The Dom's Dungeon (27 page)

And Alex
. She let go of the railing and wrapped her arms
around her stomach, trying to contain the pain. She hadn't even dared to return
to the house, even to get Chef.

Alex would
have followed her there. Of course he would. And she couldn't bear to see the
condemnation in his eyes.

Even if he
didn't hate her, their time together was finished. No one associated with a
whore.

Her knees
gave out, and she slid down to sit, facing the desolate hotel room. A few more
tears escaped, but she'd pretty much exhausted that avenue of comfort.

Hadn't
been much comfort anyway.

Time to pick up and move on,
MacKensie
. But
her past would bite her in the butt no matter where she went. How could she
live like that, knowing someone could take everything from her again?

Maybe she
should change her name and face. She gave a short laugh. Plastic surgery cost
money, and gee, she didn't have a job. Not anymore. Well, she could possibly
try a do-it-yourself facial reconstruction: bash her face into the wall, bust
her nose, and let it set crooked. Then cut her hair short, spike it, and dye it
black.

What the hell. Why not?

She was a
survivor. The past years had taught her that. Knock her down
and—eventually—she'd pick herself up and march on.

But this
time she'd march without her heart.
Oh
God, Alex…
She wouldn't go back for her clothing. No. Just disappear from
his life. She rocked back and forth. What would he be thinking now? Would he
feel betrayed? She tried to tell herself that he wouldn't care, and kept seeing
his face when he held her in the dungeon. “
Stay,
little vet
.”

How long
would he wait for her to return?
Oh
please, don't let him be hurt
. Her breath hitched as her throat tightened.
Guess she hadn't cried herself out after all.

She heard
a key in the lock and looked up.

The
hotel-room door opened. A young man in the hotel's uniform glanced at her
before turning to someone in the hallway. “You were right, sir. She does look
ill. Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“I'll let
you know.” Alex stepped into the room. He handed the bellboy several bills.
“Thank you for your help.” As the man disappeared, Alex closed the door.

Alex, Alex, Alex
. His name reverberated in her
head with the beat of her pulse. “H-how”—her voice cracked—“how did you find
me?” She couldn't voice the real question:
why
are you here?

“Your
taxi.
We
helped start the company. As a courtesy, they keep a car or two on the street
for Mother's parties.” He bent and hauled her to her feet.

Couldn't
she get anything right? Not even an escape? “Alex,” she whispered. “No.”

His jaw
tightened. He pulled her into the room and sat on the bed beside her. His grip
moved from her arms to her wrists, a ruthless grip that didn't release when she
tugged. “Explain,” he said.

She stared
down at his corded, muscular hands, at the thickness of his wrists. “You heard
him. It's true. I'm a whore.”

“And
you've been trolling Pioneer Square in your spare time?” He snorted. “I said
explain
.
This
was what happened twelve years ago. How did you get started?”

She yanked
at her hands again without success. Her worst nightmare never included sitting
next to Alex and delving into the dregs of her life. “I am not going to talk
about it.”

“Yes,” he
said quietly, his voice deepening. Dom voice. “You are.”

And he
would keep her here until she did. Talking wouldn't be easier an hour from now.
Her stomach twisted into a massive, painful knot, and she swallowed hard. The
hands encircling her wrists felt more restraining than any leather cuffs.
No escape
. “I ran away. My foster home…
When Arlene's daughter graduated, she closed down. The one I went to—the man
tried to touch me.” Her bitter laugh sounded more like a sob. “I ran from him
and ended up under others. Smart, huh?”

His thumbs
rubbed the back of her hands, and the tiny comforting gesture made tears pool
in her eyes. He couldn't hate her and do that.

“How old
were you?”

“Fifteen.
Old
enough to know better.”

“You could
have gone back…”

“I'd
decided to. But…I was stupid, so
stupid
.
I hadn't eaten in three days, and a guy bought me a burger. He said he had an
extra room.” Alex's hands slid down to hold hers, enfolding them in warmth. “I
walked into his apartment thinking everything was going to be all right.”
The relief singing through her. Food. A
place to stay. A friend. Then the slap, coming out of nowhere
. “He was a
pimp. He beat me.”
A fist in the stomach.
The shocking, horrible pain…

She tried
to smile as she said lightly, “I tried to escape once or twice, but he didn't
like that.”
The beatings, over and over.
Face pressed into the carpet, bleeding, crying.

Alex's
hands tightened around hers, and she heard a low noise, almost like a growl,
but when he spoke, his voice was even. Unemotional. “How did you escape?”

“Jim.” The
memory caught her and pulled her upward.
The
sweetness of being cared for, of being loved. Why did they have to die?
“Jim and Mary found me after a…client had expressed his displeasure, and Ajax
had…” She licked her dry lips. “They took me in.”
Clean. Bandaged. Fed
. But she didn't trust them. She'd already
unlocked the bedroom window. “Jim came in and put a puppy into my lap.”
Wiggles and joy, soft and trusting
. “I…I
was caught.”

“How old
were you then?”

“Just
under sixteen.
I had walked the streets about a year.”

“They kept
you. Helped you get into college. And then you went back to Oak Hollow for
Jim.”

Her gaze
jumped up. “How'd you know that?”

His eyes
crinkled, and then his gaze turned cold. “The point is that you should have
been the one to tell me.”

She should
have. Guilt seared through her so fast that her eyes
teared
.
She looked down, away, anywhere but at his face. “I'm s-sorry. I should have
told you about being a whore. That you'd be going to bed with a—”

“Dammit!”
Hard hands gripped her shoulders, and Alex shook her once. “You're not a whore.
And you should have told me because you share painful things with your Dom—and
your lover. I thought you'd been raped, for God's sake.”

“Not rape.
I gave it away for money,” she whispered, the shame like scalding water.

“Oh,
sweetheart.”
A hand against her cheek turned her face to his. “You were a
teenager, which is another term for idiotic. You jumped from bad into worse,
but that wasn't your fault. Hell, even if you took money for sex and had a good
time doing it, that's not something I'd hold against you.” A crease appeared in
his cheek. “I know too many women—and men—who've married for money, which is
essentially the same thing, only with better living conditions.” He set her on
his lap and wrapped her in his arms.

The
sweetness of his embrace made more tears come. But she knew he didn't really
mean it. A whore was a whore.

His little
sub let
him hold her, yet he could feel the stiffness
of her body against his. She had heard his words, but her subconscious didn't
accept them. Her self-loathing was so great that she didn't believe he could
care.

But he
knew the biggest missing pieces of her past now, and her behavior finally made
sense. She'd been as abused as any little puppy or kitten he'd rescued. He
could work with her on putting this into balance, but only if she stayed with
him. “You know, when you ran from me,” he said gently, “when I arrived at home
and you weren't there, it felt like you'd ripped my heart out.”

Her
breathing paused.

“I love
you,
MacKensie
. I would have told you before, but I
knew it would scare you.” He stroked her silky hair. Such a stiff little body.
“Normally at this point, a person might show how much they care by indulging in
sex.”

He set her
on her feet and caught the confused but accepting look in her eyes. She didn't
believe he loved her, and although she would let him take her to bed because
she needed him as badly as he needed her, she would spend the entire time
grieving, convinced he'd leave. He unbuckled her glittery belt and tossed it
aside. After unzipping her black dress, he pulled it down to pool around her
ankles.

Then he
yanked her, facedown, over his lap.

Mac hadn't
even managed to regain her breath when his hand landed on her bare bottom. She
yelped in shock, tried to get away, but her feet tangled in her dress, and
Alex's merciless hand pushed her shoulders down.

Slam
. “I love you,
MacKensie
,
and I'm doing this because I love you.”

Slam
. “I wouldn't do this if I didn't care, but you
mean everything to me, and if this is what you need, then this is what you'll
get.” He added in a mutter, “But we're damned well going to work on changing
this association between caring and spanking.”

Slam
. “I am very angry that you didn't trust me
enough to tell me about your past.”

Slam
. “I am very angry that you didn't trust me to
still love you anyway.”

Slam
. “I love you, little sub, and I'm doing this
because I love you.” A pause. “
MacKensie
. Do I love
you?”

Her head
spun. He couldn't possibly love her. Not with her past. “I'm a whore.”

A growl.
Slam, slam, slam
. The pain burned
through her, and tears streamed down her face. He rubbed his hand over her
burning buttocks. “You were an abused little girl. If Hope said she'd been
forced to be a prostitute at fifteen, would you hate her?”

“Of course
not!”

“Then
don't hate yourself.” He slapped her again. “I love you, idiot sub. Do you
believe me?”

He'd
turned his back on Cynthia. He could easily have done that to Mac, but he was
here. He'd followed her and had no reason to do that unless he loved her. He'd
let her bring a kitten home, bought her pizza, introduced her to his friends.
And his mother. He'd come after her. He could have any woman in the world…but
he was here. “I believe you,” she whispered.

“Good.”
His hand came down, cracking across her skin three more times.

Her
fingers clawed into the ugly carpet as she cried out, sobbing. “Why?”

“To make
sure you didn't forget.” His hand didn't release her shoulders, and she tensed,
waiting for the next blow. Instead his hand stroked over her back, across her
stinging bottom, and into the crease between her buttocks and thighs. Light,
feathery touches like a counterpoint to the burning of her skin.

“What are
you doing?” She pushed up and had her shoulders shoved right back down. A light
slap hit her upper thigh, making her hiss.

“Silence.”
He
bent and yanked her dress completely off her feet, then shoved her feet apart.
Cool air struck her pussy, making her shiver. Feeling vulnerable, she tried to
close her legs.

He slapped
her thigh again. “Do not move, sub.”

God, that
voice.
Something inside her tightened, and she froze. He wouldn't…

A finger
stroked down through her folds, finding her only slightly damp. “Did you know
that some
submissives
find a good spanking to be
exciting?”

“No way.”

That
earned her a mild slap on her upper thigh. “I think it's time to work on making
your spankings into something more fun for both of us.”

Her pussy
was open, and now his fingers flickered over her labia, her clit, before
returning to rub her tender bottom. The world shifted as arousal sparked to
life inside her.

He pushed
a finger into her, holding her shoulders down when she jerked. In and out;
then, with a slick finger, he rubbed over her again. With each stroke, she
could feel the nubbin engorge with blood. Her hips squirmed as he plunged his
finger back in, pressing deep, then returned to her clit.

“You see,”
he murmured, “when you're excited, your body has trouble telling the difference
between pain and pleasure.” He slapped her butt lightly, and the pain stung,
yet sizzled right to her groin. As his thumb slipped into her, he traced his
fingers over her clit, then captured it between his knuckles, pressing, releasing,
in a rhythm she couldn't escape.

Her vagina
tightened around him, needing more. She was getting so close, and then he
pulled out. She whimpered at the loss, at the frustration.