, Valerie, this wasn’t the time to be stewing.

  And who could stay in a grumpy mood when Zuri had brought fuzzy kitten-ear headbands for everyone to wear?

  Caving into peer pressure, and honestly, unable to resist, Valerie had donned a band, fluffing her hair enough her ears pricked up just enough to be seen.

  She checked her image in the tiny mirror from her purse and laughed. “I’m too old for this and not a cute person.”

  “Yet you look adorable,” Linda confirmed and took the mirror to check her own ears…and grinned. “We’re both cute.”

  “However, this costume party stops with ears,” Valerie said firmly. “No whiskers.”

  Andrea snickered. “Be grateful it isn’t a Master dressing you up. Cullen likes seeing me as a cat, and he always adds a tail.”