Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only (23 page)

Vance was running one hand up and down her back, his other arm around her waist, holding her up. “Good, good girl,” he was murmuring. “Brave girl.”

Both caressing her. Both focused on her.

Vance pulled out slowly, laughing under his breath as her body shuddered around him. After undoing her hands, he tucked her down on Galen, letting her lie limply on his partner’s chest. He ruffled her hair and walked away.

Using an immense strength of will, she managed to raise her head and look at Galen. “He—he’s leaving? Is he mad?”

“Not even close, Sally.” Galen cupped the back of her head, tucking her against his shoulder. His shirt was open, and her breasts flattened on his steely chest. Slowly, he was softening inside her, but they were still connected in the most intimate, wonderful way. He resumed stroking her hair, petting her absentmindedly. “Since we both enjoy holding you, we take turns. He was with you upstairs.”

“Oh.”

“Since you’re awake enough to ask questions, you may kiss me now.”

She tipped her face up to look. His black eyes were amused…and tender. No longer blazing like a bonfire, but warm enough to fill all the lingering cold spaces inside her.

And he lured her into a kiss like no other she’d ever received.

Oh, she was in trouble.

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—