Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am by Cherise Sinclair
He released her immediately. But before she could escape, he gripped her shoulders and gave her a firm shake. “Look at me, girl.”
That growl—it haunted her dreams and chased away nightmares. Her eyes popped open and met the blue fire of his. “Sam.”
“That’s right.”
She was trembling hard enough to shake the bed as he sat up next to her. He gripped her, anchoring her with firmness, the levelness of his gaze holding her in safety.
Her heart rate slowed. “I’m sorry.”
The sun lines around his eyes deepened. “You can control your body only so far. Stupid to blame anyone for a physical reaction.”
And no matter how gruff his language, Sam was very far from a stupid person. But she felt dumb. “Why was it easier? At the auction.”
Holding her shoulder with one hand, he ran his fingers through her hair, tugging slightly. “More than one reason. In a room of scumbags, Kim sent me to you. Right?”
She remembered the sense of relief when she’d seen Kim nod her approval at Sam. She’d figured Kim knew something she didn’t. “And you didn’t see me as a slave.” The realization had been overwhelming. He’d seen a person, not an animal. After checking her restraints, he’d looked into her eyes. “You still with me here, Linda?” He’d even used her name.
“You trusted me, no matter how little.” He continued playing with her hair. “But you were scared, and then I hurt you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Fight-or-flight revs up the nerves. So does pain. Means you felt more than normal. So after I’d whipped you, you were loaded with endorphins and in subspace. Turned your head right off.” He cupped her face. “Baby, once you gave me your trust, you were a peach ready to be plucked, and there was nothing you could do about it.”
“Oh.” The explanation helped. “I still shouldn’t have…” She still felt guilty for coming. Felt dirty.
“Do your eyes tear up when you peel an onion?”
“Huh?” What the heck? “Yes.”
“That’s your nerves reacting to chemicals. If you tell yourself not to cry when peeling onions, does that work?”
“No,” she whispered. Nerves and chemicals. A person couldn’t control those. She hadn’t had a chance. The guilt of that orgasm wafted away along with the last of her anger at his actions.
“That’s better.” As he rubbed his cheek against hers, the rough stubble scraped her skin and sent a shiver through her. “But enough warnings. You think about anything but here and now, I’ll spank you.”
His bare hand would slap her bottom. He’d hurt her and… A shiver of need ran up her spine.
He laughed, actually laughed. “Why wait?” He rose. Grasping her around the waist, he pulled her out of the covers and bent her over the side of the bed.
“Sam!” Her face against the quilt muffled the words.
“Good. You remember my name.” His hand gripped her nape, holding her down as he lifted her gown. Cool air washed over her skin. He rubbed her cheeks, massaged them. Touching her. “You have a beautiful ass. Just right.”
With the first light spanks, blood felt as if it detoured from her heart straight to her clit.
He hit harder. Stinging increased into pain, and then he started to seriously spank her. Hard and even. Slap, slap, slap. It hurt. Tears filled her eyes, and her fingers fisted in the quilt. And then, within one breath and another, the magic happened. As each smack flowed inward, it transformed into glittering pleasure.
He stopped to rub her skin. The joy of his touch sheeted through her, deeper even than the throbbing of her bottom. As his fingers explored the wetness on her inner thighs, he growled in approval, erasing the ugly guilt inside her before it took hold.
Tortuously, he traced a finger over her labia and up to circle her clit, sending a burst of need through her.
“Wait,” she whispered, trying to stand.
“No, missy. You don’t run from pain…or desire.”
Her breathing sped up. He didn’t stop. Holding her in place, he continued touching her so very intimately. When he rolled her clit between his fingers, her whole body shook as the sensation blasted outward, burning past the last barrier. She moaned into the bedding.
“There’s a good girl.” His finger swirled her entrance before rubbing each side of her swollen nub and around the top in an inflexible, relentless pattern: side, side, top, side, side, top, until each sensitized part anticipated his touch. Pressure grew inside her as with every new cycle, he pressed harder, longer.
Her bottom arched up; her legs trembled. More. More. Don’t stop.
He paused, his fingertip resting right on the very top of her clit.
Her breathing stopped, everything stopped, frozen right there at the edge. A high whine escaped.
His fingers tightened on her nape as if to remind her of his hold and to induce the rush of knowing she had no control. Then his finger moved: side, side, and on the top of her clit, it remained, hard and fast and merciless, rubbing over and over.
Everything inside her coalesced for one unending heartbeat…and the ball of sensation ignited. Brilliant pleasure seared outward through every cell in her body. Oh God…
Her hips were bucking, her fingernails tingling, and dear heavens, he started spanking her again, harder and faster. Another orgasm hit right on the tails of the first, plummeting her back into the joyous maelstrom.
Every slap on her bottom felt amazing, a flaring splendor. His powerful hand held her pinned, making her take everything he did.
Then he slid his hand between her legs and pushed two fingers up inside her.
Inside. They had—they had— Panic ripped through her, and she struggled.
“Linda.” He pulled out, and his hand hit her bottom. Hard. The fiery blast shook her body. “Say my name.”
“S-Sam.” Sam. Clenching the blankets, she gasped and found the world held air.
“Better.” His fingers entered her again, sliding easily. Shivers ran through her at his determined assault…and the swelling pleasure. As he set up a merciless rhythm, arousal spiraled up in her again.
He pulled out long enough to spank her more. As each sharply hot impact resounded deep in her core, her need twined and coiled into a thick ball of pressure. When his fingers thrust inside her again, slamming in so unexpectedly, the searing tension exploded into wave upon wave of sensation.
Gradually, he slowed, bringing her down, and she could feel how her insides clenched his thick fingers, trying to hold him in.
“God,” she muttered and heard him laugh. Her thumping heart began to slow. She rolled her face against the quilt, almost appalled at the wonderful feeling inside her.
He pulled out slowly. With her wetness still on his fingers, he rubbed her bottom, making her groan at the exquisite burning. After caressing her nape, he released his hold.
She missed the warmth of his hand—and the sense of being held captive.
His rough voice was gentle as he asked, “You ready for my cock, missy?” He pushed her hair out of her face. “It will happen. We both know that. But it doesn’t need to be tonight.”
A cock. The slavers had… Pushing inside her and—
He swatted her bottom, and she yelped at the shock.
“Say my name.”
“Sam.” This time, the body over her, inside her, would be his. She’d dreamed of him. Her voice was hoarse as she answered. “Tonight. Now.” Maybe she could even return to him some of the bliss he’d given her.
“All right.”
She started to rise and was flattened by a hand between her shoulder blades.
“No. I like you there.”
Her stomach tightened, and a shiver raced through her. Anticipation. Fear. Her eyes closed; her body tensed. She heard his belt buckle. A sliding sound. A zipper. The condom wrapper.
She tensed, waiting for him to push against her pussy to— Something smacked her bottom in a shocking eruption of pain.
“Aaaah!”
Leather hurt much more. More, more, more. The sharpness bit at her, wrapped around her, digging in with thickening tentacles of pleasure. As he continued, her brain went hazy and the bed dissolved beneath her, leaving her falling through the air. The blows slid right into a growing joy, and she wanted him to continue forever.
And then he pressed his cock against her, slid inside her. Filled her. The glorious stretching expanded outward from her core, even as the burning still sizzled on her skin, until she didn’t know which feeling was which.
He was a solid, intimate presence inside her, keeping her centered as he drove into her, over and over.
The fog receded as his relentless strokes wakened her until she pushed back against each thrust, needing more.
His guttural laugh was as arousingly effective as the fingers he slid over her clit. Her entire lower half clenched as he teased her, hammered her, and drove her to the pinnacle.
There she balanced until each tiny movement felt like the ultimate of sensation. Everything inside her tightened. Her breathing stopped.
Then he seized hold of her burning, abused ass cheek, gripping hard. The searing blast shot inward, igniting her release—shoving her right off the cliff. “Ah, ah, ahhh.”
“That a girl.” With both hands, he gripped her hips, pounding into her, then pressing deep. Deep. Over the roaring of her pulse, she heard his rough, rumbling groan of satisfaction.
As her heart battered her ribs into mush and she gasped for air, she felt an unfamiliar peace touch her soul. I made him happy. His body was heavy, flattening her on the bed…and she wouldn’t have moved for the world.
Eventually, he lifted up. When he ran his hand down her back and over her raw bottom, tingles sparked fitfully across her skin. “I’m pulling out, baby. Stay there.”
He emptied her, leaving her limp and drained, and she’d have slid off the bed if he hadn’t hoisted her higher on it. She heard his footsteps go, then return.
Without asking, he stripped her nightgown completely off, then took a place on the bed and pulled her into his arms.
His skin was slightly damp, and she rested her sweat-streaked cheek on his chest. “I had an orgasm,” she said, her head still hazy.
“Several.” With her ear against his chest, his laugh sounded like thunder in the distance.
The smell of sex in the room made her want to hide, yet Sam’s scent was there. Not leather tonight, but hay and grass and the outdoors. And soap.
“You don’t use cologne or aftershave?”
There was a pause as if he tried to follow her train of thought. Then he huffed a laugh. “Soap works well enough.”
“Mmmm.” With each breath, she felt as if she inhaled strength, and so she filled her lungs completely to get it all in.
SAM LISTENED TO Linda’s breathing slow as she drifted into sleep. He stayed awake, simply enjoying the feel of her body against his, the limpness of a satisfied woman.
After an hour, her body stiffened, and her tears dampened his chest.
“Linda?”
She pushed against him, trying to sit up, but he held her in place. “If you need to cry, you do it here, girl.” Where I can watch over you.
A sob broke off. “I don’t… I was feeling fine.”
“You said your emotions bounce around.” He tensed. Had he caused this? Maybe she hadn’t been ready.
As his concern grew, her tears continued. But these weren’t the heaving sobs of emotional trauma; she cried almost silently.
“Linda, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Every-everything feels wrong.”
After a minute, he realized he’d assumed the upheaval was from the past. But perhaps this was something more common. He tightened his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “You know what subdrop is?”
Her head moved. No.
“Sometimes the endorphins that send you into a good place wear off. Leave you in a hole. Once you know what it feels like, it’s not as bad.” Or so the subs said. “Kinda like a kid after a party, buzzed on sugar, missing a nap. Nicole used to work her way into a tantrum and end up crying on my lap. Crashing as everything wore off. You’re crashing, baby.”
“Oh, wonderful. What’s the cure?”
“Just this.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, letting her know she wasn’t alone. That someone was there to watch over her. There wasn’t much else he could do. Dammit.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She patted his shoulder, then took a shuddering breath. “And it was worth it. I had an orgasm.”
Yeah, she was going to be fine. He stared up in the darkness, realizing he was smiling at how insufferably pleased she sounded.
Chapter Seven
Early the next day, behind the store counter, Linda was making lists of new merchandise to buy and possible craftspeople to consider. Two Canadian-sounding customers were browsing the quiet store. She took in their attire of shorts, tanks, and flip-flops. They were definitely from farther north.
In contrast, Linda wore a long-sleeved shirt and tan slacks. Opal, her clerk, was in an ankle-length denim dress, because—to Floridians—sixty degrees was on the chilly side.
As Opal dragged a box of tote bags across the floor, her kinky black hair bounced with each tug. She saw Linda watching, and her dark brown eyes brightened. “You look good today. Happier.”
I had an orgasm. “I’m starting to settle back in.” Had she looked that unhappy?
“I’m glad. It’s nice to have you back. You’d think it would be good to have the boss gone, but it’s not the same place without you.”
As the young woman headed for the shelves, Linda felt as if she’d inhaled bubbles and was floating a couple of inches above the chair. The pressure in her chest was gone. That irritable itchy feeling was gone. Like a sandy beach, she’d been scoured clean, the ugly seaweed and junk swept away by the waves.
But was it only because she’d had an orgasm? Setting her chin in her palm, she doodled on the list. Drew a row of tulips.
Before she’d been kidnapped, a good night of sex had never resulted in such an uplift the next day. Her pen fashioned a rose…then an outline of Sam’s big hand. Of course, no one—not even Frederick—had given her such amazing climaxes, but what if her mood wasn’t due to sex at all? Hadn’t she felt like this after Sam had flogged her in the Shadowlands? All open and free. Clean.
She frowned. The pressure inside her had built up again, hadn’t it? She just hadn’t noticed, what with all the other complications in her life.
But an experienced sadist might have noticed. Had Sam given her that spanking and strapping for more reasons than diverting her mind from the slavers? Her pen dug into the paper, sending jagged lightning toward the flowers. He always watched her so intently. Studied her. A belt took form on the paper and doubled over.
Yes, he’d known. And since he was a Dom down to his bootlaces, he’d given her what he figured she needed.
He’d been wrong, dammit. I refuse to be a masochist. She bit her lip, wondering if she was the one who was wrong. Maybe she had needed the pain. And possibly for longer than just the past few months. A sinking feeling made her lean against the counter. Possibly for a long, long time.
But she’d found other methods to handle the feelings. Eating foods spicy enough to make the children complain. Cleaning and doing yard work until her limbs trembled. Working out in the gym so long that every muscle in her body ached like a sore tooth. Her husband had called it “having a mood on her” and had attributed it to her being female.
Her lips quirked. A good spanking might have saved her all sorts of effort. But Frederick had never wanted to discuss sex. The few times she’d asked him for something different—a swat, some roughness, to hold her down—he’d been disgusted.
More customers came in, browsing the basket section. Act
But maybe she was mentally unstable. Dismay splattered over her happy mood like a cold rain. She’d told herself the flogging at the Shadowlands would be the last time. Insisted on it. But then she’d let Sam spank her. Whip her with his belt.
What had she been thinking? A normal person didn’t visit BDSM clubs and definitely didn’t let a man spank her. A little kink was one thing. Needing to be hurt was entirely different.
This had to stop. She wasn’t going to let herself be a masochist.
But…what about Sam? She closed her eyes, remembering his hard kiss before he’d left her bed. If she continued to see him, he’d give her the pain she craved, and she’d never be able to stop. Like a drug dealer, he fed her addiction.
This must end. No matter how she felt about him, she couldn’t keep sleeping with him. Not tonight. Not ever. The realization, the resolution, hurt something deep inside her.
“Miss?”
Linda pasted on a smile for the young woman. “That’s a lovely piece.” She rang up the sale of the carved candlestick and managed to chat with the Canadian and her friend.
As the two women walked out, Linda reached for her cell phone. Her hand shook. Need to do this. Don’t be a coward. She punched in Sam’s number.
“Davies.” His dark, rasping voice sent her hormones bubbling into instant carbonation.
“It’s Linda. I’ve been thinking. The graffiti guy seems to have stopped. I don’t think you need to waste your time driving here every day.” Even as she said it, her chest tightened.
Silence.
“Sam?”
“You saying you don’t want to see me again?”
The disconcertingly blunt question stabbed through her, and she smothered an instinctive no. He deserved better than a stupid excuse. She was being cowardly. Tangling her fingers in her hair, she yanked. Be honest. “Sam, you mean a lot to me. And I really, really appreciate the time you’ve spent, helping me.” Holding me. “We’re friends, and I’ll always be grateful.” She closed her eyes, pulling in a slow breath. “God, I feel as if I’ve been using you. I didn’t mean to.”