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!” That hurt like nothing she’d felt before. His hand flattened on her midback, shoving her into the mattress as he hit her again with…with his folded-over belt.
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. Actually, Frederick had been more than simply disgusted; he’d implied she had a mental problem. Her pen scribbled dark clouds along the edge of the paper. She’d never tried to talk about sex again.
