Masters of the Shadowlands 8 - If only (7 page)

A demanding mouth closed over her left nipple; another over her right. Their tongues circled her nipples as the men targeted one of her most erogenous zones. When they sucked rhythmically, her back arched up as if to offer them more.

Their hands were stroking her stomach, her waist, and her upper thighs. So different from when they’d picked on her before, teasing her out of her head. This time, they headed in a straight line—arousal to climax. Do not stop at go. Their determination and single-mindedness was terrifyingly erotic.

Her body seemed to sink into the table as one Dom moved down. The other played with her breasts. Pinching mercilessly, licking softly, rolling one nipple, and sucking on the other.
God.

Cloth—probably someone’s pants—brushed against her inner legs, and then powerful hands fondled her butt cheeks and squeezed her thighs. She couldn’t control anything they did. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even hear. Heat rolled over her skin as if she were sinking into her bath.

Determined fingers pulled her labia open. His lips closed around her clit, hot and wet, and his skillful tongue was ruthless.

There. No there. Even better
. Pressure grew inside her, driving her toward an orgasm, and she hated that they could manipulate her so easily. A few minutes ago, they’d forced her to climax; somehow this wasn’t the same. Their hands were gentle, more teasing. Their coldness had disappeared. She felt almost as if they were truly treating her.

The coil in her belly grew as need climbed within. Tighter, tighter.

Someone pulled her headphones off. Lifted her blindfold. Galen stood above her.

She tried to close her eyes, but he gripped her chin. “Look at me, pet.”

Vance’s tongue skittered across the top of her clit, and he slid two fingers inside her. Three fingers. Stretching and pressing, thrusting in and out. Pushing her toward the top. His tongue never stopped.

Her breath caught as Galen’s burning eyes kept her pinned to his gaze, and she felt the surge as her moorings broke loose, as her climax threw her into the riptide.

Somehow Galen was in there with her, pushing past her defenses to see who she was.

She shuddered and, as she came down, tried to turn her head.

“Not yet, pet,” Galen murmured, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “I like that you can’t hide from us. Not when you come.”

She couldn’t look away, was held by his gaze, his voice, his hand as her being dissolved.

“Shhh.” The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened with his smile. “Relax for a minute.” He kissed her lightly. Lingeringly. His spicy, masculine scent wrapped around her.

When he moved away, she felt the invisible restraint of his determination snap.

As Galen released the straps, Vance took his place, laying his big hand along her face. His eyes were dark, deeper than sky blue. His light brown hair angled past his broad cheekbones to end slightly below his collar. “Pretty Sally,” he murmured and kissed her, slowly, surely, coaxing a response she didn’t want to give.

Smoothly, Vance pulled her to a sitting position. The straps were gone. His arm braced her, and he fondled one breast, almost absentmindedly. “Blanket?” he said to Galen.

Blanket
. Like for aftercare? She shook her head. “No. I don’t need— My dress is there. I need to get back to work.” Surely they wouldn’t know she’d finished her trainee’s shift.

Galen pulled a blanket from the white cupboard over the sink. His displeased stare shut her up. “You’ve already worked your stint, and I find your attempts at prevarication annoying.”

Oh poop and shit and crap
. Her chin lifted. Too bad for him that she annoyed him. “I don’t need any aftercare. Not for this kind of scene. And I don’t want you to touch me.” She gripped Vance’s wrist and tried to push him away.

“I like touching you, and since I’m the Dom and you’re the trainee, guess who gets what they want?” Vance didn’t move. “You’re with us because you fucked up, Sally. Maybe the club members got a treat, but this demonstration happened because Z thought
you
needed a lesson.”

She waited until her voice would emerge without quavering. “I understand. Lesson learned. I’m sorry, Sir, and I won’t do that again.”

“Good to know.” Vance had seemed the more even-tempered of the two, but boy, he changed when he was pissed off. His square chin looked like a chunk of granite. He still didn’t move.

Instead Galen came to stand in front of her. Although the sympathy he’d shown her before was gone, he wasn’t furious like Vance. He looked as if nothing would upset his confidence. His black hair in a conservative business cut wasn’t mussed. No wrinkles showed in his black shirt or slacks. Totally in charge.

The assholes. She never had any trouble with scenes until the Feds showed up. They made her feel stupid. As if she didn’t have any say over what was going on. Which seemed strange, because she wanted to give up control, but not to them. The other Masters, yes, but not to these two.

Two. Maybe she could deal with one—although she’d begun to wonder about that—but both of them? She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

Gregorian chants drifted in from the main club room. Sweat was cooling on her body, and a trickle ran down the hollow of her back. Vance stood close enough she caught whiffs of his aftershave. Old Spice maybe. The one that smelled like the outdoors with sex added. He shouldn’t smell so good; one more strike against him.

Against them both. Galen wore something rich. Amber and sandalwood. Damn them.

Okay
. She pulled in a breath. “I apologized to Casey and you. I did as you asked for my punishment.” Her voice came out level and reasonable. She couldn’t help the way her teeth clenched before and after.

“You aren’t a new trainee, pet,” Galen said. “Surely you’ve learned honesty is integral to a BDSM scene.”

“Yes. I know. And I messed up.”

He pinned her with those dark eyes again. “I’d like to hear why you weren’t honest.”

The two of them kept backing her into a corner, and she scrambled for a way to escape. One came to mind: fight back. “You’re not my Dom. Neither of you. I didn’t negotiate with you for a scene, and I wouldn’t have volunteered to do this.”

Vance narrowed his eyes. “You feel you didn’t earn it?”

“I did, but the punishment is over now. And I don’t know you. Or trust you enough to want to talk to you.” That was a hit. As new Masters, they probably wouldn’t push a trainee—and they were digging deeper than the others ever had. “I have some say in who I want to work with.”
Kind of
. Unless Master Z stepped in.

“Sally—”

She jumped off the table. “Thanks for the lesson.
Sirs
.”

* * * *

In his New York condo office, Drew Somerfeld frowned at the e-mail from one of his managers. What the hell? Two of the women chosen for his Harvest Association summer auction had disappeared before they could be abducted.

Suddenly. Without any advance notice to their family or employers.

Could they have been warned?

He uncurled his fingers and forced them flat on the black desktop as he considered possible reasons. Complications. What his next step should be…

Perhaps one of the contract agents had talked or been compromised. The overseers occasionally hired less than ideal individuals, after all. Kidnappers weren’t exactly at the top of the character charts.

He’d have to play a wait-and-see game for now. Meantime, he’d put in an order with a different manager. He not only needed more women for the auction, but Ellis had used up his slave when he’d slaughtered that cop. His twin needed to be rewarded for his excellent work—and his favorite bonus was a new slut to play with.

A shame Ellis went through them so fast.

Chapter Four

Sally parked at the side gate of the Shadowlands, turned off the car, and wearily leaned her head back against the seat. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to meet Jessica and a couple others for the afternoon. She was seriously short on sleep.

Why the punishment demonstration would give her nightmares all week, she didn’t know. Or perhaps the cause was the poor police officer that the Harvest Association had killed? She’d been unable to keep from watching the funerals for him, his wife, and her mother. At least he hadn’t left little children behind—but his boy and girl were about Sally’s age.

Damn the Association. According to their e-mails, they were still planning an auction. She’d sent a warning to the New York police about another woman targeted for kidnapping. Hopefully the cops weren’t blowing off her information.

This Robin Hood business wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Since she’d be working as a trainee tonight, she picked up her diet soda and finished off the last few sips.
Come on, caffeine.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. After a glance at the display, she accepted the call. “Hi, Father.”

So stiff a word. Father. Back before she was ten, she’d called him Dad. But then her mom died and the world changed. Darkened.

She shook her head at the maudlin thought.
Gonna get all self-pitying now?
But…it was true. That year, the sky over the cornfields had seemed to turn from an Iowa royal blue to a cold gray.

“Sally.” Her father’s voice was as frozen as usual. “I received the message about your graduation. I will attend the ceremony.”

Very dutiful. God, but it hurt to know he only came because his absence would look bad to the people in their small Iowa town. They’d undoubtedly told him:
Take lots of pictures at her graduation.

Everyone else in the town liked her. Just not her father. Because she wasn’t supposed to have been born. Because it was her fault Mom died. Sally closed her eyes and pulled in a slow breath. “Would you like directions to—”

“No need. I can find my way to the ceremony.”

They weren’t alike at all; she could lose herself walking around the block. Thank God for GPS and smartphones.

“Then I’ll see you there.” She ended the call. With a gentle hand, she opened her car door and slid out. The Confederate jasmine covering the fence was in bloom, the white flowers scenting the air with sweetness, dispelling the bitterness of the conversation.

Inside the gate, in Master Z’s private backyard, she hesitated. No one was on the veranda behind the mansion. Would the others be on the third story where Z and Jessica lived or…

Laughter came from the other direction. Back somewhere in the extensive gardens. Sally turned and followed the sound.

Under a huge umbrella, three women—all Shadowlands submissives—sat around a patio table. Jessica, blonde, short, and curvy. Kim, black-haired and slender with a day collar around her neck. Linda, probably in her forties, fair-skinned, with red hair. A slight silvering showed at her temples.

“There she is!” Jessica held up a glass. “Finally!”

“Sorry about being late.”

“Girl, you look overheated and tired.” Jessica pointed to the pool. “Jump in before you join us.”

Jessica knew her too well. Veering toward the pool, Sally shed shirt and shorts, leaving on her bra and thong. She dived in. Clear and cool—not the bathtub temperature it would reach later in the summer. Just right. The whoop she gave as she surfaced shattered the unhappiness that lingered every time she talked to her father.
Put him out of your mind, girl
. She swam a couple of laps to wash away all the nightmares and sadness and anger.

Maybe after she graduated and got a good job, she could afford a place with a pool. A small one would be okay. After climbing out, she squeezed the water from her hair and left it to hang in tangles down her back.

A glass pitcher, beaded with moisture, sat on the table. She eyed the contents warily. Jessica often got pretty creative with beverages. “What are we drinking?”

Jessica poured and handed the drink over. “This, my child, is a screaming orgasm. And Z says to be sure to sober up before the Shadowlands opens. I heard him leave a message for Ben to not let us in if—how did he put it?—‘if he doubts our sobriety.’”

“Only Master Z could say that with a straight face.” Too thirsty to sip, Sally drank about half before slowing and savoring the flavors.
Yum
. “I’m tasting Kahlúa and amaretto and…?”

“Baileys and vodka. Be warned—the drink packs a kick,” Linda said.

“A kick is good.” Sally dropped into a chair and considered the older woman.

Linda’s creamy sundress was the perfect backdrop for her thick, shoulder-length hair. Her toenails were painted a sparkling raspberry color that seemed to match the glow of happiness about her.

“I think living with Sam agrees with you, although I’m not sure how. Sadists are just plain scary.” Sally shook her head.

“I like his brand of scary.” Linda gave the others a slow smile. “Besides, I always wanted a cowboy, even if my rancher considers himself a farmer.”

“Ugh. I grew up on a farm.” Sally leaned forward and refilled her drink. “Cornfields and beans and pigs.”

Kim toasted her. “And now you’re a city girl getting a master’s.”

“In what?” Linda asked.

The alcohol buzz had hit already—maybe because she hadn’t had any lunch. Stupid, but she’d relish the feeling for a few minutes before digging into one of the deli sandwiches piled on a platter. “Computers. Digital forensics, actually. Does that sound sexy or what?”

“What—like crime stuff?” Linda tilted her head.

“Kinda. Like if someone’s dead, I do an autopsy on his hard drive instead of his body. So much more sanitary, right?” But she could still do good. Be a hero, even if a nerdy one.

Jessica snickered. “God, yes. I’d rather deal with a pile of papers any day than a stinky corpse. But computers… Is that like legal hacking?”

“It really is.” Sally tipped her head back, enjoying the balmy early evening. Enjoying the alcohol. She felt relaxed for the first time in ages. “I used to be a hacker, you know? Snoopy Sally, the nerd.”

“Seriously?” Linda narrowed her eyes. “I never thought of you that way.”

Woo-hoo, I’m good
. “My sorority sisters taught me how not to look—or act—like a dork. Bless them.”