To Command and Collar
Page 42
“When I was a heartbeat away from a stroke, Z took over.” Jessica shivered. “His other little flogger has a different leather. Not nearly so soft, and his aim—” Her color darkened. “I came so hard the entire room probably heard.”
Even as heat flared through her body, and her clit throbbed in response, Kim choked with trying not to laugh.
“Oh, go ahead, everybody else laughs.” Jessica scowled and giggled as well. But then her lips turned down. “Sometimes I wonder what kind of sleaze I am that I get off on something so public.”
Kim blinked. She knew those self-doubts only too well. That this brightly intelligent and sweet woman also worried was incredibly reassuring. She gripped Jessica’s shoulder. “You’re no sleaze. Remember, before…this…I played in clubs a lot, and there’s, like, an increased hotness, knowing people are watching.”
“I guess so. Thanks.” She tilted her head. “You know, at Gabi’s, you’d never have said something like that. You’d have been too busy shivering. I think you’re healing.”
Kim’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t paid attention to her progress recently. She still got uncomfortable at times but maybe because Master R kept increasing the stakes. But she was coming along. She’d had sex. Done a public scene. Could talk about stuff. Definitely improved. “You’re right.”
“Of course.” Jessica gave her a smug look. “I’m always right. Ask anybody…well, anybody but Z.” She wrinkled her nose at her dom and got a flashing grin that changed his lethal appearance into simply gorgeous. “So what do you and your lord and master want to drink?”
Easy answer. “Supposedly Z picked up some ale from someplace—the Swamp Head Brewery?”
“Oh, the 10-10-10. It’s a malty brew. Be right back.” Jessica grinned and headed up the steps to the third floor. The blonde might be fluffy, but her legs were in good shape. Shaking her head, Kim made a beeline for her lord and master.
He looked up, and his smile, just for her, made her spirits bubble like sea foam. Oh, I’m in trouble. God, she loved him. She walked over and waited, unsure if he wanted her to kneel or pull up a chair or—
He nodded at a large flat pillow lying between his feet.
When she knelt in perfect position, he leaned forward to murmur in her ear, “Be comfortable, cariño. You need not stay kneeling. Sam called to say he would be here in about ten minutes.”
As she shifted to an easier sitting posture, his legs closed to rub against her shoulders, holding her in safety between them. She leaned on his thigh with a happy sigh.
And then, as if he did nothing unusual, he fed her chips and dip, alternating his and hers as they often did at home.
She whispered a thank-you, received a light kiss on top of her head.
Gabi’s disbelieving look made Kim avert her gaze, only to see the slim redhead’s dom feeding her little sandwich bites from his hand. The sub looked perfectly content.
Kim considered the woman. She didn’t appear like a kick-me slave; in fact, she’d deprived the bartender of his chips.
After Jessica delivered their beers in frosty mugs, Master R handed one to Kim. Before she could drink, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “What’s wrong, gatita?”
How could she possibly say?
“Tell me.”
The others were arguing over the benefits of involving the various law enforcement agencies. No one was paying attention to her. “Is the redhead a slave? A housewife?”
Master R rubbed his cheek, already slightly scratchy, against Kim’s. “Beth isn’t a slave, but she’s definitely a submissive. I think they started in the bedroom, expanded outward, so to speak, and now they’re probably living the lifestyle more often than not. She’s not a housewife. She has a yard maintenance service and does landscape design. She did the grounds here for Z.”
From her vantage point, Kim saw hints of flowerbeds, towering hedges, and tiny footpaths. The sound of at least one fountain. The place was as gorgeous as its owner. So this Beth owned her own company, had an independent life outside of serving her dom…like Master R’s previous slaves had.
He turned her pillow—and her on it—to face him, then leaned his forearms on his thighs, ignoring everyone else to focus on her. “Does being at my feet in a gathering bother you?”
“I—” She bit her lip under the disconcerting weight of his regard. He was always aware of her, frequently watched her, but when he wanted an answer, an honest answer, his intensity changed. The pressure on her grew as well, like the difference in playing in the pool or diving down sixty feet. “No. It doesn’t bother me,” she whispered finally. “It’s just confusing. I’m not like this. I’m not.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I understand.”
“Do I act this way because of my kidnapping? The slavery?”
He sighed. “We will talk about this more later. But, Kimberly, dominance or submissiveness—or the need to serve—isn’t typically created by circumstances. It’s part of a person’s personality.
She stiffened. Was he saying she had a slave’s mentality?
Before Kim managed to phrase the question, Master Sam strode across the yard to the lanai, dressed in well-worn jeans, boots, and a pale blue cotton shirt the color of his eyes. He was older than everyone, with silvery hair and skin tanned to leather. He nodded to the men, smiled at the women, then looked at her.
“You two didn’t get a chance to really meet the other night,” Master R said to her as the man walked over. “Sam, this is Gabrielle’s friend, Kim. Kimberly, this is Sam.”
The sadist who’d flogged the sub so mercilessly that she’d screamed. Kim swallowed.
“Nice to meet you.” Sam held his hand out, waited until she gave him hers, and squeezed gently. “You’re a brave girl. Raoul is very proud of you, you know.”
When her mouth dropped open, he winked at her and took the chair next to them.
“My friends,” Master R said, stopping the various conversations. “Since Sam will attend the auction, I plan to tell Dahmer I’ll be out of town this weekend.
“We did discuss that as a possibility.” Galen’s fingers made a staccato sound on the tabletop. His black gaze held hers for a moment. “Although I like some redundancy in an op in case of oh-shit moments, I’d as soon not put more civilians in harm’s way.” He glanced at Vance, who nodded.
Galen grinned and tapped the table with his knuckles. “Agreed.”
Knowing she wouldn’t be involved, Kim sipped her beer and paid intermittent attention to the talk around her. Various plans were discussed with the police dom, Dan, contributing here and there. Outside the patio, the rain and wind increased, shaking the palms and bushes, sending the bright flowers to lie in soggy heaps in the grass. They hadn’t had their day in the sun. Their time had been cut short, she thought. Like Holly. Her throat tightened, and she concentrated on the conversation again.
“Can’t you get there sooner?” Sam asked the FBI agents in his sandpaper-rough voice. “Dahmer said the vans deliver us buyers early, so we can check the merchandise, do a miniscene, maybe even fu—” He bit off the word.
“You going to be able to do this?” Vance asked. “You look more nauseated than Sandoval did.”
“I have some lines I’ve never crossed,” Sam snapped. “So I’d like your raid to be sooner, not later.”
“We’d prefer that too.” Galen rubbed his face. “But after you lead us to the place, we need time to set up roadblocks.”
Vance added, “A lot of the buyers will leave after their purchase. Arresting them on the road means there’ll be fewer in the auction house—and less chance of the innocent getting hurt.”
“Except buyers will be hurting them while we’re testing the merchandise,” Sam growled.
Master R’s phone rang. He pulled it off his belt, frowning at the display. “Private.” He held up his finger for silence. “Sandoval.” He listened, then said, “Hold on—my hands are wet. I need to put the cell down.” He flicked the setting to speaker.
“I’ll wait, Raoul.” The Overseer’s voice bit into Kim like fire coral yet made her think of rotting fish.
Nauseated, she silently set her beer down.
After positioning the phone on the coffee table, Master leaned down and wrapped his arms around Kim, holding her between his legs in a prison of security.
Every person on the patio had gone still, barely breathing.
“We’re on for this Saturday,” the Overseer said. “I’m looking forward to seeing your scene again. I think the buyers will be very pleased.”
“Saturday?” Master R paused. “Dios, Dahmer. I’d hoped the auction would be Friday. I’m going to be out of town Saturday and Sunday. I have a consult in Venezuela.”
Silence.
“I’m afraid your absence isn’t acceptable, Raoul. It’s too late to get another demonstration set up.” Dahmer’s voice had sharpened, sending a shudder through Kim. That was what he sounded like when he’d ordered a slave to be whipped. Oh God.
Even as heat flared through her body, and her clit throbbed in response, Kim choked with trying not to laugh.
“Oh, go ahead, everybody else laughs.” Jessica scowled and giggled as well. But then her lips turned down. “Sometimes I wonder what kind of sleaze I am that I get off on something so public.”
Kim blinked. She knew those self-doubts only too well. That this brightly intelligent and sweet woman also worried was incredibly reassuring. She gripped Jessica’s shoulder. “You’re no sleaze. Remember, before…this…I played in clubs a lot, and there’s, like, an increased hotness, knowing people are watching.”
“I guess so. Thanks.” She tilted her head. “You know, at Gabi’s, you’d never have said something like that. You’d have been too busy shivering. I think you’re healing.”
Kim’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t paid attention to her progress recently. She still got uncomfortable at times but maybe because Master R kept increasing the stakes. But she was coming along. She’d had sex. Done a public scene. Could talk about stuff. Definitely improved. “You’re right.”
“Of course.” Jessica gave her a smug look. “I’m always right. Ask anybody…well, anybody but Z.” She wrinkled her nose at her dom and got a flashing grin that changed his lethal appearance into simply gorgeous. “So what do you and your lord and master want to drink?”
Easy answer. “Supposedly Z picked up some ale from someplace—the Swamp Head Brewery?”
“Oh, the 10-10-10. It’s a malty brew. Be right back.” Jessica grinned and headed up the steps to the third floor. The blonde might be fluffy, but her legs were in good shape. Shaking her head, Kim made a beeline for her lord and master.
He looked up, and his smile, just for her, made her spirits bubble like sea foam. Oh, I’m in trouble. God, she loved him. She walked over and waited, unsure if he wanted her to kneel or pull up a chair or—
He nodded at a large flat pillow lying between his feet.
When she knelt in perfect position, he leaned forward to murmur in her ear, “Be comfortable, cariño. You need not stay kneeling. Sam called to say he would be here in about ten minutes.”
As she shifted to an easier sitting posture, his legs closed to rub against her shoulders, holding her in safety between them. She leaned on his thigh with a happy sigh.
And then, as if he did nothing unusual, he fed her chips and dip, alternating his and hers as they often did at home.
She whispered a thank-you, received a light kiss on top of her head.
Gabi’s disbelieving look made Kim avert her gaze, only to see the slim redhead’s dom feeding her little sandwich bites from his hand. The sub looked perfectly content.
Kim considered the woman. She didn’t appear like a kick-me slave; in fact, she’d deprived the bartender of his chips.
After Jessica delivered their beers in frosty mugs, Master R handed one to Kim. Before she could drink, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “What’s wrong, gatita?”
How could she possibly say?
“Tell me.”
The others were arguing over the benefits of involving the various law enforcement agencies. No one was paying attention to her. “Is the redhead a slave? A housewife?”
Master R rubbed his cheek, already slightly scratchy, against Kim’s. “Beth isn’t a slave, but she’s definitely a submissive. I think they started in the bedroom, expanded outward, so to speak, and now they’re probably living the lifestyle more often than not. She’s not a housewife. She has a yard maintenance service and does landscape design. She did the grounds here for Z.”
From her vantage point, Kim saw hints of flowerbeds, towering hedges, and tiny footpaths. The sound of at least one fountain. The place was as gorgeous as its owner. So this Beth owned her own company, had an independent life outside of serving her dom…like Master R’s previous slaves had.
He turned her pillow—and her on it—to face him, then leaned his forearms on his thighs, ignoring everyone else to focus on her. “Does being at my feet in a gathering bother you?”
“I—” She bit her lip under the disconcerting weight of his regard. He was always aware of her, frequently watched her, but when he wanted an answer, an honest answer, his intensity changed. The pressure on her grew as well, like the difference in playing in the pool or diving down sixty feet. “No. It doesn’t bother me,” she whispered finally. “It’s just confusing. I’m not like this. I’m not.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I understand.”
“Do I act this way because of my kidnapping? The slavery?”
He sighed. “We will talk about this more later. But, Kimberly, dominance or submissiveness—or the need to serve—isn’t typically created by circumstances. It’s part of a person’s personality.
She stiffened. Was he saying she had a slave’s mentality?
Before Kim managed to phrase the question, Master Sam strode across the yard to the lanai, dressed in well-worn jeans, boots, and a pale blue cotton shirt the color of his eyes. He was older than everyone, with silvery hair and skin tanned to leather. He nodded to the men, smiled at the women, then looked at her.
“You two didn’t get a chance to really meet the other night,” Master R said to her as the man walked over. “Sam, this is Gabrielle’s friend, Kim. Kimberly, this is Sam.”
The sadist who’d flogged the sub so mercilessly that she’d screamed. Kim swallowed.
“Nice to meet you.” Sam held his hand out, waited until she gave him hers, and squeezed gently. “You’re a brave girl. Raoul is very proud of you, you know.”
When her mouth dropped open, he winked at her and took the chair next to them.
“My friends,” Master R said, stopping the various conversations. “Since Sam will attend the auction, I plan to tell Dahmer I’ll be out of town this weekend.
“We did discuss that as a possibility.” Galen’s fingers made a staccato sound on the tabletop. His black gaze held hers for a moment. “Although I like some redundancy in an op in case of oh-shit moments, I’d as soon not put more civilians in harm’s way.” He glanced at Vance, who nodded.
Galen grinned and tapped the table with his knuckles. “Agreed.”
Knowing she wouldn’t be involved, Kim sipped her beer and paid intermittent attention to the talk around her. Various plans were discussed with the police dom, Dan, contributing here and there. Outside the patio, the rain and wind increased, shaking the palms and bushes, sending the bright flowers to lie in soggy heaps in the grass. They hadn’t had their day in the sun. Their time had been cut short, she thought. Like Holly. Her throat tightened, and she concentrated on the conversation again.
“Can’t you get there sooner?” Sam asked the FBI agents in his sandpaper-rough voice. “Dahmer said the vans deliver us buyers early, so we can check the merchandise, do a miniscene, maybe even fu—” He bit off the word.
“You going to be able to do this?” Vance asked. “You look more nauseated than Sandoval did.”
“I have some lines I’ve never crossed,” Sam snapped. “So I’d like your raid to be sooner, not later.”
“We’d prefer that too.” Galen rubbed his face. “But after you lead us to the place, we need time to set up roadblocks.”
Vance added, “A lot of the buyers will leave after their purchase. Arresting them on the road means there’ll be fewer in the auction house—and less chance of the innocent getting hurt.”
“Except buyers will be hurting them while we’re testing the merchandise,” Sam growled.
Master R’s phone rang. He pulled it off his belt, frowning at the display. “Private.” He held up his finger for silence. “Sandoval.” He listened, then said, “Hold on—my hands are wet. I need to put the cell down.” He flicked the setting to speaker.
“I’ll wait, Raoul.” The Overseer’s voice bit into Kim like fire coral yet made her think of rotting fish.
Nauseated, she silently set her beer down.
After positioning the phone on the coffee table, Master leaned down and wrapped his arms around Kim, holding her between his legs in a prison of security.
Every person on the patio had gone still, barely breathing.
“We’re on for this Saturday,” the Overseer said. “I’m looking forward to seeing your scene again. I think the buyers will be very pleased.”
“Saturday?” Master R paused. “Dios, Dahmer. I’d hoped the auction would be Friday. I’m going to be out of town Saturday and Sunday. I have a consult in Venezuela.”
Silence.
“I’m afraid your absence isn’t acceptable, Raoul. It’s too late to get another demonstration set up.” Dahmer’s voice had sharpened, sending a shudder through Kim. That was what he sounded like when he’d ordered a slave to be whipped. Oh God.
