To Command and Collar [Masters of the Shadowlands 6] (18 page)

“I did.” He lifted her shoulders high enough to push a wedge pillow under the pad. “And I enjoyed it very much. You have a very spankable ass, no?”
Her giggle sounded odd. She felt like a bubble rising up out of the ocean, heading for the surface.
He turned, a little skewer with the white gauze burning like a minitorch. He ran it down her thigh, the streak of flame almost gone before the stroke of his hand erased it completely.
“Oooh, that’s so pretty.”
The flash of his smile was just as pretty. Then the rhythm came back, the blip of coolness, the flash of the flame, his big hand wiping it out so the touch of fire stayed only warm…or sometimes with little teeth.
He changed out the skewer thing for another, giving her a slow kiss between, making her happy that her mouth was available. He worked his way across her stomach, upward toward her breasts.
She knew she should worry, only her fear never quite surfaced before her breast lit with the dancing flame and, like magic, was gone. Her skin tingled, her nipple contracting as if unsure if it was supposed to get aroused. He held the torch away and stopped to lick that peak.
Then he closed his lips over her other nipple in a reversal of the order—hot mouth, cool air. The flame.
Around the outer sides of her breasts. Down the center. Flames danced across her body…
He smiled at her, his eyes holding the heat of the fire, and she realized the flickering was gone from the room and only his hands were left, his hands on her breasts, his mouth over her clit, and her arousal coming up and breaking over her like storm waves over a rocky shore.

Chapter Ten

He’d never had a submissive climax so sweetly or trust him so completely. Raoul hadn’t shaken off the exquisite ache of tenderness…until he turned and saw the window.
He’d been so far into topspace during the scene that he hadn’t noticed when the Overseer had arrived, but the cabrón stood there now. Raoul nodded at him.
Dahmer tilted his head toward the clubroom, then strolled away. Displeased he’d had to share anything with the bastard, Raoul frowned. Time to finish talking and get Dahmer out of the Shadowlands, which meant subjecting Kimberly to his presence again.
Of course, without Dahmer, he and Kimberly wouldn’t be here at all. Or together. She was worth it.
He smiled to see she hadn’t roused, was still tranced out. He ran his fingers over her skin, feeling only a dry heat like a sunburn, but no blisters. Good. After using the damp blanket to wipe down her skin, he applied aloe lotion and tucked a fuzzy blanket around her. As he put the room to rights, he stopped every minute to stroke her gently as she slowly returned to the real world.
A tap on the door attracted his attention. The little cleaning woman waited in the doorway. She pointed to herself, then the room, indicating she’d take over the cleanup. Z had probably sent her.
Raoul nodded, wanting to have Kimberly in his arms. He wrapped her in the subbie blanket, picked her up, then glanced at her folded clothing.
Peggy whispered, “I’ll leave them and your bag at the bar for you, Master Raoul.”
“Thank you.”
Kimberly’s eyes opened, still a little glazed. She smiled at the woman, echoing his words, “Thank you.”
Peggy beamed.
“Ah, you are coming back to me now, gatita?” Raoul kissed the top of her head.
She rubbed her cheek on his chest like a sleepy cat. “I like when you hold me.”
Dios, she was going to break his heart. “I like when I hold you too.”
He walked out the hallway and into the main clubroom, wincing as the music of Alice in Chains hammered into his head. Club members who’d watched the fireplay gave him a thumbsup. A few started to talk, realized Kimberly’s still sleepy state, and changed it to a quiet, “Great scene.”
He nodded and smiled. Near the bar, he spotted Dahmer and Sam at a table, watching a suspension scene. Back to reality. But they looked engrossed enough that he could take time for Kimberly to rouse further. He caught Sam’s eye, then chose a quieter area, knowing they’d join him when the scene wound down.
A pretty submissive appeared and set a beer and bottled water on the table. She murmured, “From my mistress.”
Raoul saw that Olivia had taken over the bar. She gave him a small salute and returned to mixing drinks.

Kim felt…wonderful, everything open and loose and melty.
“Gatita.” A deep, resonant voice sounded as strong as the arms around her. She blinked and smiled up into dark chocolate eyes. Her heart swelled, filling with

warmth, an infinitely stretchable balloon. Her arm didn’t want to move, but the need to touch surged inside her, demanding action. She put her palm on his cheek and felt how it creased when he smiled.

“Are you with me here?”

Always
. She opened her mouth to tell him how much she loved him, but a movement from the corner of her eyes silenced her. People. She stiffened, a shard of ice jabbing through her relaxed muscles.

“No, look at me, Kimberly,” Master R murmured, pulling her gaze to him. “You were wonderful, sumisita, and I am very pleased with you.”

Warmth flowed back into her, a returning tide. God she loved him so much. “But we’re not alone. We’re still in the Shadowlands, and the other two men will join us shortly. You must stay very quiet.” He nuzzled her cheek. “I hadn’t intended to send you so deep, and I’m not going to leave you alone.”
Stay quiet
. “Yes, Master.”
His lips curved. “Good girl.”
As he held her, she rubbed her forehead against his muscular chest, wondering fuzzily when she’d come to feel so at home in his arms.

“That was an excellent scene, Raoul. Exactly what I need for the auction.” The approaching voice was horrible, greasy, making her feel wrong…ugly…as if she wanted to run. Run and hide.
The Overseer.

She made a sound, and Master R’s arms tightened. He pulled her up slightly, setting his chin on the top of her hair. She pressed her face into his neck, breathing in his clean scent, like a wind off a stormy sea. Masculine. Safe.

The voices continued to talk around her. She turned her head, determinedly not looking at the slaver. Resting her cheek on Master R’s shoulder, she watched the people and play areas.
In the closest one, an olive-skinned dom was caning his male sub. The next—a black domme used vampire claws on two subsmissives, male and female, who were wiggling with pain and pleasure.
Then a six-foot rope spiderweb had a pretty brunette sub tied to it. When she wiggled a foot loose, her face lit with laughter, and she said something—undoubtedly sassy—to her older dom. Without warning, he viciously slapped her face, snapping her head around. The sub turned back to him, her lip bleeding, expression holding pure, horrible shock. And she started crying.
Kim tried to sit up to go help, but Master R held her too firmly. “Shhh,” he said under his breath.
Jessica stormed over to the scene. The short blonde walked right into the area, said something to the dom, and started to undo the submissive’s restraints. The man, a lean Englishlooking type, shoved her away. She pushed him back, shouted something. And he grabbed her.
“No.” Kim fought the arms around her.
“Stop. Now!” Master R growled in her ear.
She obeyed automatically, then was horrified at her idiocy.
What am I doing
? She went limp.
“I thought we’d taught her not to interfere,” the Overseer said in a nasty voice.
“After a scene, the girl doesn’t think too clearly.” Master R added coldly, “She’ll learn.”
“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered against his neck.
A tiny pinch on her butt said he wasn’t angry.
A hefty dom in a gold-trimmed vest walked over—probably the dungeon monitor. The cruel dom scowled, talking to him. Jessica ignored them, busy trying to release the little submissive.
When Master Z showed up, all activity in that area came to a stop. Man, he was more effective than a police siren.
Relieved, Kim glanced around. Master Sam had left and was almost to the scene. The Overseer studied the commotion with an…odd…expression on his face.
Kim turned back. Nothing much different. The English-looking dom pointed at Jessica. Color darkening, she yelled back.
Master Z covered her mouth. A second later, he jerked his hand away, and his expression turned to granite. He moved, and Jessica landed hard on her knees. Fisting her hair, he ruthlessly trapped her head against his thigh.
Oh boy
. She’d actually bit Master Z? God, was she in trouble.
Master Z didn’t look down. Face still frighteningly cold, he spoke to the jerk of a dom. The man took a step back.
“Appears the situation is under control,” the Overseer said. When he glanced at Kim, she closed her eyes, burying her face back against Master R’s neck and tuning everything out except the feeling of strength surrounding her.
Breath goes in. Breath goes out.
“It’s been an interesting visit,” the Overseer said. “Especially seeing your slave so obedient. Really, Raoul, you’d net a handsome profit if you sold her back to me.”
Master R laughed lightly. “Not worth the work it would take to start over again.”
A pause, as if Dahmer wanted to keep trying; then he said, “Training is a bitch, isn’t it? I’ve been doing some recently, since I still have one of the slaves you met. The redhead didn’t get bought. Older slaves don’t sell well, so I can only hope training will make her more enticing.”
Linda—going to auction? Oh God
. But maybe that was good. When the FBI took them down, she’d be rescued.
“Couldn’t hurt,” Master R said. “I take it the young one got sold?”
“More’s the pity.”
Holly. He’s talking about sweet, hopeful Holly
. Kim tried to sit up, and the arms around her contracted until she had trouble breathing.
“Oh?” Master R asked politely. “What happened to her?”
“Far as I can tell, the idiot owner got carried away with seeing blood. He beat her to death.” The Overseer gave an exasperated sigh. “We made a profit, of course, but—”
“Yes, that’s a waste.” Master R sounded as if he didn’t care at all, and Kim hated him. Tears spilled from under her eyelids. How could he be so cold?
She slowly realized his muscles under and around her were rigid. He was holding himself in check, holding her there as well. His anger was almost palpable.
“Until the auction then,” the Overseer said. “I’ll have an area set up to your specifications.” A thump sounded as he set his drink down. “I’ll call you a day or so before to give you the specific date and time. I look forward to seeing how impressed the buyers are with your scene.”
Silence. She tried to hear if he’d moved away, but the room was too noisy. So she kept herself stiff and quiet. Waiting.
A minute later, Master R let loose, cursing long and low in a stream of Spanish.
She’d never heard him sound like that or seen him so furious.
When she moved, he stopped, and the fury faded from his face. “Gatita, I’m sorry about your friend.” He wiped away the tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
The loosening of his grip released the sobs that had piled up inside her like a thunderstorm.
Oh God, Holly. Please God, not Holly
. She was too young. She’d told stories about the antics in her dorm at college. About her mother who lived in Alaska. She’d been so homesick and scared; she’d cried herself to sleep every night. How could she be dead?
Kim tried to curse like Master R but could only cry. She wanted to leave, to hide somewhere quiet, and he wouldn’t let her go. Anger rose, engulfing her. He hadn’t saved Holly; he was a man.
I hate you
. Her fists stung as she hit him, harder and harder. She choked on the names she called him. As he muffled her screams against his leather vest, she cried some more.
“What the hell happened?” A man’s voice.
Kim tried to stop crying, to shut up, and couldn’t.
Master R didn’t tell her to be quiet, simply kept holding her. “The bastard told us a slave was whipped to death. The women were friends.”
Kim shook, inside and outside. She knew how a whip felt, the tearing of skin, the slicing agony. How scared Holly must have been, pain and more pain.
Better it had been me.
“Hell.” The man paused. “You want to get her out of here?”
“No. I can’t drive and hold her. She needs to be held right now.”
Kim’s crying slowed to hiccups, and she leaned against him, exhausted.
“Be careful, buddy. You look too concerned about a slave, and everyone nearby heard you swearing.” His voice lowered. “Don’t forget we still don’t know who selected our subs for the Harvest Association. He might not be here tonight, but…”
“A good reminder,” Master R said softly. “Thank you, my friend. I did forget.”
Kim pulled a shuddering breath into her lungs and sat up.
The giant dom bartender was frowning down at them, heavy brows drawn together. He tossed Master’s toy bag and her clothing onto a chair, then met her gaze. “Back with us, love? Good. Keep your master from letting his temper loose.”
His conviction that she had that power was like a stepping stone away from her sorrow. She needed to stay in her slave character, and she had to look after her dom. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. As she wiped her eyes, she plainly saw Master R’s rage.
The big dom was right. Master R wasn’t keeping his face under control.
“Master,” she said softly. “We should leave. Will you put my leash on and lead…so I can follow?”
He looked down. His fingers were infinitely gentle as he touched her cheek. “
Tesoro mío
,” he said under his breath. “Yes, let us go home.”

* * * *

“Did you get my goods back?” Christopher Greville spoke politely into his cell phone. It might be late to call, but he couldn’t rest without knowing if Dahmer had succeeded.
Over the past day, he’d come to realize that he was pleased the cunt was still alive. This way, he could deal with her himself—could give her a very slow, excruciatingly painful death.
“No, the owner isn’t interested in selling.” Dahmer sounded irritated. “I thought he’d jump at making a profit.”
A whip of rage struck. Greville’s pulse throbbed painfully in his temple. Who was this fucking buyer? “In that case, just pick my merchandise up.”
Kidnap the bitch
. “You’re an expert at that kind of business.”
“I will. But only if I can succeed without causing any…upset.”
“I don’t give a damn about—”
“Management reacts poorly to bad publicity.”
Greville hesitated. Last month, when a naive buyer fell in
love
with his slave and tried to inform on the association, the Harvest Association’s reaction had been…extreme. Removing them would have been adequate. A bullet. Simple enough. But no. Instead, the buyer and slave had been spread-eagled and restrained on the bed, one on top of the other; then the house was set on fire. Before the fire trucks arrived, the entire neighborhood heard them shrieking as they burned to death.
A bad way to go. He’d thought it funny at the time, but Dahmer’s warning was…perhaps…valid. “Do what you can.”
“I will. If I can’t pick the goods up neatly, I do have another possibility to fall back on, if needed. Be patient, please.”
Patient
! Greville stabbed the Off button as fury seared his nerves. The need to hurt something was so strong he tasted it, but he forced himself to stay at his desk. If he started whipping the slave downstairs, he’d not stop until she was dead.
Since he was a premium buyer, the Harvest Association didn’t enforce the delay when he killed a slave, but losing two within a short period wouldn’t be wise.
He waited until his rage had died slightly. Enough, perhaps. Then he rose and headed to the basement. He needed to hurt her, to hear her screams rise to desperation, shriller and shriller.