Club Shadowlands

Intent on reading the paper, he didn’t even notice her until she seized his arm and tore the ripped shirt from the wound.

“Jessica, what --”

“Don’t move,” she ordered. A slash, deep and nasty. Her head spun for a second. Blood so wasn’t her thing. Then she set the first-aid kit on the bar, and ripped open a gauze packet. “You’re bleeding, dammit.”

He glanced down at his shoulder, shook his head. “Drugs and whips don’t mix well.”

“He whipped you?” Shock brought her eyes up to his.

“He tried. Considering he’s still heaving his dinner out in the parking lot, I don’t feel too badly about it. Serves me right for not being more observant.” He touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “You were worried about me.”

She dropped her gaze. Putting gauze on the cut, she applied pressure. “This probably needs stitches, Master Z.” She risked a look up at him, realizing it was the first time she’d actually called him Master out loud.

His dark eyes burned, pinned her in place. He knew. He ran a finger across the top of her breasts and smiled when her nipples peaked. “Cullen,” he said, without looking away from her.

“Master Z.”

“I’m going to let my little sub finish her bandaging job upstairs.”

Jessica’s heart gave a hard thud.

“Please take charge of the club,” Master Z finished, glancing at the bartender.

“es, sir.” Cullen’s grin flashed at Jessica.

Chapter Thirteen

Zachary tried to put his arm around his sub, but she took his hand and set it against the gauze covering his wound and ordered, “Hold that there.”

He shook his head. From a submissive to a spitfire in five easy minutes. The contrast was startling. Compelling. Her concern spilled through him like warmth from the sun.

Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d been cold.

Stunned into silence, he unlocked the private door and took her up to the third floor. Flipping on the lights, he waved her in, and got his first-aid box from the closet.

In his kitchen of granite counters and stainless steel appliances, she was like a beam of light with her vivid eyes and pale golden hair. Taking the kit from him, she started rummaging through it.

Zachary poured them both drinks then sat at the round oak table.

She picked up her glass and drank it in one gulp.

He managed not to laugh. “Rough night, kitten?” He poured her another shot, although gulping was hardly the way to drink Glenlivet.

“Take your shirt off.”

His eyebrows rose.

Flushing, she hastily added, “Please?”

With a smile, he pulled the shirt off and tossed it into the wastebasket. He glanced at his shoulder. Not bleeding much, not too deep.

Lips pressed together, Jessica washed the slice clean then pulled the edges together with thin adhesive strips. She finished by taping a gauze pad over the wound. “I think that will be all right,” she said before dropping into a chair at the table and downing her second shot of scotch.

He checked her work. “Excellent job.”

She was still pale, so he poured one final shot and put the bottle away. Any more and she’d be out like a light. “Let’s go into the living room,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers. She had a delicate hand with small fingers.

Taking a seat in his favorite leather chair, he pushed the oak coffee table farther away and pulled her down to sit on the floor between his legs, her back against the chair. Her pale skin was almost translucent against the dark red carpet.

She turned to him with an insulted expression. “Is this where a pet sits?”

“No…pet.” He put a slight emphasis on the word just to see her face flush. “This is where someone sits when they need their shoulders rubbed.” His hands closed on her shoulders where the muscles were so tight he had seen the knots from across the kitchen.

“Ohhhh.”

The sigh reminded him of her sweet moan when his cock entered her softness. He hardened, considered taking her right there on the carpet. But that wasn’t what she needed from him right now. He dug his thumbs into her muscles, felt the loosening.

“Sir?”

“Um-hmm.” He moved his fingers to her slender neck, sliding the cool silky hair to one side.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a slight quaver in her voice and worry, almost fear in her mind, and he frowned. Sorry for what? She had snapped at him, he remembered, or maybe for the way she’d ordered him around? Ah, probably that. She was new to all this.

“Jessica, with some Doms, the slightest misstep will bring wrath down on a sub’s head. I don’t operate that way. That you were willing to risk my anger to care for me… Kitten, I feel cherished, not angry.”

And the feeling was still so unexpected that he was having trouble finding his balance.

“Oh.” She took a sip of her drink, wrinkling her nose slightly. Not her favorite drink. He’d have to stock his liquor cabinet with something besides scotch.

Under his fingers, her muscles tightened and he could feel a surge of worry -- and outrage -- from her. “I heard about the woman you…you put on the bar.”

He bit back the laugh, kept his voice soothing. “No wonder you’re feeling a little unsure.”

“No kidding,” she muttered, and he grinned since she couldn’t see, and concentrated on working the new tenseness out of her muscles. She was just a bundle of nerves. And here he’d planned to have turned her into a little puddle of goo by now.

Instead he was giving bondage lessons.

Feisty, sensitive little sub. Then again, he’d never enjoyed teaching so much in his life. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Kitten, her punishment was for more than one misstep; she spent the evening deliberately annoying her Dom. And he knew that she’d find a whipping to be a reward.”

“But why did she do that?”

“A sub who goes out of her way to be rude is an unhappy sub. She was daring him, practically begging him to take control away from her. If she had confined her actions just to him, I would have simply given him some suggestions. But she took that choice away from me.”

His hands returned to her shoulders, easing the last of the tightness, even as his words eased the worry inside of her. She nodded. “Thank you for explaining. It suddenly felt like I didn’t really know you at all, you know? Of course, I don’t, not really, but --” She grabbed her glass and finished it.

“Mmmmph, there’s quite a bit I don’t know about you, either.” Like why his little sub kept attacking Doms. He pulled her back so he could massage the muscles in front of her shoulders.

“Like what?” she murmured. With her worry abated, her emotions had turned to a warm hum, almost like a purr.

“You’ve been in the club two nights and attacked a Dom each night to defend someone. Instead of finding a dungeon monitor, you jump right in.”

Jessica felt her mind go blank and she tried to sit up. “I… Anyone would do the same, keep someone from being hurt.”

“Of course. What makes it so personal for you, Jessica?” His hands pinned her against the chair.

“That’s --” She huffed out a breath. “Do I get to keep anything private?”

“Well…no.” He kissed the top of her head, but his hands, flattened against her chest, didn’t move. “Tell me what happened. Who was hurt by a man?”

Pinpoint accuracy. He must be a hell of a psychologist. And she shouldn’t have had that last drink; her thoughts were scattered to hell and gone. “My sister. Her husband hit her, beat her up regularly.”

“Did you know?” His hands were moving again, soft round strokes, soothing.

“I should have,” she said bitterly. “I thought she was a normal newlywed, wanting to be alone with her husband. I believed her when she said she’d tripped on something or had a car accident. I should have known.”

“Oh, kitten,” he sighed. “Abused women will lie like troopers; they’re ashamed, sure they did something to deserve the pain, or they feel that only losers get hurt, or they’re terrified of their abuser. Don’t blame yourself for not being able to tell. Did your sister get away?”

“Yeah. Once we knew what was going on, we got her out. He’s serving time.”

“And your sister has scars, doesn’t she?” he said softly. “Inside and out and you feel bad every time you see one.”

Her throat closed up at the sympathy in his voice. At the understanding. She swallowed, blinked hard. A minute later, she managed to say, “Damn, you’re good; are you a psychologist or something?”

He laughed. “At least now when I find a Dom laid out on the floor, I’ll know why.” He gave her a little shake. “But, little spitfire, if I’m around, let me do it. That’s my job.”

Somehow he’d drained some of the guilt and warmed her more than the alcohol had. He kissed her cheek, leaned back, and took a sip of his drink. He was still on his first drink, and she was more than a little fuzzy.

Then, his hands returned to the front of her shoulders…and moved under her halter top to stroke over her breasts.

“I-I don’t think there are any muscles there,” she said, somewhat breathlessly as her body woke up and started clamoring for sex.