Lean on Me
Page 19
Apparently dominance came in different sizes since she sure became submissive around some of the Doms here, especially the Masters. Scary guys. Especially Master Cullen, whose deceptively easygoing nature covered a well of enormous power.
Wade checked the tightness of her restraints—he was well taught—then undid her halter straps and exposed her breasts.
At least she'd gotten past being so embarrassed about nakedness. “That modesty is something we'll work on also,” Master Cullen had said the first night. And why did he keep popping into her mind?
This Dom—she shouldn't think of him as the kid, they were probably about the same age—tried hard. Really he did, messing with her breasts, then her pussy. Very pleasant and very boring.
Finally the kid stood up and said to someone outside of the ropes, “What am I doing wrong?”
“First of all, this is a stubborn sub.” It was Señor's deep, rough voice. Her heart actually skipped a beat before it started hammering inside her chest.
“Few people get through to her. Keep that in mind,” Señor said. “After that, Wade, it's not what you're doing wrong; it's what you're not doing.”
Master Cullen walked into sight, and her whole body seemed to jump awake like an internal alarm had gone off. No, no, no, bad body. She would not get involved with this…player…Antonio had called him. So maybe her breathing increased, but it wasn't her fault if the giant Dom used up all the air in the area, leaving none for her.
“Not doing? Like…?” Wade prompted.
A big hand touched her pussy—Master Cullen's hand—and her hips squirmed uncontrollably.
“She's dry. This tells you something right there: that you haven't captured her mind. Dominance isn't about the physical, and neither is sex.”
Señor pressed Wade's hand against her pussy, then moved up the table to stand beside her. His hard fingers captured her chin. “Look at me, Andrea.”
The command in his authoritative voice sent a thrill through her, and when her gaze lifted, his eyes focused on her so intently that she had to look away.
“I want your eyes on me, sub.”
Again that melting feeling. No. She didn't want that feeling. Didn't want him. She tried to pull her chin out of his grip, to move anything, but unfortunately the kid had done a good job on the restraints. Nothing moved.
“You can't move, little sub.” His thumb caressed her lips. “Your body is bound, and every part is open and available for my use.”
Just the thought of Señor using her, taking her, touching her, sent a tremor through her.
“Hell, she's wet.” Wade sounded shocked. “I work on her forever and get nowhere. You look at her, and she creams.”
Master Cullen's focused gaze stayed on her as she flushed. Then his cheek creased. But it wasn't a real smile, not a Master Cullen smile, and the loss set something aching in her.
He undid the arm restraints, his hands sure and efficient, and sat her up like a doll with her legs still bound. “And that's the lesson Z wanted you to have, Wade. Domination starts in the head.”
Just the feel of Señor's touch made her needy, like her skin had been sandpapered all over and every contact with his fingers grew more acute than the next.
Wade released the ankle restraints, and all too conscious of her wetness, she started to put her legs together.
“Did I give you permission to move?” Master Cullen asked, the chill in his voice freezing her in place.
“No, Señor.”
He turned back to his conversation with the kid. “Think about why you're doing this. What you get from it and how you feel when a woman willingly submits to you. Hold that in your mind and find one of the younger subs—one who won't look you in the eyes for more than a second. Take her to a scene area and dominate her. Have her kneel, ask her questions, and don't let her evade you. Dig deep. Make her look at you and watch her eyes. Read her body language. No sex, Wade. Just enjoy the feeling of dominating someone.”
Wade nodded and headed off, leaving Andrea alone with Master Cullen. This was so what she didn't want. If she stayed away, far away from him, she could cope. If he didn't touch her or—
He moved closer, and she stared down at her hands.
“You going to tell me what's going on with you?” he asked, his tone deceptively mild.
Don't lie. “No, Señor. I'd rather…” Stall. “I just need some time to think.” Time to get myself back under control. My control, not yours.
His hands engulfed her own, warm against her cold skin. He chafed her fingers gently. “All right, Andrea. You do your thinking. We will discuss all these thoughts next week.” He paused. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Señor.”
“You're off duty. Let me know if you find someone you want to play with.” He gave her hands a squeeze and walked away.
I want to play with you. You, you, you.
* * *
“Look, I finished before the baby came this time.” Andrea shook out the tiny blanket, and the sun glinted off the pink and white yarn.
“Very pretty.” Andrea's grandmother fingered the fringed edge. “And very soft. You did a fine job, mija.”
“I'm getting better.” Nice and even, no lopsided corners, no gaping holes. With a contented sigh, she leaned back in the patio chair and glanced over Aunt Rosa's tiny backyard. Not much had changed since when she'd lived here for her last two years of high school. The straggly line of bushes dividing it from the neighbor's yards had grown only a foot taller. A lemon tree had replaced one of the orange trees marking the corners. Off to one side sat the massive truck hubcap that Julio had turned into a barbeque. On the other side, grass still refused to grow under the aged swing set.
And Andrea still came to Aunt Rosa's house every Sunday to immerse herself in belonging.
At least now that her cleaning business had edged into the black, she could give something back. Earlier, Andrea had made an excuse of using the bathroom and had unpacked her bag of all the items she'd bought. New sheets went on the bed, lotion to the bedside table, treats and some high-calorie shakes into the tiny cupboard in the corner. When she finished, only the box of cookies remained in the bag. Her grandmother wouldn't see the new things until Andrea had left; it was part of the game they played. Pride ran strong on both sides of the family.
After pulling out the box, Andrea folded the quilt and put it into her bag to wrap later. “Here, Abuelita, I made some cookies.”
As they munched and enjoyed the unseasonably warm weather, Andrea heard all the gossip about the area. Who got pregnant, who had a divorce, whose marriage failed, which husband beat on his wife. Whose children landed in jail or went to college or found a new lover.
“But we haven't talked about you, mija.” Aged eyes studied Andrea. “You look different. Softer.”
Over the past few weeks, she'd discovered she liked looking feminine. Now she left her hair loose, wore tighter shorts and a tank top that showed off her shape.
“Have you found a man?”
“Abuelita!” Andrea's jaw dropped.
“I may be old, but I'm not blind. You look like a woman in love.”
“I wish.” The wanting to be with Master Cullen got worse every time she saw him. “I met someone, but he's not interested in getting involved.”
Her grandmother nibbled a corner of the cookie like a mouse. “But you want him?”
Just the thought made her heart scramble. “Oh, yes. But he wouldn't get involved with someone like me.”
“Like you? You're pretty, smart.”
“The place where I met him is all rich people.” Although a bartender probably didn't earn all that much, right? “Eventually he'd discover that I come from here.” She waved her hand at the surrounding neighborhood of older housing, rundown apartments. Two streets over, prostitutes stood on corners, drug deals went down in the alleys, and knifings occurred every weekend.
“Is he so shallow to judge a woman by her background?”
“People do.” Rosa's husband had been a notorious drug dealer; her cousins had spent time in juvie. Job opportunities dissipated once potential employers checked Andrea's background. Banks wouldn't loan her money after discovering where she came from. Boyfriends disappeared after their parents found out about her family. She'd learned the irrelevance of a person's character compared to her background.
Abuelita's eyes narrowed. “Is he a good man?”
Andrea's lips curved as she thought about Señor's sense of humor, his insistence on honesty. How he watched over the trainees so carefully and how everyone, from the club members to the Masters, turned to him for help and advice…how he'd wrapped her in his arms and fed her chocolate. “Oh, yes.”
“Then go after him. Your past may matter, mija, or it may not. You won't find out if you don't give him a chance.” Abuelita clasped her arthritic fingers together. “People—especially men—don't always know what they want. You try, and if it doesn't work, then you may quit.”
With a broken heart.
As if she'd read her mind, Abuelita frowned and scolded, “Hearts mend, but lost chances are gone forever.
“But—”
“My granddaughter is not a coward.”
Chapter Ten
Cullen walked into the Shadowlands a good two hours late and in a crappy mood. The only thing worse than getting a nasty burn and a visit to the emergency room was filling out incident report forms. Damned rules and regs.
Wade checked the tightness of her restraints—he was well taught—then undid her halter straps and exposed her breasts.
At least she'd gotten past being so embarrassed about nakedness. “That modesty is something we'll work on also,” Master Cullen had said the first night. And why did he keep popping into her mind?
This Dom—she shouldn't think of him as the kid, they were probably about the same age—tried hard. Really he did, messing with her breasts, then her pussy. Very pleasant and very boring.
Finally the kid stood up and said to someone outside of the ropes, “What am I doing wrong?”
“First of all, this is a stubborn sub.” It was Señor's deep, rough voice. Her heart actually skipped a beat before it started hammering inside her chest.
“Few people get through to her. Keep that in mind,” Señor said. “After that, Wade, it's not what you're doing wrong; it's what you're not doing.”
Master Cullen walked into sight, and her whole body seemed to jump awake like an internal alarm had gone off. No, no, no, bad body. She would not get involved with this…player…Antonio had called him. So maybe her breathing increased, but it wasn't her fault if the giant Dom used up all the air in the area, leaving none for her.
“Not doing? Like…?” Wade prompted.
A big hand touched her pussy—Master Cullen's hand—and her hips squirmed uncontrollably.
“She's dry. This tells you something right there: that you haven't captured her mind. Dominance isn't about the physical, and neither is sex.”
Señor pressed Wade's hand against her pussy, then moved up the table to stand beside her. His hard fingers captured her chin. “Look at me, Andrea.”
The command in his authoritative voice sent a thrill through her, and when her gaze lifted, his eyes focused on her so intently that she had to look away.
“I want your eyes on me, sub.”
Again that melting feeling. No. She didn't want that feeling. Didn't want him. She tried to pull her chin out of his grip, to move anything, but unfortunately the kid had done a good job on the restraints. Nothing moved.
“You can't move, little sub.” His thumb caressed her lips. “Your body is bound, and every part is open and available for my use.”
Just the thought of Señor using her, taking her, touching her, sent a tremor through her.
“Hell, she's wet.” Wade sounded shocked. “I work on her forever and get nowhere. You look at her, and she creams.”
Master Cullen's focused gaze stayed on her as she flushed. Then his cheek creased. But it wasn't a real smile, not a Master Cullen smile, and the loss set something aching in her.
He undid the arm restraints, his hands sure and efficient, and sat her up like a doll with her legs still bound. “And that's the lesson Z wanted you to have, Wade. Domination starts in the head.”
Just the feel of Señor's touch made her needy, like her skin had been sandpapered all over and every contact with his fingers grew more acute than the next.
Wade released the ankle restraints, and all too conscious of her wetness, she started to put her legs together.
“Did I give you permission to move?” Master Cullen asked, the chill in his voice freezing her in place.
“No, Señor.”
He turned back to his conversation with the kid. “Think about why you're doing this. What you get from it and how you feel when a woman willingly submits to you. Hold that in your mind and find one of the younger subs—one who won't look you in the eyes for more than a second. Take her to a scene area and dominate her. Have her kneel, ask her questions, and don't let her evade you. Dig deep. Make her look at you and watch her eyes. Read her body language. No sex, Wade. Just enjoy the feeling of dominating someone.”
Wade nodded and headed off, leaving Andrea alone with Master Cullen. This was so what she didn't want. If she stayed away, far away from him, she could cope. If he didn't touch her or—
He moved closer, and she stared down at her hands.
“You going to tell me what's going on with you?” he asked, his tone deceptively mild.
Don't lie. “No, Señor. I'd rather…” Stall. “I just need some time to think.” Time to get myself back under control. My control, not yours.
His hands engulfed her own, warm against her cold skin. He chafed her fingers gently. “All right, Andrea. You do your thinking. We will discuss all these thoughts next week.” He paused. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Señor.”
“You're off duty. Let me know if you find someone you want to play with.” He gave her hands a squeeze and walked away.
I want to play with you. You, you, you.
* * *
“Look, I finished before the baby came this time.” Andrea shook out the tiny blanket, and the sun glinted off the pink and white yarn.
“Very pretty.” Andrea's grandmother fingered the fringed edge. “And very soft. You did a fine job, mija.”
“I'm getting better.” Nice and even, no lopsided corners, no gaping holes. With a contented sigh, she leaned back in the patio chair and glanced over Aunt Rosa's tiny backyard. Not much had changed since when she'd lived here for her last two years of high school. The straggly line of bushes dividing it from the neighbor's yards had grown only a foot taller. A lemon tree had replaced one of the orange trees marking the corners. Off to one side sat the massive truck hubcap that Julio had turned into a barbeque. On the other side, grass still refused to grow under the aged swing set.
And Andrea still came to Aunt Rosa's house every Sunday to immerse herself in belonging.
At least now that her cleaning business had edged into the black, she could give something back. Earlier, Andrea had made an excuse of using the bathroom and had unpacked her bag of all the items she'd bought. New sheets went on the bed, lotion to the bedside table, treats and some high-calorie shakes into the tiny cupboard in the corner. When she finished, only the box of cookies remained in the bag. Her grandmother wouldn't see the new things until Andrea had left; it was part of the game they played. Pride ran strong on both sides of the family.
After pulling out the box, Andrea folded the quilt and put it into her bag to wrap later. “Here, Abuelita, I made some cookies.”
As they munched and enjoyed the unseasonably warm weather, Andrea heard all the gossip about the area. Who got pregnant, who had a divorce, whose marriage failed, which husband beat on his wife. Whose children landed in jail or went to college or found a new lover.
“But we haven't talked about you, mija.” Aged eyes studied Andrea. “You look different. Softer.”
Over the past few weeks, she'd discovered she liked looking feminine. Now she left her hair loose, wore tighter shorts and a tank top that showed off her shape.
“Have you found a man?”
“Abuelita!” Andrea's jaw dropped.
“I may be old, but I'm not blind. You look like a woman in love.”
“I wish.” The wanting to be with Master Cullen got worse every time she saw him. “I met someone, but he's not interested in getting involved.”
Her grandmother nibbled a corner of the cookie like a mouse. “But you want him?”
Just the thought made her heart scramble. “Oh, yes. But he wouldn't get involved with someone like me.”
“Like you? You're pretty, smart.”
“The place where I met him is all rich people.” Although a bartender probably didn't earn all that much, right? “Eventually he'd discover that I come from here.” She waved her hand at the surrounding neighborhood of older housing, rundown apartments. Two streets over, prostitutes stood on corners, drug deals went down in the alleys, and knifings occurred every weekend.
“Is he so shallow to judge a woman by her background?”
“People do.” Rosa's husband had been a notorious drug dealer; her cousins had spent time in juvie. Job opportunities dissipated once potential employers checked Andrea's background. Banks wouldn't loan her money after discovering where she came from. Boyfriends disappeared after their parents found out about her family. She'd learned the irrelevance of a person's character compared to her background.
Abuelita's eyes narrowed. “Is he a good man?”
Andrea's lips curved as she thought about Señor's sense of humor, his insistence on honesty. How he watched over the trainees so carefully and how everyone, from the club members to the Masters, turned to him for help and advice…how he'd wrapped her in his arms and fed her chocolate. “Oh, yes.”
“Then go after him. Your past may matter, mija, or it may not. You won't find out if you don't give him a chance.” Abuelita clasped her arthritic fingers together. “People—especially men—don't always know what they want. You try, and if it doesn't work, then you may quit.”
With a broken heart.
As if she'd read her mind, Abuelita frowned and scolded, “Hearts mend, but lost chances are gone forever.
“But—”
“My granddaughter is not a coward.”
Chapter Ten
Cullen walked into the Shadowlands a good two hours late and in a crappy mood. The only thing worse than getting a nasty burn and a visit to the emergency room was filling out incident report forms. Damned rules and regs.
