The Dom's Dungeon (2 page)

Anger
welled up inside Alex. A man had a responsibility to protect the helpless, not
abuse them. This looked like a fine time to do some instruction. He turned away
then, just as the thief darted past, and stuck his foot out. The man went down
with a satisfying
thud.

Alex put a
foot on the purse strap, figuring the thief would cut his losses and escape.
Instead the man snarled. From the whites around his pupils, he appeared higher
than a kite. He pulled a knife and sprang at Alex. Alex blocked, knocking the
knife to the outside, and punched him hard in the jaw.

Yeah, he
was high all right. The thief shook off the punch and charged again, swinging
the knife.

Alex
started to dodge, but a little teenager ran right between them. Unable to do
anything else, Alex grabbed her, spinning her out of the way and taking the
knife in the back of his shoulder.

Pain
ripped through him in a searing-hot flash. Growling, Alex turned, grabbed the
man's knife arm, and side kicked into his stomach.

No
reaction. He slammed his foot farther to the left, feeling the bastard's ribs
break like kindling. And the guy was
still
on his feet, waving the damned knife. Hell with this. With one savage kick,
Alex took out the guy's knee.

PCP or
not, nobody walked on a joint that wasn't there. Howling curses, the man
crumpled. Unable to rise, he pounded his knife on the floor.

Alex eyed
him and considered thumping him one more time just to shut him up. Instead, as
blood trickled down his back, he went to help the old lady to her feet and give
her back her purse.

“Bless
your heart,” she said, clutching the purse to her chest. “I don't know what I'd
have done if he'd gotten away. I have a new great-grandchild in Ohio, and—”

Airport
security arrived then to haul the druggie away, and Alex ended up in the
nearest emergency room getting his back stitched up. By the time he finished
giving the police a statement, his flight had departed with his luggage on it.
Due to a plane being taken out of service, all seating on the next flight was
completely filled, with a long waiting list, and the soonest he could
reschedule his flight was two days away.

Well,
fine. He hadn't wanted to go to Iowa anyway.

Back
hurting like hell, Alex got in his car and headed home.

* * * * *

Mac
sprawled in the Jacuzzi, legs floating in the swirling water. As steam rose
from the surface, the slight tang of chlorine blended with the fragrant
rosebush climbing the house. Bubbles everywhere, taking away the aches of the
long flight and the stress of city
driving.
A slow
rain had started a few minutes before, sending down little cold drops onto her
exposed shoulders. Maybe she'd died and gone to heaven.

But when
she shoved her hair back, she noticed her fingers had turned to pale prunes. No
prunes allowed in heaven.
Time to get out.

She'd
soaked so long, her body radiated waves of heat as she picked up her jeans and shirt.
Ugh. Already wet from the rain. She should have left them under the veranda,
but with her enthusiasm about getting into the Jacuzzi, she hadn't been
thinking. Laughing, she used the damp clothing to wipe herself down before
entering the house bare-ass naked. Hey, Butler wouldn't tell, right? Feeling
wonderfully decadent, she waltzed through the house, carrying her damp
clothing.

By the
stairs, she glanced at the locked door.
And stepped closer.

No
no
no
,
MacKensie
, don't touch. This is an obsession. Don't
give in
. She put her hand on the knob, gritting her teeth when it didn't
turn.

It
wouldn't open.

The floor
shifted under her feet, and she could almost hear a door slamming shut, over
and over, like explosions of sound back into her past. Then Arlene would turn
the key, shutting her into the tiny space and the awful, monster-filled
darkness that seemed to suck away all the air in the room.

Mac's hand
turned clammy, slipping on the knob as she heard her foster mother's voice, “
You little demon from hell. You stay in
there until you're fit for the light
.”
Hours and hours in
darkness and fear.

A whine
and a wet nose made her jump.
“
Frak
me!”

Butler
looked up at her with big eyes, tail wagging.

“Sorry,
darling.” Heart racing, she pulled her hand off the knob to rub his head and
whisper, “Your babysitter's a mess.” Especially when finding a locked door.
In her very own vacation house.
Stomach twisting, she
fought…and lost.

A pocket
in her damp jeans yielded the wallet where her lock picks mingled with the coins.
She smiled and pulled two out. An inside door—piece of cake. A trickle of
excitement traveled up her spine. She hadn't popped a door open since last year
when Old Maude had gotten locked out of her house. Of course, proving she could
break in hadn't done her reputation in Oak Hollow any good.

Just open it
. That wasn't so bad a crime.
Picks in hand, she knelt in front of the door. One pin, a little pressure…
Gently, gently
.
The next, rake across it.
A simple lock.
The door swung open.

Oh yeah
. The tightness in her chest disappeared; she
could take a deep breath again. The door was open.

She
glanced at Butler, who'd sat down to watch her, then at the edge of darkness.
Now why had the owner locked the door? “Maybe I should take a quick look, huh,
buddy?”
Who knows, maybe the owner left a
heater on or something. Can't have the place burning down, right?
Really,
just think of it as her duty to a vacation-exchange partner.

She pushed
the door open a little farther, and the scent of leather drifted to her. Her fingers
found the light switch, and old-fashioned brass sconces on the walls lit with a
subtle flickering like candlelight.

Frak
me, but what is this?
Iron
bolts studded a wall of red brick. Manacles dangled from the higher rings,
shackles lay on the floor. The back wall had a big, leather-covered cross with
cuffs.
A St. Andrew's cross.
She not only remembered
the name, but she knew what this place was: a dungeon—a private BDSM dungeon.
And very well equipped.

Excitement
slid across her skin like a cool breeze. The first time she'd seen a BDSM club
had been years and years ago when an elderly businessman with a taste for the
exotic had hired her for the whole evening. God, the tales of whips and bondage
scared her, but her pimp terrified her more. Mac's mouth twisted as she
remembered how Ajax had patted her on the head like a dog before shoving her
into the man's car.

She'd been
prepared for pain. To her shock, the john—the client—made her strap
him
to the cross and beat him with a
switch. Hitting him, seeing his skin redden and welts appear, had made her sick
inside. But it made him rock hard, and he'd barely lasted a second afterward.
He departed, leaving Mac to wander around the club. And then she'd seen a man—a
Dom—doing what she'd just done, whipping his sub, only with far-greater skill
and…something else. She watched how he controlled his submissive, how he
alternated pain with gentle touches. He'd touch the woman intimately and then
caress her face before starting again.

Mac hadn't
been able to stop watching. She hadn't felt arousal—hell, sex hadn't interested
her since her first month as a hooker—but something else.

Later, in
college, she'd ventured into a different BDSM club, not once, but twice. But
when a Dom had approached her, she'd fled. No one was going to control her, no
matter how…interesting it looked. She'd had enough of that to last her whole
life.

Her hands
hurt. Mac blinked and refocused in the present.
Dungeon.
Vacation exchange.
Seattle
. Giving a
snort of exasperation, she uncurled her fingers where the nails dug into her
palms.
Veterinarian, Mac, remember?
Not a whore, not since Jim and Mary had found her broken on the sidewalk. Her
own personal angels, and they'd better reside in heaven now or she'd kick God's
ass.

After
pushing the door almost closed to keep Butler out, Mac slunk in, feeling like a
dog herself.
A naked alley dog.
So a
dungeon in the heart of a ritzy, stuffy house.
Who knew?

She bit
her lip. The owner wouldn't know if she snooped a little, and she could look at
everything and actually satisfy her curiosity in a way she couldn't at the
clubs.

Afterward
she could leave the door unlocked until her vacation ended. Unlocked doors
didn't bother her at all.

Maybe she
should run upstairs and get some clothes on? Running around like this
was…strange. But rather exciting. She grinned and walked across the room.

She tried
out the waist-high bondage table, lying on it
faceup
.
Imagining herself in the cuffs and strapped down with someone standing over her
gave her a horribly vulnerable feeling…and yet the soft leather seemed to
caress her skin. Next she stood against the massive wooden St. Andrew's cross
fastened to the wall, remembering the women in the club, hands
raised
over their heads, legs spread. When her nipples
tightened to aching points, she looked around for a source of cold air and
found none.

She
examined the nasty whips and then slapped one of the
multistranded
floggers against her leg. It created an odd
thuddy
sensation, not the stinging she'd expected. The thin wooden cane that she tried
next hurt a lot more.

Whoever lives here must be a very scary person. Good thing
he's gone.

Finally
she came to the one piece of equipment that kept drawing her attention. She
circled the spanking thing twice, trying to ignore the needy twisting inside.
But just the thought of spanking had always…bothered her. She brushed her hand
over the firm leather and felt a tremor of excitement. All right, then. How
would a person use this one? It looked an awful lot like a vaulting horse for
gymnastics, almost a sawhorse with a barrel shape on top. But no gym vaulting
horse boasted leather cuffs on the legs. Littler cuffs on that side and bigger
ones here indicated that a person didn't straddle the horse but would lie
across the barrel part, head down and butt up.

What would
that feel like?

Well,
she'd tried everything else in the place. With a tiny giggle, she jumped up and
draped herself over the top.

Alex
parked next to the cheap rental in his driveway. Obviously the exchange person
had arrived. Had Butler liked her? Finding the woman's mangled remains in the
foyer would really top off the day.

Hopefully
he could work out some arrangement with her. By the time he could get a flight,
the conference would be almost over, so he saw no point in pursuing that plan.
Damned if he'd take up residency in some hotel in his own town. She'd just have
to see reason. The house was big enough they didn't have to run into each
other, or maybe he'd give her enough money to rent a hotel.

He walked
in and called, “Hello.”

Silence.

Then with
a
woof
of delight, Butler appeared
from around a corner, skidding on the slick marble tiles in his excitement.
Alex chuckled as he petted the squirming beast. They'd lived together for a
good five years, ever since he'd found the dog skulking around the garbage bin
at the beach house. His mother hadn't been impressed, but dignity ranked high
on her list of priorities and was nonexistent on Butler's.

“So
where's our tenant?” Alex asked as he tugged gently on Butler's ears. He didn't
hear any noise in the house, so she was probably upstairs unpacking. As he
headed toward the stairs, he felt a warm trickle from under the dressing the
emergency-room nurse had applied. Apparently his stitches hadn't appreciated
being rubbed against a car seat. Turning, he headed for the dungeon, where he
kept most of his first-aid supplies. Might as well patch
himself
up, although that might prove difficult, considering the wound was on his back.
Maybe he'd grab some gauze and tape and see if he could get the woman to slap
it on. She was a vet, after all, which was one of the main reasons he'd chosen
her.

He went
down the hallway to his dungeon and stopped. The door stood slightly ajar, and
he knew he'd locked it before he left. In fact, he'd even checked it before
leaving. Anger unfurled inside him, growing hard and fast. The terms of the
vacation trade were spelled out clearly in the contract, including the locking
of nonessential rooms. She'd deliberately broken in.

He
couldn't hear anything inside, but he'd soundproofed the room years ago.

Placing a
hand on the door, he silently pushed it open. Not difficult to spot her. She'd
draped herself over the spanking bench, head hanging down on one side, legs on
the other, with her ass—a pretty, round ass—up in the air.