On Her Master's Secret Service (45 page)

Brenna blinked. Tears ran down the sides of her face. Cameron hurt for her. She was clearly confused, didn’t know who to trust or what to do. He understood.

Cameron thumbed her tears away. “I would never want to hurt you. I believe we can help you. In return, I hope you’re willing to help us.” He leaned down and placed a gossamer kiss across her trembling lips. “Will you?”

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By Cherise Sinclair

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Her car disabled during a tropical storm, Jessica Randall discovers the isolated house where she's sheltering is a private bondage club. At first shocked, she soon becomes aroused watching the interactions between the Doms and their subs. But she's a professional woman--an accountant--and surely isn't a submissive . . . is she?

Master Z hasn't been so attracted to a woman in years. But the little sub who has wandered into his club intrigues him. She's intelligent. Reserved. Conservative. After he discovers her interest in BDSM, he can't resist tying her up and unleashing the passion she hides within.

* * * *

“What is your name?” Her new host’s voice was deep, dark as the night outside.

“Jessica.” She stepped back from his grip to get a better look at her savior. Smooth black hair, silvering at the temples, just touching his collar. Dark gray eyes with laugh lines at the corners. A lean, hard face with the shadow of a beard adding a hint of roughness. He wore tailored black slacks and a black silk shirt that outlined hard muscles underneath. If Ben was a Rottweiler, this guy was a jaguar, sleek and deadly.

“I’m sorry to have bothered—” she started.

Ben reappeared with a handful of golden clothing that he thrust at her. “Here you go.”

She took the garments, holding them out to keep from getting the fabric wet. “Thank you.”

A faint smile creased the manager’s cheek. “Your gratitude is premature, I fear. This is a private club.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Now what was she going to do?

“You have two choices. You may sit out here in the entryway with Ben until the storm passes. The forecast stated the winds and rain would die down around six or so in the morning, and you won’t get a tow truck out on these country roads until then. Or you may sign papers and join the party for the night.”

She looked around. The entry was a tiny room with a desk and one chair. Not heated. Ben gave her a dour look.

Sign something?
She frowned. Then again, in this lawsuit-happy world, every place made a person sign releases, even to visit a fitness center. So she could sit here all night. Or…be with happy people and be warm.
No-brainer.
“I’d love to join the party.”

“So impetuous,” the manager murmured. “Ben, give her the paperwork. Once she signs—or not—she may use the dressing room to dry off and change.”

“Yes, sir.” Ben rummaged in a file box on the desk, pulled out some papers.

The manager tilted his head at Jessica. “I will see you later then.”

Ben shoved three pages of papers at her and a pen. “Read the rules. Sign at the bottom.” He scowled at her. “I’ll get you a towel and clothes.”

She started reading.
Rules of the Shadowlands
.

“Shadowlands. That’s an unusual na—” she said, looking up. Both men had disappeared. Huh. She returned to reading, trying to focus her eyes. Such tiny print. Still, she never signed anything without reading it.

Doors will open at…

Water pooled around her feet, and her teeth chattered so hard she had to clench her jaw. There was a dress code. Something about cleaning the equipment after use. Halfway down the second page, her eyes blurred. Her brain felt like icy slush.
Too cold—I can’t do this.
This was just a club, after all; it wasn’t like she was signing mortgage papers.

Turning to the last page, she scrawled her name and wrapped her arms around herself.
Can’t get warm.

Ben returned with some clothing and towels, then showed her into an opulent restroom off the entry. Glass-doored stalls along one side faced a mirrored wall with sinks and counters.

After dropping the borrowed clothing on the marble counter, she kicked her shoes off and tried to unbutton her shirt. Something moved on the wall. Startled, Jessica looked up and saw a short, pudgy woman with straggly blonde hair and a pale complexion blue with cold. After a second, she recognized herself.
Ew.
Surprising they’d even let her in the door.

In a horrible contrast with Jessica’s appearance, a tall, slender, absolutely gorgeous woman walked into the restroom and gave her a scowl. “I’m supposed to help you with a shower.”

Get naked in front of Miss Perfection? Not going to happen. “Thanks, b-b-b-but I’m all right.” She forced the words past her chattering teeth. “I don’t need help.”

“Well!” With an annoyed huff, the woman left.

I was rude. Shouldn’t have been rude.
If only her brain would kick back into gear, she’d do better. She’d have to apologize. Later. If she ever got dried off and warm. She needed dry clothes. But, her hands were numb, shaking uncontrollably, and time after time, the buttons slipped from her stiff fingers. She couldn’t even get her slacks off, and she was shuddering so hard her bones hurt.

“Dammit,” she muttered and tried again.

The door opened. “Jessica, are you all right? Vanessa said—” The manager. “No, you are not all right.” He stepped inside, a dark figure wavering in her blurry vision.

“Go away.”

“And find you dead on the floor in an hour? I think not.” Without waiting for her answer, he stripped her out of her clothes as one would a two-year-old, even peeling off her sodden bra and panties. His hands were hot, almost burning, against her chilled skin.

She was naked.
As the thought percolated through her numb brain, she jerked away and grabbed at the dry clothing. His hand intercepted hers.

“No, pet.” He plucked something from her hair, opening his hand to show muddy leaves. “You need to warm up and clean up. Shower.”

He wrapped a hard arm around her waist and moved her into one of the glass-fronted stalls behind where she’d been standing. With his free hand, he turned on the water, and heavenly warm steam billowed up. He adjusted the temperature.

“In you go,” he ordered. A hand on her bottom, he nudged her into the shower.

The water felt scalding hot against her frigid skin, and she gasped, then shivered, over and over, until her bones hurt. Finally, the heat began to penetrate, and the relief was so intense, she almost cried.

Some time after the last shuddering spasm, she realized the door of the stall was open. Arms crossed, the man leaned against the door frame, watching her with a slight smile on his lean face.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, turning so her back was to him. “I can manage by myself.”

“No, you obviously cannot,” he said evenly. “Wash the mud out of your hair. The left dispenser has shampoo.”

Mud in her hair.
She’d totally forgotten; maybe she
did
need a keeper. After using the vanilla-scented shampoo, she let the water sluice through her hair. Brown water and twigs swirled down the drain. The water finally ran clear.

“Very good.” The water shut off. Blocking the door, he rolled up his sleeves, displaying corded, muscular arms. She had the unhappy feeling he was going to keep helping her, and any protest would be ignored. He’d taken charge as easily as if she’d been one of the puppies at the shelter where she volunteered.

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By Kallypso Masters

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(Should be read after the introduction, Masters at Arms; this is not a stand-alone series)

Angelina was a bundle of nerves as she waited for Marc to return tonight for her punishment. He had so many more implements and devices he could employ this time. What would he use?

“Karla, would you walk through the club with me before Marc gets back? I want to see everything so I can know what to expect.”

“Sure. Where should we start? The theme rooms?”

“No!” Angelina had to take a deep breath to decrease her anxiety. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“How about the great room where I sing?”

She remembered the Dom in the Harley vest and the coiled whip. Maybe there was no safe place in the club. “I guess we could start there. Maybe you can describe some of the activities you’ve seen there.”

A few minutes later, Karla flipped the lights on and the great room was illuminated before her. It looked so…normal without all the people in BDSM gear hanging around. She walked into the room filled with ottomans and tables. They were closer to the stage now than they had been the night she’d been here with Allen.

Angelina walked up to the center post and lifted up a cold, heavy chain with a leather cuff attached to it. Had the Dom in the Harley vest chained the blonde submissive here and used his whip on her? Still, she shivered when she thought about being restrained by them with Marc.

“Do the chains excite you, pet?”

The pit of Angelina’s stomach dropped, and she turned loose of the chain as if it was suddenly on fire. It clanged against the center post and Angelina turned to find Marc standing in the entryway beside Karla. He wore black leather pants and a black leather vest, his chest bare, except for the tufts of hair over his heart. Dear Lord, her nipples hardened just looking at him.

His gaze went to her breasts. “Never mind. I can see your answer.”

He stepped into the room and walked toward her like a wolf stalking its prey. Her heart pounded, curiously depriving her of oxygen that might have helped keep her mind from turning to mush. When he reached her, he stared until she squirmed in her skin, then took his knuckles and brushed them over her nipples, making them even more engorged. She hissed, gasping for air.

“Karla, Angelina won’t be needing you for a while.” He didn’t even turn around to dismiss Karla. His gaze remained fixed on Angelina.

“Angie, will you be okay?”

No, never again.
“Yes. I’ll see you upstairs later.” Karla was sweet to worry about her, but Marc wouldn’t administer pain without pleasure. She wouldn’t enjoy the first, but couldn’t wait for the other.

“Did you miss me, pet?”

How should she answer that? Karla had kept her busy with unpacking and chatting, but Marc had dominated her thoughts all evening, mostly with her worrying about the scene to come.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Oh, God. She really had.

“Thank you for your honesty, pet. Now, strip.”

Her eyes opened wider. Had she heard him correctly? She looked around to make sure Karla had left and that they were alone. They were, but someone could come in at any minute, couldn’t they?

“I’m not sure…”

“I am. I said strip. Now. Or you’ll add to the length of your discipline session.”

“It’s not a punishment?”

“No, pet. We’re still training that mind and body of yours to submit. This is discipline.”

Angelina sucked air into her lungs as she reached up to the vee of her blouse and began to slip each button through its hole, making her way downward to the hem. If this was how bad she felt to be disciplined, she hoped to never have to be punished. She spread the flaps open a bit and untied the peasant skirt belt, then shimmied the cotton over her hips until it pooled at her feet. She hadn’t worn panties today, per Marc’s explicit instructions before they left her house this morning. The cool air made it abundantly clear her pussy already was wet.

Marc motioned for her to continue. She reached up to spread open her blouse, pull it off her shoulders, and slip it down her arms to join the skirt on the floor. Her breasts were shielded in a skin-tone bustier that captured Marc’s interest.

His hands reached up to cup her breasts, rolling her swollen nipples through the lace before he bent down to take one lace-covered peak between his teeth. He bit her with enough force to cause her knees to buckle. Marc caught her elbows to steady her.

“We can’t have that, now, can we?”

Angelina wasn’t sure what he meant, until he reached behind her and picked up the leather cuffs. “No! I’m not ready for that!”

Marc smiled and took each of the cuffs off the chain and rubbed them over her nipples, teasing her with the brass buckles. The sensations were delicious.

“What is your safeword, pet?”

“Red, Sir.”

“Do you trust me to stop when you say that word?”

Did she? She liked to think so, but how could she know unless she actually used the word?

“Pet, I hope to enjoy your gift of submission all week. Why would I do anything to jeopardize that on our first night? I think you know I will stop immediately if you use your safeword.”

She did. Didn’t she? Oh, God. She could do this. She really could. Angelina extended her hands to him, palms up.

“Good girl.”

His praise melted away some of the ice in her veins. As she held her hands before him, he wrapped each wrist in one of the cuffs and fastened them with Velcro. So the buckles were just for show, as she would be if he strapped her to the post. He slipped his finger between the leather in the skin. “Not too tight?”

“No, Sir. It feels fine.”

“Well, let’s see if we can do better than fine.” He hooked the two cuffs together and pulled her hands over her head and placed his other hand on her upper right arm to begin maneuvering her into place before the post.

I can do this. I can do this. Oh, God. I can’t do this. I can’t do this!

Angelina’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “Yellow!”

Marc stopped moving, but still kept her hands high above her head. With his other hand, he trailed gently down the underside of her arm until he reached her breast and rubbed his knuckles against her rigid nipple.