If only

Chapter Ten

When Vance returned from work on Monday, he walked through the quiet house. Galen was still in a meeting, he knew, but Sally’s car was in the drive. No one in the kitchen or great room—except for Glock, who greeted him with an indifferent tail flick. Obviously not hungry. Gone were the I’ve-been-starving-for-days pitiful meows and ankle bumping. Looked like a little submissive was a soft touch.

Vance picked up the gray tom. “I think you’ve already put on a couple of pounds, cat.”

A slit-eyed smirk was his only answer.

He carried the cat with him and found Sally in the office working on her computer. With a smile, he wondered what mood she’d be in today.

Last Saturday, she’d been sweet. Accepting them, loving them. Afterward, she’d slept in their arms, snuggling against them both. She didn’t play favorites. As far as he could tell, she liked them both. No matter how often she and Galen butted heads, they also were a lot alike. And her tender affection was good for his partner.

Felt fucking good to Vance, as well.

And he liked that sassy mouth of hers, the attitude she could put on like a uniform. Her conversations with Glock had him wondering if the cat really could communicate.

She’d fished with him early Sunday for a long, contemplative hour and seemed as contented as he’d ever seen her.

Last night, he’d heard her shriek and had run into the office. The room had been empty except for her, a wide-eyed, furious young woman ranting about health potions and being surrounded by demons, abandoned by her comrades and left to die.

She had quite a mouth on her sometimes.

And now she’d assumed another personality—the focused intellectual typing so fast she hadn’t even heard him walk in.

“Sending out job applications?” he asked.

She jumped as if he’d goosed her with a cattle prod. “Vance!” Her hands flicked over the keyboard. The screen changed from an e-mail program to a document. “I didn’t expect you back so early.”

She spun in the chair to face him. Dressed in faded jeans and a Darth Vader T-shirt with the logo: The Dark Side made me do it!!! Her hair was pulled back with a band. Makeupless. Not out to impress anyone, was she?

“It’s actually rather late, sweetheart.” If he’d ever seen a guilty expression, she was wearing one. But they hadn’t told her not to communicate with her friends. “You have the code for the wireless, right?”

Her expression eased. “Yes. Thank you for letting me use it.”

So that wasn’t it. Well, unless she was running an e-mail banking scam and asking recipients to send her a few thousand to save her baby from starving, he didn’t need to be involved. Neither he nor Galen restricted a submissive’s communications—and he wanted her to keep in touch with her friends. “How good are you with construction?”

“Well, not too bad with basic skills, but I can’t read a diagram and make it come out right.”

He smiled and tugged her hair. “Top of your class and you don’t do diagrams?”

“Hey, flow charts are one thing, spatial skills another. I can get lost in a cornfield.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “Bet they don’t let you into Fed school if that happens.”

“Nope. Takes all the fun out of a car chase if you get turned around.” He held his hand out, pleased she didn’t hesitate before putting her hand in his.

As he pulled her to her feet, her eyes held curiosity with just a touch of trepidation. Good. She was the type of submissive who would do better if kept on her toes. But he needed to be sure she knew she was valued.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“We’d planned to use the cabana for guests, but we’re going to convert it into a dungeon instead.”

“It will make an awesome dungeon. And be a lot nicer than those typical fake stone wall ones. What can I do to help?”

He gave her a slow smile. “I thought I’d take you on as a carpenter’s apprentice…so to speak.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“Every schoolgirl should learn a trade to fall back on.” Teacher-schoolgirl had been listed as one of her favorite role-plays, and he had a fondness for that kind of power exchange. He looked her up and down. “I left a pair of overalls for you on my bed. Schoolgirl socks and tennis shoes. Braids.”

Her eyes lit up. When she was happy, she almost sparkled.

He added, “Meet me in ten minutes in the cabana.”

“Yes, Sir!”

SHE’D WORRIED THAT he’d make her wear ugly farmer’s overalls. She grinned at what he’d left on his bed. Yes, the material was denim with a bib front and shoulder straps. But without a T-shirt, the bib barely covered her nipples. Lacing on each side of the waist made it formfitting. And rather than long pants legs, the bottom was a skirt. The hem ended just short of her butt. She put on knee-high socks and denim sneakers. Her hair hung in two long braids. No makeup. Just to be contrary, she pulled on a pair of bright pink panties.

Whoever thought one of the stern Feds could be into role-playing? A check in the mirror showed her grin. Poor guy. He’d never seen her playing schoolgirl, or he’d know better.

She paused on the stairs as she remembered Vance’s really big, really strong hand slapping her bottom. That had hurt.

She huffed in exasperation at her worries. He wouldn’t do a true punishment for a role-play. The only reason to play schoolgirl was to be able to be sassy. Maybe that’s why she enjoyed it so much.

She frowned. If she enjoyed it so much, why hadn’t she been like that at home? Or had she been? In kindergarten, she’d lectured her mother about throwing away recyclable glass. And hanging out of the hayloft, she’d teased her brother, knowing he was afraid of climbing the ladder to enact retribution. And informing her father at supper that companies headed by women made more money. Sally grinned, remembering the appalled look on her father’s face. How old had she been that time? Nine?

Her smile faded. That was before he’d started to hate her. After her mother’s death, his disapproval—and occasional backhand—eventually silenced her complaints, her requests…her voice.

Being mouthy was something she’d lost when her mother died, and only regained once away and in college.

The humid lake air wrapped around her as she walked out the back door and down the narrow dirt path to the cabana. Out on the lake, two bright orange kayaks left trails of miniwaves behind them. In the rough vegetation on the lakeshore, an alligator lifted its head to check her out before returning to drowsing. She shuddered. No one thought twice about jumping into a lake in Iowa, but here? Not a chance.

In the cabana, Vance stood in the center of the room, tapping a yardstick on his palm and surveying the potential construction site. The ancient white T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders was so thin she could see his shoulder muscles bunch as he turned.

“There you are,” he said.

She held still while he prowled a circle around her.

“Very nice.”

When he ran his hand under her skirt, she shoved him away. “Sir! What are you doing?”

“Apprentices in our company don’t wear underwear. It’s a danger in a work environment.” His voice was stern, his eyes dancing. “Gets caught on things.” He hooked a finger in the waistband and yanked her panties down. “Remove them.”

She huffed and slithered out of the panties without exposing anything. “Fine.” And added in a mutter, “I don’t think I’m going to like this job.”

“Truly a shame that your uncle indentured you to us for the next five years.”

Christ in gator-land, but that was a terrifying thought.

“Of course, he might not have done that if you’d been a good girl.” Vance swatted her butt with the yardstick he held. Thank God the skirt cushioned the blow—not enough. She was still tender.

“I am a good girl,” she told him, hands on her hips, scowling. “You’ll see.” Or if you hit my ass again, maybe I’ll kick a paint can over. “What should I call you?”

“Boss will do just fine.” He handed her a paintbrush. “You can paint the trim.”

He’d chosen a nice beige for the baseboards, and the walls would be a dark but rich cocoa. Much like the Feds’ personalities. She concentrated on painting quietly. He’d put country-western on the player, and oddly enough, the work was more soothing than she’d thought. It was rewarding to take something ugly and make it beautiful.

After a bit, she realized he was standing over her, checking her work. The light-filled room brightened his beautiful eyes, showing the paler blue rays in the iris. She’d always loved blue eyes.

His hand stroked down her hair. “Very nice work, Miss Hart. You can take a break now. Lid on the paint. Brush in a Baggie.”

After setting things to rights, she walked over to where he sat on one of the twin beds, looking at a catalog.

He patted beside him. “Sit here.”

She dropped down and checked out what he was looking at. A BDSM equipment catalog. “Whoa. That’s very cool. I’ve never seen one.”

“Z lent it to us. Says this company is known for building both solid and comfortable.” He turned the page and tapped a picture of a St. Andrew’s cross. It was padded with leather. Gleaming eyebolts studded the ends of the arms. “You like crosses?”

She shrugged. “What’s not to like?”

“How about this?” He opened the page to a vacuum bed with a pump to pull the air out of a latex bag, letting the submissive breath through a tube.

A shudder ran through her. “Never. Not for me. Ever.” Just the thought of being enclosed—almost mummified—like that could give her nightmares.

He nodded and opened the page to a bunch of bondage tables. “We’ll probably get one of these.”

One had the prettiest strapping system that— She realized he was studying her. “Uh. Right. Every dungeon should have one.”

His lips quirked before he turned the page again. “Or at least a spanking horse.”

God, those had to be her favorite. Like a hybridization between a picnic table and a sawhorse on steroids. Somehow being strapped into that doggy position was just too darned exciting.

He ran a finger down her cheek. “Definitely one of those.” He set the magazine to one side. “I was looking through your history in the Masters’ files. You got your bachelor’s, worked a bit in a software company, before going to grad school for your Master’s degrees. No marriage or engagements in all that time?”

She shook her head. And maybe now she knew why. She hadn’t trusted anyone enough to lower her defenses. “What about you, Sir? Engaged? Married?” She gave him a slow smile. “The trainees don’t have files on the Masters to check.”

“There’s a mercy.” His mouth tightened. “I was married—and divorced—in college.”

“Is that the wife who lied all the time?” Sally hated that he’d once compared her to some scumbag of a wife. He’d been so angry at the thought of being lied to.

“I did tell you that, didn’t I?” Leaning back against the wooden headboard, he studied her. “And you? Are you a liar, Sally?”

Her chin came up. “No.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

Frigging A. “Okay, so faking orgasms was kind of a lie. And I guess if I say, ‘I’m fine,’ even though I’m not, it’s kind of a lie too. But…” She bit her lip.

His eyes were starting to chill, and he crossed his arms over his chest. How could he look so relaxed and so threatening at the same time? “But?”

“But I do it because…because I don’t—can’t—share.” Don’t hate me. I don’t want you to hate me.

“I know that.” His voice was so neutral as to be unreadable.

“But I don’t cheat. Cheating is different. I don’t steal or betray my friends or poach boyfriends. And if you ask me if your hips look fat in a dress, I’ll tell you the truth. And—”

When he grinned, she realized what she’d said. A flush crept into her face.

“Next time I go out looking for a nice gown to wear, I’ll know who to take with me,” he said.

Jeez. She looked down and muttered, “You know what I mean.”

He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted. “I know what you mean.” His eyes were the blue of a sunlit Iowa lake. “I want to get you to the point where you can share—honestly. That time will come.”

The relief of his understanding made her eyes swim with tears.

He made a tsk sound, kissed her cheek, rose, and pulled her off the bed. “Time to put you back to work, little apprentice. You’ve lazed about long enough.” Beside the kitchen area was a tall cabinet. Vance opened the three-foot box in front of it. Inside were straps, ropes, gags, spreader bars, blindfolds, and hoods. What every well-equipped dungeon should have. “I want you to put these away neatly in the cabinet.”

Still feeling unsettled, she frowned at him. Boy, this wasn’t much of a schoolgirl role-play, was it? He actually acted as if she was his apprentice. And he was being awfully polite. Bad Dom.

After putting a few items on the shelf, she found the nipple clamps—tons of them. He’d already gone back to painting the wall. So she put some clamps on a shelf. Tossed one at him. No reaction. Put a few more clamps away. Tossed another—aiming for his ass. Fine, fine ass. Hit. No reaction. Put a few more and turned to—

“Eeek!” Heart pounding, she looked up at the man looming over her. Vance’s face was grim, and jeez, how had he gotten so tall? He made her feel like a mouse. “Christ on a pogo stick, give a girl a heart attack, will you?”

He opened his hand, showing her the nipple clamps.

“Uh. Guess I just dropped them. Boss man, sir.” She gave him a simpering smile. “Ooops.”

“I see. Well, seems a waste to not put them to use.” He undid the straps to her overalls, letting the bib flop down, exposing her breasts. He cupped his hand under one, weighing it, his thumb teasing her nipple into a point. “Odd that you’re not wearing a bra—I thought breasts needed some kind of support.”

She stared at him. What kind of a comment was that? “Um. Guess I just forgot. Boss.”

“Well, I don’t have time to let you run home and put one on, so we’ll just have to make do. I wouldn’t want anyone to think we’re not taking good care of our little apprentice.” He picked up two lengths of chain from the box and clipped a nipple clamp on each end of the chains. Four nipple clamps?

“I don’t think I have four breasts, sir,” she said politely. Just trying to be helpful, boss.

“Good to know.” He put a clamp on her left nipple and tightened it right up to where she was starting to sweat. After placing the chain around the back of her neck, he pulled the flopped-over bib back up and clipped the other end of the chain onto the left edge of the material, using the second nipple clamp.

When he let go, the weight of the heavy denim pulled on the chain…and upward on her breast. “Ow!”

A smile flickered over his lips. And he did the other chain the same way on her right side, running the chain around to the material on the right. Her nipples were now holding the bib of the overalls up. Ow, ow, ow.

And the chains were pulling her nipples in an upward direction.

He grinned. “There, see? Support for your breasts. Maybe I should patent the system.” He turned her around, the movement pulling on her breasts and making her squeak. “Keep working, little apprentice. I’ll give you a break in a couple of hours.”

What? Fuming, her nipples burning as she bent over the box, she considered throwing something really, really heavy at him.

Even worse, she had to pee something awful. She stood up and shifted from foot to foot, hoping he’d notice.

He turned his back on her.

Fine then. She started for the door.

“Sally, you don’t have permission to leave.” He hadn’t even bothered to look at her.

Oh God, if she didn’t get out of here, her bladder was going to explode. “Um.” She couldn’t ask. Dammit. Teeth gritted, she headed for the door.

“Sally, did you need something?”

Saying no…wasn’t an option. “Yes, Sir.” Maybe he’d just tell her to leave?

“Good answer. So, ask.” His gaze met hers. Patient. Understanding. Resolved.

Demon fucking Dom. He was going to pay for pushing her. Her hands were cold, her heart beating too fast as she tried to get the words to come out. Why was it more difficult today? She pulled in a breath. “May I go to the bathroom, Sir?” came out in a rush.

He smiled at her, eyes lightening, and despite her anger, she felt warmed through and through. “Now that’s a good request, sweetheart. Use one in the house and bring us both back some iced tea.”

“Yes, Sir.”

After stopping to pet Glock in the front yard, Galen found Sally in the kitchen, holding two iced teas. And didn’t she just look cute? In the Shadowlands, he’d thought schoolgirl clothing was particularly suited to her bubbly nature. The overalls Vance had found were even better. “Interesting way to hold up your clothes, imp.” He gave a gentle tug on one chain and she winced…and her eyes dilated slightly.

She must have done something naughty to get in this fix. Good. He and Vance had hoped some role-playing might help her get her sass back. “What have you and Vance accomplished in the cabana so far?”

She gave him a slightly disgruntled look. “Painting.”

So was she missing more domination or more sex…or something else? He might start with both and see if her reactions would give him a clue. “Nothing strenuous, eh? I daresay you’ll have enough energy for this.” He unbuttoned his jeans. He’d learned the benefits of going commando when there was a submissive in the house.

He saw the spark of delight in her eyes as well as something he remembered and hadn’t seen enough of. If she was planning mischief, the corners of her eyes tilted up slightly, as if by holding her smile back, her eyes had to do it for her. It had to be the most adorable look he’d ever seen. But…what was the imp up to?

She turned her back to him, putting the glasses of iced tea on the counter. Facing him again, she dropped to her knees. After she pushed her braids out of her face, she enveloped him in sultry heat. Licking and sucking energetically, bobbing her head so energetically that his eyes almost crossed. She was damned good at sucking cock.

When she lifted her mouth away, she kept one hand caressing his balls as she looked up at him. She gave him a little smirk, then rubbed her mouth with her free hand before lowering her head again. She caressed his balls for a bit, building his anticipation, before closing her mouth over his cock.

His heart almost stopped with the shock. His cock felt as if he’d stuck it in the polar ice cap. “Christ!” Grabbing her hair, he pulled her off. As his blood pressure lowered and the roaring in his ears receded, he could hear her giggling. Lovely sound, but not for the right reasons.

Holding ice in her mouth to give her Dom a heart attack during a blowjob wasn’t what he called a well-behaved submissive. Don’t laugh, Kouros. He pressed his lips together. “Okay, Sally. You’ve had your fun.” Holding her in place by her braids, he zipped his jeans with the other hand. Carefully. If he caught himself in the zipper, he was liable to scream like a girl.

She peeked up at him, starting to look a tad bit worried. Smart subbie.

“Eyes down.” He glanced at the two drinks, chock-full of ice. “Didn’t know you liked ice play, pet. But since you do—” He tossed her belly-down over the counter, so her legs dangled. Before she could move, he yanked up her short skirt and secured both it and her with his forearm, putting more weight onto her when she started to squirm.

The tall ceramic jar held a variety of wooden spoons. He picked one up and whapped her ass half-a-dozen times. Quick and hard. His dick perked right up at the satisfying sound of the impact on bare flesh.

Her short scream was almost as fun.

“I’m guessing you felt neglected,” he said, waiting long enough for the burn to decrease before adding another six to her count. “You wanted attention?”

“No.” She gripped the other side of the counter, holding on for dear life. A nice pink began to bloom on her ass. He avoided the places that still held marks from her previous punishment and made a mental note to go lighter with the cane next time. And considering her penchant for brattiness, there would undoubtedly be a next time.

“Your Doms are pleased to give you attention, Sally, but this might be the wrong way to ask for it.” He smiled and dipped his hand in one iced tea glass. “I’ll let you decide.” Pulling out two ice cubes, well rounded and the size of a fingertip, he pushed one in her cunt and took a second to enjoy the shrill scream before he slid the other one into her asshole.

Her shriek of outrage made the windows rattle. He and Sam had enjoyed a conversation once about heartwarming screams. This one ranked near the top, he had to say. He leaned more weight on her ass to keep her from kicking herself off the counter.

To top off the lesson, he reddened her cheeks with a few more whaps of the wooden spoon, concentrating on the sweet crease between upper thigh and curve of the ass, judging carefully the effect. He wanted it to sting—didn’t really want her crying. But every time she kicked, he added an extra-vigorous smack. She figured that out within three strikes. Clever girl.

After he stopped, he ran his fingers between her legs. Nice and slick. She liked being spanked. Liked being under control. Some of her pushing was undoubtedly her way of getting more of that. He had a feeling some of it was sheer testing, her way of questioning if they’d still like her if she acted out. And perhaps if they’d manage the art of keeping control without making her feel insecure or unworthy. He stroked over her round ass, feeling her quiver under his touch.

There was nothing unworthy about this imp, but she wouldn’t believe the words. Just time and consistency.

So, to be consistent, should he have her finish the blowjob? No. He grinned. He didn’t want his pride and joys anywhere near a vengeful little mouth. It would be challenging to piss with a one-inch stub of a dick.

Instead he lifted her off the counter, set her on her feet, and pointed to the floor.

She dropped to her knees, expression fairly subdued. “I’m sorry, Master Galen,” she whispered. “I won’t do that again.”

“Probably a wise decision,” he said gravely. “We have the mold for making ice dildos, and from your response to a tiny cube, I think you wouldn’t enjoy a larger one.”

She actually cringed, and he had to cover his laugh with a faked cough.

“I’ll be good, Sir,” she promised.

Oh, he really doubted that. He pulled her to her feet and gave her a hug and a long, lingering kiss. Her stiff little body soon melted, undoubtedly like the ice in her hot cunt, and she softened against him. “I like you, Sally,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re a natural imp, and I like that part of you. We don’t want to change you—just keep you within a few bounds.”

Her head moved up and down on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of her head. “However, I was raised in Maine. Cold is not my friend.”

When she giggled into his shoulder, he grinned. Yeah, this one was special.

Drew slammed the door of the rental jeep as he stalked to his brother’s cabin. Fucking Feds. Fucking cops.

He probably should shut everything down, but letting the assholes win made him want to kill something. Someone. More someones. And he didn’t want to lose a business that pulled in millions of dollars.

Nonetheless, he wasn’t stupid. Right after the first woman he’d sold, he’d set up backup plans in case things started going sour. Today, he’d sent off the e-mails to his handful of managers to put the entire business on hold. Hopefully that would be enough to throw the Feds off the scent.

His thin lips tightened. He’d taken precautions while setting up the network. Compartmentalization was the key. The lower levels were contracted hirelings; each knew the one overseer who hired him. The managers knew only the overseers in their area. In turn, Somerfeld contacted only the handful of managers and only through e-mails.

But he hoped to keep the nucleus of the organization intact and ready to rebound once the FBI turned their attention elsewhere. He’d also given the managers a big bonus as an incentive to remain quiet. That was the carrot. The stick was the knowledge of how the Harvest Association dealt with informants.

He grinned. Who would have thought his pyromaniac brother would prove so useful?

HEARING THE CAR door slam, Ellis snapped the chain on the slave. Drew must be here. Maybe he’d have some work in mind. Ellis grinned and rubbed his thickening cock. He really enjoyed meting out vengeance for his brother. So much that he would leave behind a battery-operated wireless video camera in the room so he could record their pleading, the crying, and the screams as their skin started to crisp. A shame the cameras usually died about the same time.

But he’d accumulated a good set of recordings. In fact, he’d viewed one last night. Oh yeah, indeedy yeah.

He stepped into the doorway, breathing in the tang of the forest, the silence. His twin’s face was tight, brows pulled together. “Is something wrong?”

“The Feds haven’t stopped. I shut down the network.” Drew shoved past him to enter the cabin.

Ellis scowled. That meant no nice fires in his future. “That sucks.” He leaned against the door, watching Drew unbuckle his pants. “What are you doing?”

“Got rid of my slave. Just in case.”

“And you didn’t call me to kill her?” Anger welled up in him.

“You only want to burn them, and I didn’t have time for that. She’s at the bottom of the ocean instead. And I’m without a fuck toy.” Drew nodded to where Slut knelt with her forehead pressed to the ground, ass in the air. “I came to use yours.”

“Whatever.”

“Thanks. And don’t break this one for a while. You’ll get no new ones until I start the network back up.”

All bad news. He wanted a fire, to sweat at its nearness, hear the roar as it caught and grew, watch the victim’s eyes widen. The struggle. The itch was under his skin, pulling at him.