This is who I am

Chapter Two

Flanked by Raoul and Kim, Linda walked into the exclusive BDSM club known as the Shadowlands. Light from wrought-iron sconces flickered ominously over the dungeon equipment lining the walls. The overwhelming scents of leather, sweat, and sex slapped into her and stole her breath. The sounds of pain were like a kick to her stomach. Even the music held a savage bite.

At least no one would see her reactions—or who she was. The black mask she wore concealed her face, leaving only her lips and eyes revealed. Now, if she could only get her feet to move. The little voice inside her screaming get me out of here grew louder.

When Raoul put his hand on her shoulder, she jumped. “Chiquita.” His dark brown eyes were worried. “You would be safe in the Shadowlands, no matter what. But you’re also with me.”

“Thank you.” Considering the man had more muscles than the beach had sand, he was a reassuring presence.

“Linda, let’s go home,” Kim said. “We don’t have to stay.” Her blue corset matched her eyes, and her black collar held a silver engraving: Master Raoul’s gatita. Of all the women in captivity, Kim had seemed the least likely to want to be a slave. But the love between her and Raoul was so strong it almost shimmered. Somehow, Kim had moved on and found happiness.

Linda hadn’t. Even worse, she was unraveling as emotions ripped through her. She cringed at the sound of a paddle against flesh. A woman’s screams made her hands turn cold and numb. As the trembling in her belly worked outward, her knees started to shake. She couldn’t escape the memories of horrors. This was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

“Raoul.” A gray-eyed man blocked their way, and his gaze swept over her face, her shoulders, her hands. “What are you doing? She’s terrified.”

Well, sheesh. She could have sworn she’d hidden her fear fairly well.

“She wanted to come,” Kim protested, then closed her mouth when Raoul tugged her collar.

The stranger was lean and graceful, wearing all black as a Dom would—only he had no need to wear black to establish his authority. Power surrounded him like the scent of aftershave. “You must be Linda. Little one, you should go home.”

Raoul squeezed her shoulder. “Linda, this is Master Z. He agreed to give you a temporary membership, and he’s the reason you are safe here.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Master Z.” So this was the infamous Master Z who owned the Shadowlands. She swallowed. Kim hadn’t come close to describing how intimidating the man was. “Kim’s right. I wanted to come.”

He lifted an eyebrow in an unspoken command to continue. In just one night at that other club, she’d discovered how a Dom in full command mode could turn her spine into jelly.

“I wanted…” Why had it been easier to explain to Raoul, even if she hadn’t explained everything? “Wanted to remind myself that people do this for fun. Consensually.”

“You want to replace the images in your head with better ones,” he said gently.

“That’s it.” And maybe find someone to hurt me. God, that sounded so sick.

He held his hand out, and her fingers were in his grip before she realized she’d moved. He studied her for a minute, then nodded. “All right, Linda. I think you have the strength, but don’t push yourself into a panic attack.” He arched a brow at Kim. “Your companions are quite familiar with the symptoms.”

Kim actually giggled. The beautiful sound showed that healing could happen, even after horrors.

“I’ll be careful,” Linda said.

“Very good.” He released her hand and moved off with the lethal grace of a big cat.

Linda blew out a breath and glanced at Kim. “Well. You tried to warn me.” If nothing else, Master Z had broken into her nightmare and got her moving again.

Kim grinned. “And you didn’t believe me.”

Linda laughed and looked around. The place was certainly different from the one she’d gone to before. True, her single visit to a BDSM club hardly made her an authority, but she’d spent hours there before doing anything. This place was more expensive. The equipment was padded with leather, the burnished hardwood floors reflected the flickering of the wrought-iron sconces. The general populace was older and quieter, although—she enjoyed the spectacle of a woman in a full catsuit followed by a naked submissive—the costumes were just as outrageous.

“Do you want to wander around or settle somewhere?” Kim glanced over Linda’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Uh, let’s just go to the bar.”

Linda turned. The nearest scene was a man on a St. Andrew’s cross with a Mistress putting clamps on his nipples. The spiderweb next to it held a restrained submissive struggling to evade the flick of a crop. Then a spanking scene. Then several people watching a Dom with a flogger.

When the Dom turned slightly, Linda’s lungs felt as if they were being pinched in wickedly tight clamps. Sam. Sam was here. She’d forgotten the dangerous vibe he gave off in dominant mode. Almost half a foot taller than her five-seven, he wore black jeans, black boots, a black belt, and a black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His silvery hair didn’t make him look old—just really, really experienced.

He was using a full-sized, heavy flogger with brown leather strands. No fancy colors for him. The woman on the cross was in tears, her back reddened. As Sam flogged the blonde with a smooth rhythm, Linda wanted to hate him for inflicting such pain.

Yet, as the woman went up on tiptoes, she pushed her bottom back to get more. Her face gleamed with sweat and tears, but her half-agonized, half-blissful expression was that of a masochist getting what she wanted.

I want it too. Linda felt like a shaken soda with the cap screwed on too tightly to let out the increasing pressure. Pain might give her a way to open up and spew everything out. I need that.

Not with Sam though. No no no. And yet… She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself over her silky shirt. Watching him with a woman made her feel odd. Wanting and angry and unsettled. After a minute, she forced herself to turn away. Thank heavens she’d worn a mask.

Raoul was watching her, his dark eyes narrowed. “Shall I find you a Dom to play with?”

How had Kim found someone so sweetly protective? But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—have another person make those choices for her again. “Thank you, but I’d rather choose my own if I decide to…do anything.”

And she’d be very careful. She’d pick a sadist, but not one who was also a Dominant. During her night at the club, the Dom she’d spoken to had told her she was submissive as well as a masochist. As if one perversion wasn’t enough, I’ve got two.

But it had been Sam who had showed her how a powerful Dom could push her limits—could go past her limits. At the auction, she could have handled being whipped, but he’d done…more. Damn him.

“As you wish. Then let us have something to drink while you decide.” After pulling Kim to his side, Raoul guided them to the bar.

Linda glanced longingly at the bottles of tequila, scotch, and rum.

Raoul shook his head. “You may have water or a soda.” He turned to Kim and settled her on a bar stool, kissing her hair lightly.

But I want a drink. Linda sighed but had to admit he was right. Alcohol, in this place, might do as much harm as good. She needed to stay on top of things. In control.

The bartender’s assistant came over to get their orders. As Kim talked with her, Linda looked over her shoulder at Sam. Again.

He’d finished the scene. The blonde with spiky hair who might have looked tough at one time was trying to bury herself in his chest. When he rubbed her undoubtedly tender back and she cried harder, he grinned. Definitely a sadist. But a caring one. And strong. She remembered the steel-like feeling of his arms. He might be in his fifties, but he was all bone and muscle.

A shiver ran up Linda’s spine. Don’t look.

Turning away, she let herself sink into the sounds of the place. The slap of paddles and floggers and canes. Moaning and groaning. A shriek. Low conversation. A half-heard man’s laugh—the sound familiar and horrible—sent memories oozing through her. Caged on a boat. Men talking about—

She shook herself loose, feeling cold sweat trickle down her back. I’m free. At the Shadowlands. And as she listened, she realized the noise was different from the slave auctions. The sobbing was that of a release; the shriek had excitement accompanying the pain. There were none of the hopeless cries, the pleading, and the screams of pain that wouldn’t end. She shuddered.

“Linda. Look at me.” Raoul’s gaze was watchful. Measuring.

“I’m okay.” And she wasn’t lying. His voice, his steady eyes had settled her. She gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you.” Her deep breath calmed her further as she carefully cataloged more differences. She’d thought the downtown BDSM club smelled of leather, sex, pain, and fear. Now she knew fear stank of piss and blood and sour sweat. Nothing like here.

The Shadowlands held laughter, and not only from the male Doms. There were women laughing. To one side, some submissives giggled as one negotiated with a Dom. Linda took a quick survey of the room before turning to Kim. “The percentage of Doms to submissives seems pretty even.”

The bartender’s submissive grinned at her. “Good eye. I’m Andrea, by the way.” She glanced around the room and answered Linda’s unspoken questions. “Master Z keeps the membership balanced, no matter how long the waiting list gets. It’s nice. I’ve visited clubs where I felt like a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves.”

“That’s it,” Linda agreed. “There’s no sense of being stalked.” In fact, the unattached subs were having a good time with each other. More weight lifted from her shoulders. She’d be safe here, if… Could she really do this? Let a sadist hurt her? Her fears and needs seemed to twine together, creating a macramé of self-loathing. Why couldn’t she be normal?

Her gaze fell on a man by a St. Andrew’s cross. Tall. Thin. He was packing up his toy bag after using a cane on a younger woman who’d quickly wimped out. But he hadn’t tried to dominate the woman. As he picked up his bag, he met Linda’s gaze and nodded politely.

She continued to stare at him, and he tilted his head, reassessing her.

Raoul’s hand covered hers. “Are you sure, chiquita? Edward is a sadist but not a Dominant. Sam might be—”

“Not Sam.” When his eyebrows rose, she winced at her bluntness. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize for being honest.” His gaze stayed on her face. “Continue.”

“Just…I don’t want a Dom. Or Sam.”

His jaw tightened. “Did Sam do something that—”

“No. No, it’s nothing. I just like making my own choices.” To escape more questions, she kissed his cheek in a hasty apology, then went to meet the sadist halfway.

AS SAM CLEANED the equipment and kept an eye on Dara, he half listened to the sounds from the adjacent scene. Holt was using a cane on a submissive, pushing her boundaries and heightening her arousal. From the noise the brunette was making, the Dom was doing an excellent job.

After putting the cleaning supplies in the stand, Sam went down on one knee beside Dara. With a blanket around her shoulders, the Goth trainee had eaten her chocolate bites and was sipping the sports drink he’d given her.

“How you doing?” Sam asked, running his knuckles over her cheek.

“I’m good.” Her eyes were clear, skin warm, speech coherent. He’d learned Dara didn’t want much aftercare, didn’t want to be held. She liked moving around and enjoying the buzz. She grinned at him. “That was really fun, Master Sam. Thank you.”

“All right then.” He stood and helped her to her feet. After giving him a quick hug, she trotted off toward the restrooms—undoubtedly to admire the stripes he’d put on her thighs and ass.

Feeling a tad deprived, he headed to the bar. What was the world coming to when a Dom enjoyed aftercare more than the submissive?

“Hey, Davies.”

Sam looked around.

Special Agent Vance Buchanan and his partner, Galen Kouros, were sitting at the bar.

Sam leaned an elbow on the bar and greeted the linebacker-sized agent, “Buchanan,” then nodded at the lean, dark one. “Kouros.” They were both in jeans and white button-up shirts. “Here on Fed business?”

“Not this time,” Kouros said. “Our transfer to Tampa came through, so we’re talking to Z about membership here.”

“You’ll be welcome.” Sam had seen them play a time or two. Although it wasn’t common for two Doms to link up permanently, they’d made topping together into an art. And Kouros had some serious skill with mind-fucking games. “Is the Harvest Association belly-up?” Although the Feds had netted the bastards who’d kidnapped Linda and Kim, the slave-trafficking association’s reach extended across the entire United States.

“Not quite. The northeast is still going strong.” Buchanan scowled. “We think that area has some highly placed contacts.”

“Bad news.”

“A bad crime.” Over the past months, the lines in Kouros’s face had deepened.

The Harvest Association dealt in human trafficking with a twist. They kidnapped intelligent middle- and upper-class submissives, ones already in the lifestyle, and sold them to wealthy buyers who wanted trained slaves or—even worse—toys to be broken. Linda and Kim had been slaves. Other Shadowlands submissives had been targeted. Like Z’s Jessica and a mouthy trainee named Sally.

Sally was cute as a button. He spotted her, hands on hips, apparently giving a newer Dom a lesson in something. Sam chuckled. Although he preferred to scene with masochists, he’d topped the little brunette a few times. She took a bit of work, but then she would surrender beautifully.

All of the Shadowlands Masters worked with the trainees, filling their needs, instructing and evaluating. The goal was to get them matched with suitable Doms, but Sally was too damn smart and independent for her own good. She needed a powerful Dom, and so far Z hadn’t found one who would meet her needs.

Buchanan’s gaze followed Sam’s, and the FBI agent nudged his partner, pointing out the trainee. The girl loved role-play games and today had dressed as a biker chick…probably hoping for someone to take on the cop role. “Want to give her a treat?” Buchanan asked.

Kouros smiled slowly before shaking his head. “Members have more privileges than guests,” he reminded Buchanan. “We’ll wait.”

“Yo.” Wearing his brown “I’m a Dom and don’t need black to prove it” leathers, Cullen looked up from drawing a beer for someone. “You agents plotting something?”

“Not tonight,” Buchanan said.

After giving the Feds’ glasses a bartender’s assessment, Cullen grinned at Sam. “’Bout time you graced us with your presence, buddy. What can I get you?”

Sam considered. Did he want something? Was he finished for the night? His arm was tired; his need to make a woman cry was satisfied. He didn’t want to do a more intense scene—hadn’t wanted to in months. Damn the redhead. “How about a beer?”

“How about not?” Cullen leaned a big arm on the bar top. “Raoul’s here with Kim and a friend of hers. An older redhead. Would she be the Linda I’ve heard rumors about?”

His Linda? Sam straightened. “Where?”

“She’s doing a scene with Edward.” Cullen jerked his chin toward the right.

Sam spotted her easily. Dark red hair. White skin. Despite her mask, she was easily recognizable—at least to a Dom who’d run his hands all over her beautifully curved body. What the hell was she doing? A hard-core sadist, Edward had a good technique with a single-tail, but… “He’s no Dom, and she’s submissive.”

“Yeah? She told Raoul she didn’t want a Dom—or you.”

The words sliced through his flesh like a fillet knife. “Then why the hell did you point her out?”

“All her fire at just hearing your name? You got unresolved business there, buddy.”

Not any revelation, at least on Sam’s side. But she wasn’t going to let him close enough to do anything about it.

Cullen was laughing.

“What’s so goddamned funny?”

“Check out the scene.” Cullen nodded to the cross. “That’s one frustrated subbie.”

Sam looked again. Linda’s back was to the room as Edward used a cane on her jeans-covered ass. Gorgeous body. Maybe not to the fools who wanted their women young and tight and bland. No, Linda’s body was past prime. Soft. The highlighted streaks in her hair were probably there to cover up the gray. He remembered she had fine wrinkles beside her mouth, on her neck. And he wanted her with every cell in his body.

With a grunt of annoyance, he shut his dick down and studied her. Cullen’s comment held truth. She was flinching from the blows. Not welcoming them. In the way a woman might be unable to have an orgasm, the sweet masochist wasn’t hitting the place that would let her ride the pain. Why? Sam watched awhile longer, and his jaw tightened. “She doesn’t trust him enough to go with it. And he’s not dominant enough to break through to her.”

“That’s my take.”

Sam saw Z approaching the scene. The owner of the Shadowlands rarely interrupted a session…unless he felt the play was harmful to the submissive. And that scene certainly wasn’t doing Linda any favors.

Sam pushed away from the bar and strode over to intercept him.

Z gave him a level look. “Samuel.”

He didn’t need to hear Z state what he already knew. “No, she doesn’t want to see me. But I’m the one she needs right now.”

“You have a history between you. I’ve heard it’s not a happy one.”

Submissives loved to gossip, and Z’s Jessica would be at the heart of it. “I screwed up, but there was a connection between us. It’s still there.”

Z’s frown deepened, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he considered. “You may offer. If she accepts, you will emphasize she has a safe word. And I intend to monitor.”

“Considering what she’s been through, I’m good with a backup.” Sam turned. Butting into another Dom’s scene wasn’t done, but…she needed him. His protective instincts pushed him closer.

Edward wasn’t into the scene at all, or he wouldn’t have noticed Sam stand one foot too close to the roped-off area. He walked over. “Friend of yours?”

He’d give his left nut to be able to say yes. “Not quite. But I might be able to get through to her. She’s submissive.”

“No fucking way. She said she wasn’t.”

“She lied.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Edward scowled. “I should have spotted it. But she was so insistent.”

“The truth isn’t always comfortable. May I?”

“Go for it. I’m fucking tired of being lied to.” Edward tossed his cane in his bag, picked it up, and stalked away.

Well, that was easy. Sam moved slowly as if approaching a wild mare. They had a connection from before, and she needed what he had to give. Was it enough to get past her anger? To let her trust him? His shoulder muscles knotted as he approached from the side where she could see him. If she’d open her eyes.

He took a minute to enjoy the sight of her. She still wore her jeans and an ugly black mask but had removed her shirt and bra, leaving her lightly freckled back bare. In the courthouse, she’d been dead white, but now he saw she had a fading tan. Kim had mentioned she’d been in California to recuperate and escape the asshole newspeople. Welcome home, girl. His mouth tightened when he saw the faint white lines—scars—on her back, left from her trauma.

He gripped her chin gently but firmly enough that she’d recognize the touch of a Master. “Linda. Look at me.”

Her eyes popped open, and her body went rigid. “No. Not you.”

Dammit, he’d had submissives fearful of him, especially nonmasochists, but at the auction, he’d given Linda only as much pain as she’d needed. Anger might be warranted, not fear. “Goddammit, I’ve never hurt anyone who didn’t ask me to.”

She closed her eyes as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him, but restrained on the cross, she had no choice except to hear his apology.

“I’m not sure what I did.” Where were all the arguments he’d come up with over the past months? “But I did something wrong. I’m sorry, girl.”

Her body shuddered as if trying to throw off his words. Her eyes opened. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

The anger and shame in her gaze was far more honest than her words. Her forgiveness wasn’t even close. “Yes, it does. I hope you’ll forgive me. But for right now”—with her chin cupped in his palm, he stroked his thumb over her jawline below the mask—“you need to hurt. And you need someone to push you hard enough that you can relax into it.”

She bit back an obvious denial, and her eyebrows drew together.

He held himself immobile, not touching the bright strands dancing on her shoulders, not tracing the ridge of her spine with his fingers. He permitted only one touch; she needed the dominance of his hand controlling her face. Nothing more. Not yet. “Tell me I’m wrong, girl.”

Tiny puffs of air hit his palm as her breathing went shallow and fast. And then…she shook her head.

He wasn’t wrong. The surge of satisfaction held him frozen for another moment. “All right then. Here’s how it will be. Your safe word is red. Say it.”

She swallowed and then whispered, “Red.”

“Good.” This time he ran his thumb over her puffy lips, seeing her pupils dilate until her eyes were as dark as the cross on which she was bound. “I’m going to touch you, but your jeans will stay up. Your pussy will be out of bounds.” This time. “I’ll leave your mask on.” Although it annoyed the hell out of him. “I won’t try to get you off. Agreed?”

“What about my…breasts?”

“Those are mine to play with.” He leaned in closer until all she’d be able to see was his face. “To hurt.”

A flush swept upward from her chest to her face. She was aroused.

The knowledge gave him a finer satisfaction than coming after a long fucking. The connection they’d had before was intact. Working with her this time would be like sliding a new hickory handle into the eye of an ax head. Knowing it was a perfect fit. Then hammering in the wedge to prevent their bond from coming apart again. That’s what she’d lacked with Edward. She needed dominance as much as she needed pain.

He’d give her both before he was done.

“Your mouth is mine as well,” he growled before taking her lips. Soft, plump lips, and he wouldn’t enjoy them in anything but a kiss. Even if tonight was all she’d give him, he wouldn’t betray her trust.

After a moment, her lips moved under his. He took but stepped away before she was satisfied. Next time he kissed her, she’d offer him more and sooner. He needed to keep her off balance and slowly gather in each tiny piece of her until he had it all. And then, reins in hand, he’d use the spurs.

MIND SPINNING AS a disconcerting arousal swelled within her, Linda tried to look at Sam, but he’d moved behind her. As he gathered her hair, which brushed her shoulders, his grip was firm, pulling hard enough that she felt each hair follicle waken and protest. God, what had she agreed to?

She’d agreed to more. When Edward had caned her, the hurt had done nothing for her. She couldn’t understand why. Yet somehow Sam knew what was wrong. His gaze reached right to where her soul hid from the outside world.

Just his voice and the way he’d gripped her face had dissolved the floor beneath her, leaving her sinking in quicksand. “Sam.”

“Yes. That’s my name.” His deep voice sounded at one with the bass of the techno music. He pushed her hair forward so the strands tickled her collarbone with each breath. When Edward had done the same, she’d felt nothing. Now her skin was in a shivery, anticipating state, feeling the coolness of the air, the brush of his arm.

As he ran his calloused fingers down her spine, the abrasive sensation started to melt the ice inside her. When his touch moved over her jeans to where the cane had left sore areas, heat pooled low in her belly. How did he do this to her? She shook her head and craned her neck, trying to see over her shoulder.

He’d obviously been waiting for her to do just that, and the shock of his intent gaze was like a blow to her chest. “Those big eyes won’t help you, missy. You’re where I want you. We both know you’ll be crying before I’m through.”

His harsh words compressed her ribs until she had to struggle for her next breath.

“I’m going to take a look at you first though.” As his hands slid over her wide hips, delight lit his gaze like sunlight through a stained glass window. “You got a beautiful body, missy.”

The compliment shoved her off balance, as if she’d missed a step.

His grip on her hips tightened, holding her immobile, and the strength in his fingers was terrifying. Arousing. He could hold her…down. She’d been afraid to think about that when coming in here, and now she wanted it? Not logical. She shook her head, wanting—

The whapping sound was simultaneous with the shocking sting on her bottom. He’d swatted her hard. “You don’t think unless I tell you to think,” he growled before slapping her other ass cheek.

The burn spread out from her bottom. Her brain blanked as if he’d shut off a switch.

Before she could reorder her thoughts, she heard him say, “Good girl.” Leaning against her from behind, he rubbed his chest over the strips of hot flesh on her back, sending fitful sparks of pain through her like a malfunctioning lighter. The ground dropped another foot.

He reached around to cup her breasts in his big hands, and the caress shook areas deep inside her, places that had dried up and died. “Sam.” It sounded like a protest, but she heard the plea beneath.

His teeth closed on her shoulder, biting the muscle, holding her as he moved his hands in a milking pattern, increasing the blood flow to her nipples. When his fingers closed on the engorged peaks, the exquisite sensation buckled her knees. He gave a rough laugh. “I’ve dreamed about your breasts.” His voice was low, his breath warm on her ear. He pinched harder, continuing the pressure until every molecule inside her liquefied. She moaned, losing herself as the burn wrapped around her nerves.

He growled in enjoyment, then moved away, leaving her breasts throbbing. After taking a flogger from his bag—a heavier one than what he’d used on the other woman—he tickled it over her back. The scent of leather swept through her, the smell reminding her of the other BDSM club. Where the pain had been good. Her eyes closed as she took a bigger breath.

When he gave her a couple of experimental flicks over her shoulders and ass, the light thudding was wonderful.

“Edward warmed you up well. Let’s get some red going on those shoulders.”

Her husband’d had that matter-of-fact tone. “Looks like it’s going to rain.” But Frederick would never have talked about hurting her. “That’s not something nice people do, Linda.” She wasn’t a nice person. She was perverted and—

The nasty swat on her bottom made her gasp and fragmented her thoughts. “Don’t listen well, do you, little girl?” Sam said. He drew his hand back, and three more hard slaps followed.

Tears burned Linda’s eyes, and as the stinging warped into intense pleasure, the feeling that swept through her was glorious. Her nerves drank in the hurting like flowers in a drought, and her body started to shake. This wasn’t right. She couldn’t take this. She’d break. But Sam…Sam would keep her safe as she fell apart.

A hard hand caught her chin and examined her face. “There we go. You’re ready to cry now.”

He ran his hand down her back, and she had a moment of panic when nothing touched her, and then the flogger whapped against her bottom. Where the strands hit the places he’d spanked, her skin seemed to inhale the impact, breathing in the sensation like air.

Left-right, left-right. The flogger moved in an easy rhythm up her butt, skipping over the area below her ribs to avoid the kidneys, then her upper back—harder, increasing slowly from thumping to something heavier. Each strike hurt enough that she’d tense before feeling the bite. Each sear of pain expanded deeper inward and settled low in her belly. Then her muscles would tighten again in anticipation. A few fast blows removed her ability to tense between them.

The sound of the flogger on flesh turned harsher when it hit her jeans. The dance-floor music had changed, the bass turned up to reverberate against her bones. The strands moved down to her ass, upping the deep burn as if the sadist took glee in seeing her hips move. Whap; pain; pleasure. Whap; pain; pleasure. She started to settle into the rhythm. Her head felt light, her body heavy.

“You have the prettiest round ass. Let’s see it dance, girl.”

The strikes came harder as he drove her out of her comfort zone, harder until her hips were trying to evade yet tilting up for more of the sharp-edged sweetness. Tears rolled down her cheeks as a massive glacier of agony dug deep, pushing everything before it as it carved out its passageway. A wail of distress escaped her.

He laughed. “Nice. Give me more.”

The strands moved lower, sending fire across the backs and sides of her thighs. Wonderful hurting. She heard low crying, and it was hers. Then she was choking on sobs as everything inside her bubbled up and out. He didn’t stop, keeping up a steady rhythm she could depend on as the rest of her dissolved.

Sometime later, she realized the flogger was only caressing her lightly with a whisper of sweet pain, enough to keep her connected. She lifted her head, amazed at how difficult it was. Tears still streamed from her eyes as she sank into the sensation, the heat. She could feel her body, every inch of her skin aware and sensitive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Slowly she gathered her senses, sliding back into reality.

So, so wonderfully relaxed.

The flogger dropped onto the floor with a thump, and Sam leaned against her again. His body warmth and the abrasion of his shirt set her back to a happy burn even as he pulled her tighter. His erection pressed against her backside, but he didn’t rub it on her or even seem to notice as he teased her nipples into hard points. One hand opened, flattened on her waist, just above her jeans. “You’re a wonderful armful,” he growled in her ear.

Her body shook, urgent with arousal. Her clit throbbed, needing his hand to move lower. Her body remembered exactly how his experienced fingers had felt when he brought her to orgasm.

In front of a room of slavers.

No. When she stiffened, his hand stilled. She wanted more. No, I don’t. No. Not ever again. What was she even doing here? This was sick. Unnatural. “Let me go, Sam,” she whispered, wanting, wanting.

He fisted her hair and tilted her face to study her. The firmness of his grip said he knew she was fleeing from herself. The liquid warmth inside her said he could stop her. Please her. His ice-blue gaze swept over her. “All right.”

She realized the horrible feeling inside had disappeared. The pressure and the shadows were gone from her spirit, washed away with her tears and pain.

What kind of a perv was she that she needed to hurt to be able to empty her emotions?

His hand tightened on her jaw. “Don’t think. Not now. Tomorrow is soon enough.” He reached up and unsnapped her cuffs, then helped her away from the cross. Her back burned where his arm around her waist rubbed the tender skin. Her legs shook as if she had been sick for a year, and she sagged against him.

He walked her to the edge of the scene area. “Kneel here.”

Her whole body went stiff as nausea surged. The Overseer had made her kneel for everything. Always. Or crawl. Would he— “I’m not your slave,” she hissed.

He gave her a look, and his tone was firm but mild. “I don’t need or want a slave.”

Slave. Just the sound made her sicker until his words registered. “Don’t need or want a slave.” Her spine found strength, and her shoulders straightened. “Then why make me kneel?” Her mouth was so dry that her voice came out in a whisper.

“You can’t stand by yourself, baby. You need to be close to the floor.” His rough voice held an odd tenderness. “And I want you where I can keep an eye on you as I clean up.”

Oh. “I’m sorry.” She let him help her down, her right knee, as always, stiffer than the other. To her surprise, when he returned with a bottled water and blanket, he squatted down to wrap the fuzzy fabric around her. Warm. Wonderfully concealing. “Thank you.”

“Right.” His hand stayed on her shoulder, holding her firmly.

She frowned and looked up.

“You’re kneeling for one more reason, girl, and you might as well learn to deal. You’re submissive. That’s part of what you need…and kneeling is an acknowledgment of that. Submission isn’t slavery.”

Her chin tightened. Yes, it is.

He breathed out, then opened the water and wrapped her fingers around the bottle. “We’ll talk later.”

As he cleaned the equipment, she watched. Not young at all, older than her. But he moved with a rancher’s strength and a strong man’s confidence.

She didn’t have that kind of confidence. Not anymore. Hard to believe she’d run her household and a business. Now she was in a BDSM club. Asking to be beaten. She really was the pervert that a lover had called her. Or the dirty slut that the slavers had named her.

Her hands started to shake. She’d done what she’d set out to do. Broken through all the walls. Could feel again. But now she needed to leave. This wasn’t what she wanted in her life. With an effort, she looked around for Kim and Raoul.

They stood just beyond the rope beside Master Z. They’d all been watching.

A flush warmed Linda’s face. Kim might be submissive, but she wasn’t a…masochist. A pain slut. Humiliation swept through her as she set down the water and struggled to her feet. “Raoul, please. Can we go home now?”

A moment of confusion showed on Raoul’s face, and then he nodded. “If you want.” He gripped her arm, steadying her, as Kim went to get her shirt and bra.

Sam saw them and returned. “Raoul.” The anger in Sam’s voice was suppressed but present.

The way Raoul tensed showed that even a weight lifter didn’t want to take on an angry Sam.

Guilt made her shoulders hunch. She was causing a problem between friends. “It’s not his fault, Sam. I asked them to take me home.”

When he reached for her, she flinched back. His arm lowered. “You’re not ready to leave. You can barely walk…and we need to talk.”

“I’m…sorry.” She pulled on her bra, feeling the sweet tenderness of her back. Wanting more. “What you did helped,” she admitted. He’d earned her thanks. In a way, an ugly way, she’d used him. Except…he liked what he’d done, hadn’t he? Had he received as much pleasure from seeing her pain as she had from receiving it? “But I-I don’t do this…stuff. I was just here to learn to put it behind me.”

“Put it behind you?”

“Yes. This isn’t who I am.” She forced her chin up, her spine straight, even though she’d felt so, so much better on her knees. “Thank you for”— for hurting me. For making me cry, making me feel—“for your time.”

He lifted his chin in acknowledgment. But was that hurt she saw in his face for a moment? Surely not from this harsh man who’d called her “baby” and wrapped a blanket around her. Her eyes burned. Why had she ever wanted to feel? Her heart hurt, throbbing as if it had taken the beating instead of her back.

He shot Raoul an unreadable look. “Take care of her.”

Raoul’s fighting stance relaxed. “As if she were my own.”

I’m no one’s. The knowledge didn’t sound independent—just lonely. Linda pulled on her shirt and led the way to the exit to show Sam she didn’t need help. As his gaze burned into her back, she forced herself not to look over her shoulder, not to run and kneel at his feet. Why couldn’t she just have been a…normal person and him a normal person? Then, maybe…

NEAR THE far wall of the Shadowlands, the spotter watched Adrienne wipe down the sawhorse. Tears still ran down her face. Quite nice. Even nicer were the welts on her ass and thighs. Red marks over her hips showed where his fingers had dug in as he fucked her. Used and abused, just the way he liked them.

She hadn’t been a bad fuck, considering her youth. And getting off put him in an excellent mood, despite settling for a woman so thin her breasts were almost nonexistent. But the plumper women had already been picked. Perhaps he should speak to Z about getting a wider variety of submissives.

Or perhaps not.

He preferred to avoid the owner of the club, since the psychologist displayed a disconcerting competence at reading people. In fact, it was good that Aaron had joined soon after the Shadowlands opened. Over the years, the club’s application and interview process had grown more rigorous than he’d be willing to risk.

After all, a man who selected submissives to be sold into slavery must exert a modicum of caution.

Adrienne put away the cleaning supplies in the stand and then knelt at his feet.

“Good enough,” he said.

Biting her trembling lower lip, she gazed up at him. Probably hoping he’d hold her and pet her. Did he look like a pathetically weak-willed Dom?

“I told you before we started, I don’t do aftercare. Take yourself off.” Since he’d been clear about his inclinations, she could hardly bitch about the lack. Z couldn’t fault him if the sub knew the deal.

Without speaking, she scooped up her clothing and scurried away, probably to cry over her injured feelings. Or the welts. Given his choice, she’d be bleeding rather than welted, but she’d been about to use her safe word, so he’d throttled back. Because the Shadowlands had rules.

He smiled, remembering the last whore he’d bought. Paying for his fun annoyed him, but at least he wasn’t forced to stop. Not with fucking the slut, not with hurting her.

As he cleaned his toys, he glanced around the room and spotted the ex-slave leaving with Raoul. Yeah, maybe his next prostitute should be a redhead. Soft. Older.

Interesting that she was here. And wearing a mask, no less. He laughed. Did she believe hiding her face would conceal her identity? Hardly. Her hair and breasts were quite memorable. He ran his fingers over the cane he held. Smooth. Flexible. Would mark that pale skin nicely.

Now where had he seen her? He rubbed his finger over his upper lip. On the slave boat. Seems as if she’d been kidnapped a couple of weeks before, and the association had permitted select buyers to preview the merchandise. The redhead had been in one of the kennels, her head turned and eyes closed to shut out the leering buyers.

Strong woman. He’d liked that.

No one had bought her at the first auction—most buyers preferred the young ones—so he’d bided his time, waiting for her to be devalued and then used as a reward for spotters and guards. But the Overseer had insisted on putting her up for sale again, and Feds had raided the auction.

Stinking Feds. His source of cheap, disposable slaves had disappeared that night. With a grunt of annoyance, he tossed the thin cane into his bag.

As he strolled to the bar, he considered asking Cullen for the ex-slave’s name. No, showing interest in her would be unwise, at least until the Harvest Association ceased to be newsworthy.

He’d have to settle for whores. For now.