Club Shadowlands

“No need. I had a tow truck called. And your ride should be here.”

After the dim bar, the bright morning light shocked her eyes. In the lingering winds from the storm, low clouds scudded across the deep blue sky. The palm trees lining the long drive swayed while fronds and debris skidded along the blacktop. The air was clear with a salty lash from the nearby gulf, and Jessica inhaled a deep breath before turning to Master Z.

What was the protocol for saying good-bye to someone who’d tied you up? Who’d made you scream as you orgasmed? “Um.”

His eyes danced with humor at her awkwardness. Damn him, he was as cool and impeccable as at the beginning of the night. Only the rougher beard growth marred his sleek appearance. He looked like a dangerous pirate dressed for an evening out in London.

She knew damn well she didn’t look as good.

“Thank you for rescuing me last night,” she said. “And for… Well…” She flushed.

One eyebrow rose and he stepped closer and pressed a kiss to her palm. “For baring your ass and paddling it?” he asked. “For tying you down and enjoying your body and making you come over and over?”

From the searing heat in her cheeks, she knew she’d flushed. Even more disconcerting, her body responded to his words, moistening as warmth pooled in her core. God, she wanted him again.

And he knew, dammit. “It was my pleasure, little one.”

He laced his fingers into her hair and took her mouth, his kiss long and lingering with a new hint of tenderness. She sighed when he pulled back.

“Are you going to give me your phone number?” he asked gently, studying her, his eyes steel gray in the morning sun.

“It’s --” She stopped. Did she want to continue this? Be the sort of person who did stuff like this? The night was over, and in the light of day, somehow she wasn’t comfortable with the idea, even though, just gazing at Master Z, she wanted to drag him back into that little room. And do more…stuff. “I --”

His smile was faint. “I understand. Perhaps it is good you have time to think. I fear you had a rather abrupt introduction to the lifestyle.”

Guilt crawled through her at the darkening of his gaze, almost as if she’d hurt him, but surely not. Ben said he had women everywhere, all he wanted. “I don’t…” She trailed off, unsure what there was to say.

“I hope you come back, Jessica,” he murmured. “You will always be welcome here.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek, then turned and reentered the house, making her think of a king entering his castle.

Leaving her with a sense of loss deep in her stomach.

Okay. Get it together. She turned, searching for the tow truck and saw only a limousine in the driveway. Where --”

“Miss Jessica?” The uniformed chauffeur stood beside the car.

A limo for her? All the way back to Tampa? Was Sir crazy? She glanced back at the front door, thought about protesting. She knew she wouldn’t win, and she didn’t really want to. “I’m Jessica.”

Chapter Eight

The following week was fairly normal for Jessica: meetings with clients, working on the computer, wading through poorly kept records and ledgers. But something inside her had changed and apparently was as obvious on the outside as on the inside.

“You look…different,” one of her colleagues said when she saw him in the coffee room.

She glanced down at herself. Same old tailored slacks and shirt. Hair in a French braid. Discreet makeup.

“No, not the clothes,” he said, frowning. “Just, different. Hey, why don’t you join me for a drink after work?”

Too weird. They’d dated briefly and had boring sex. He’d dumped her, which hurt her pride more than anything else. He was the office hunk, after all. Now his interest had returned?

“Thanks, but no. I’m pretty busy these days,” she said.

“Oh. Okay.” Confusion, then shock crossed his face at the refusal.

She was a little shocked too, for she had no interest in dating him again. In all reality, next to Master Z, he seemed insipid. Hollow like a Subway sandwich without any meat inside.

Pining after Master Z was not good.

At night, her tiny apartment felt more lonely than normal as she thought about the difference in her, unsure what it meant. On the plus side of the ledger, she now knew her sex drive was alive and well, that she could have fantastic orgasms just like other women. That change was so new, so mind-altering, she couldn’t quite encompass it. She felt…sexy.

But on the minus side… Well. Leaning back on the couch, she stared up at the ceiling. Those miraculous orgasms were from being tied up, having a man tell her what to do, and make her do it. Even as she shook her head in disbelief, her body heated, moistened. Ready for more. Wanting more.

Surely she didn’t want more bondage stuff. But the thought of never having sex like that again was…was like imagining life without chocolate. She rested her head in her hands.

What was she going to do?

Saturday arrived after seven days of confusion and six nights of erotic dreams. She’d fall asleep, and Master Z would be there, his firm hands holding her in place, his mouth on hers, on her breasts, on everywhere. She’d awaken, panting and aroused, still feeling restraints around her wrists, hearing his low whisper in her ears.

In her spare time, she hit the Internet, researching BDSM. What she discovered hadn’t made her any more comfortable.

Now she paced across her living room. Time to decide what to do. Tonight was bondage night. She could return to the club… Or not.

This was just so complicated. She’d insulted him by refusing to give him her number. He’d had her car towed and repaired as if it was nothing. He had subs who adored him. He’d hit her with a paddle and let other people do it too. He’d given her the best sex of her life and made her feel beautiful.

He probably wouldn’t even remember her name.

That thought stopped her halfway across the room. What if he looked at her like she were…nobody. Another customer. A one-night stand inconveniently showing up. Her arms chilled, and her stomach felt like she’d swallowed cold oatmeal. Could she bear that?

She shook her head. No. No, she really couldn’t. All her arguments disappeared in the face of such humiliation. She couldn’t go back; he wouldn’t --

Her doorbell rang and she frowned. At seven o’clock on a Saturday night, who could be at her door? A pizza delivery to the wrong address?

She checked the peephole -- a delivery man -- and opened the door. “Yes?”

“Miss Jessica Randall?”

“That’s me.”

He handed her a soft package. “Have a nice evening, ma’am.” He left before she could respond.

Too bizarre. She hadn’t ordered anything. After locking the door, she set the package on the glass coffee table and started ripping. Inside the envelope, soft tissue paper wrapped around a…nightie? Taken aback, she held it up. Definitely a nightie in a baby-doll style. A soft pink with a halter top and lacy handkerchief hem. Real silk.

She had never worn anything like that in her life. What in the -- A card lay in the bottom of the package. Bold black handwriting. Tonight is lingerie night for the subs. I would like to see you in this and nothing else. Master Z.

Oh. My. God. Her heart seemed to stutter even as her legs turned wobbly. She dropped onto the couch. He wanted to see her. A thrill ran through her.

And then she frowned. She hadn’t given him her number, let alone her address. How had he known where to send anything? Of course. The limousine driver, she’d given him her address. Sneaky, Master Z.

Once again, he’d known how she felt. Some men might have shown up on her doorstep. Her heart gave a hard thud at the thought of seeing Sir. But he wasn’t that pushy. Instead, he’d found a smooth way to let her know he wanted to see her. A warm feeling grew in her chest. He hadn’t forgotten her.

Now it was up to her.

She scowled down at his gift. Wear that skimpy thing? Absolutely not.

She stared at it longer. Then, biting her lip, she stripped and slipped on the top. Cool silk drifted around her body. The halter top lifted her breasts up until they almost overflowed, and the bottom… Well, she’d seen shorter. Really. But not much. Although the points of the handkerchief hem dropped in front and back to midthigh, the sides only reached her hips.

She discovered a tiny G-string left in the package and dangled it from one finger. Wear this? What would be the point?

She walked over to a mirror. The nightie really did look pretty good on her, didn’t it? She twirled so the hemline flirted with her legs. She’d seen less modest outfits at wedding showers. He hadn’t sent something that made her look totally slutty.

Actually, she couldn’t imagine Master Z sending anything vulgar.

She turned again. If she left her hair down, it would cover up a lot of the cleavage. For the drive, she could wear a coat and leave it in the tiny coatroom. Her hands started to sweat.

Was she really, really considering this?

* * * * *

Zachary wandered through the club, nodding to the regulars. The place was filling up nicely. Lingerie nights were popular, both with the experienced and the newer crowd. He inspected the theme rooms in the back: the hard-core dungeon, the medical room, the office, the playroom. All were clean and stocked. The dungeon monitors assigned to each area were at their places.