Cherise Sinclair - The Dom’s Dungeon

“Take me too,” she whispered, her hands clutching the railing. She stared up into the night sky, clear of clouds, the stars muted by the city. Surely rain should be pouring from the sky and the air should be cold, to match the aching chill inside her.

How can the world go on when mine has been destroyed?

So many people had attended Victoria's party—all the leaders of this city. The gossip would spread, and then everyone would know about her and what she'd done.

In Oak Hollow, Jim had given her a job because he loved her. But here? Even if she and Susan were friendly, the other vets wouldn't permit an ex-whore to work there. My job—gone.

No one else would hire her. My future—gone.

Hope's face, the shock on it. My new friends—gone.

And Alex. She let go of the railing and wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to contain the pain. She hadn't even dared to return to the house, even to get Chef.

Alex would have followed her there. Of course he would. And she couldn't bear to see the condemnation in his eyes.

Even if he didn't hate her, their time together was finished. No one associated with a whore.

Her knees gave out, and she slid down to sit, facing the desolate hotel room. A few more tears escaped, but she'd pretty much exhausted that avenue of comfort.

Hadn't been much comfort anyway.

Time to pick up and move on, MacKensie. But her past would bite her in the butt no matter where she went. How could she live like that, knowing someone could take everything from her again?

Maybe she should change her name and face. She gave a short laugh. Plastic surgery cost money, and gee, she didn't have a job. Not anymore. Well, she could possibly try a do-it-yourself facial reconstruction: bash her face into the wall, bust her nose, and let it set crooked. Then cut her hair short, spike it, and dye it black.

What the hell. Why not?

She was a survivor. The past years had taught her that. Knock her down and—eventually—she'd pick herself up and march on.

But this time she'd march without her heart. Oh God, Alex… She wouldn't go back for her clothing. No. Just disappear from his life. She rocked back and forth. What would he be thinking now? Would he feel betrayed? She tried to tell herself that he wouldn't care, and kept seeing his face when he held her in the dungeon. “Stay, little vet.”

How long would he wait for her to return? Oh please, don't let him be hurt. Her breath hitched as her throat tightened. Guess she hadn't cried herself out after all.

She heard a key in the lock and looked up.

The hotel-room door opened. A young man in the hotel's uniform glanced at her before turning to someone in the hallway. “You were right, sir. She does look ill. Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“I'll let you know.” Alex stepped into the room. He handed the bellboy several bills. “Thank you for your help.” As the man disappeared, Alex closed the door.

Alex, Alex, Alex. His name reverberated in her head with the beat of her pulse. “H-how”—her voice cracked—“how did you find me?” She couldn't voice the real question: why are you here?

“Your taxi. We helped start the company. As a courtesy, they keep a car or two on the street for Mother's parties.” He bent and hauled her to her feet.

Couldn't she get anything right? Not even an escape? “Alex,” she whispered. “No.”

His jaw tightened. He pulled her into the room and sat on the bed beside her. His grip moved from her arms to her wrists, a ruthless grip that didn't release when she tugged. “Explain,” he said.

She stared down at his corded, muscular hands, at the thickness of his wrists. “You heard him. It's true. I'm a whore.”

“And you've been trolling Pioneer Square in your spare time?” He snorted. “I said explain. This was what happened twelve years ago. How did you get started?”

She yanked at her hands again without success. Her worst nightmare never included sitting next to Alex and delving into the dregs of her life. “I am not going to talk about it.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice deepening. Dom voice. “You are.”

And he would keep her here until she did. Talking wouldn't be easier an hour from now. Her stomach twisted into a massive, painful knot, and she swallowed hard. The hands encircling her wrists felt more restraining than any leather cuffs. No escape. “I ran away. My foster home… When Arlene's daughter graduated, she closed down. The one I went to—the man tried to touch me.” Her bitter laugh sounded more like a sob. “I ran from him and ended up under others. Smart, huh?”

His thumbs rubbed the back of her hands, and the tiny comforting gesture made tears pool in her eyes. He couldn't hate her and do that.

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen. Old enough to know better.”

“You could have gone back…”

“I'd decided to. But…I was stupid, so stupid. I hadn't eaten in three days, and a guy bought me a burger. He said he had an extra room.” Alex's hands slid down to hold hers, enfolding them in warmth. “I walked into his apartment thinking everything was going to be all right.” The relief singing through her.Food. A place to stay. A friend. Then the slap, coming out of nowhere. “He was a pimp. He beat me.” A fist in the stomach. The shocking, horrible pain…

She tried to smile as she said lightly, “I tried to escape once or twice, but he didn't like that.” The beatings, over and over. Face pressed into the carpet, bleeding, crying.

Alex's hands tightened around hers, and she heard a low noise, almost like a growl, but when he spoke, his voice was even. Unemotional. “How did you escape?”

“Jim.” The memory caught her and pulled her upward. The sweetness of being cared for, of being loved. Why did they have to die? “Jim and Mary found me after a…client had expressed his displeasure, and Ajax had…” She licked her dry lips. “They took me in.” Clean. Bandaged. Fed. But she didn't trust them. She'd already unlocked the bedroom window. “Jim came in and put a puppy into my lap.” Wiggles and joy, soft and trusting. “I…I was caught.”

“How old were you then?”

“Just under sixteen. I had walked the streets about a year.”

“They kept you. Helped you get into college. And then you went back to Oak Hollow for Jim.”

Her gaze jumped up. “How'd you know that?”

His eyes crinkled, and then his gaze turned cold. “The point is that you should have been the one to tell me.”

She should have. Guilt seared through her so fast that her eyes teared. She looked down, away, anywhere but at his face. “I'm s-sorry. I should have told you about being a whore. That you'd be going to bed with a—”

“Dammit!” Hard hands gripped her shoulders, and Alex shook her once. “You're not a whore. And you should have told me because you share painful things with your Dom—and your lover. I thought you'd been raped, for God's sake.”

“Not rape. I gave it away for money,” she whispered, the shame like scalding water.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A hand against her cheek turned her face to his. “You were a teenager, which is another term for idiotic. You jumped from bad into worse, but that wasn't your fault. Hell, even if you took money for sex and had a good time doing it, that's not something I'd hold against you.” A crease appeared in his cheek. “I know too many women—and men—who've married for money, which is essentially the same thing, only with better living conditions.” He set her on his lap and wrapped her in his arms.

The sweetness of his embrace made more tears come. But she knew he didn't really mean it. A whore was a whore.

His little sub let him hold her, yet he could feel the stiffness of her body against his. She had heard his words, but her subconscious didn't accept them. Her self-loathing was so great that she didn't believe he could care.

But he knew the biggest missing pieces of her past now, and her behavior finally made sense. She'd been as abused as any little puppy or kitten he'd rescued. He could work with her on putting this into balance, but only if she stayed with him. “You know, when you ran from me,” he said gently, “when I arrived at home and you weren't there, it felt like you'd ripped my heart out.”

Her breathing paused.

“I love you, MacKensie. I would have told you before, but I knew it would scare you.” He stroked her silky hair. Such a stiff little body. “Normally at this point, a person might show how much they care by indulging in sex.”

He set her on her feet and caught the confused but accepting look in her eyes. She didn't believe he loved her, and although she would let him take her to bed because she needed him as badly as he needed her, she would spend the entire time grieving, convinced he'd leave. He unbuckled her glittery belt and tossed it aside. After unzipping her black dress, he pulled it down to pool around her ankles.

Then he yanked her, facedown, over his lap.

Mac hadn't even managed to regain her breath when his hand landed on her bare bottom. She yelped in shock, tried to get away, but her feet tangled in her dress, and Alex's merciless hand pushed her shoulders down.

Slam. “I love you, MacKensie, and I'm doing this because I love you.”

Slam. “I wouldn't do this if I didn't care, but you mean everything to me, and if this is what you need, then this is what you'll get.” He added in a mutter, “But we're damned well going to work on changing this association between caring and spanking.”

Slam. “I am very angry that you didn't trust me enough to tell me about your past.”

Slam. “I am very angry that you didn't trust me to still love you anyway.”

Slam. “I love you, little sub, and I'm doing this because I love you.” A pause. “MacKensie. Do I love you?”

Her head spun. He couldn't possibly love her. Not with her past. “I'm a whore.”

A growl. Slam, slam, slam. The pain burned through her, and tears streamed down her face. He rubbed his hand over her burning buttocks. “You were an abused little girl. If Hope said she'd been forced to be a prostitute at fifteen, would you hate her?”

“Of course not!”

“Then don't hate yourself.” He slapped her again. “I love you, idiot sub. Do you believe me?”

He'd turned his back on Cynthia. He could easily have done that to Mac, but he was here. He'd followed her and had no reason to do that unless he loved her. He'd let her bring a kitten home, bought her pizza, introduced her to his friends. And his mother. He'd come after her. He could have any woman in the world…but he was here. “I believe you,” she whispered.

“Good.” His hand came down, cracking across her skin three more times.

Her fingers clawed into the ugly carpet as she cried out, sobbing. “Why?”

“To make sure you didn't forget.” His hand didn't release her shoulders, and she tensed, waiting for the next blow. Instead his hand stroked over her back, across her stinging bottom, and into the crease between her buttocks and thighs. Light, feathery touches like a counterpoint to the burning of her skin.

“What are you doing?” She pushed up and had her shoulders shoved right back down. A light slap hit her upper thigh, making her hiss.

“Silence.” He bent and yanked her dress completely off her feet, then shoved her feet apart. Cool air struck her pussy, making her shiver. Feeling vulnerable, she tried to close her legs.

He slapped her thigh again. “Do not move, sub.”

God, that voice. Something inside her tightened, and she froze. He wouldn't…

A finger stroked down through her folds, finding her only slightly damp. “Did you know that some submissives find a good spanking to be exciting?”

“No way.”

That earned her a mild slap on her upper thigh. “I think it's time to work on making your spankings into something more fun for both of us.”

Her pussy was open, and now his fingers flickered over her labia, her clit, before returning to rub her tender bottom. The world shifted as arousal sparked to life inside her.

He pushed a finger into her, holding her shoulders down when she jerked. In and out; then, with a slick finger, he rubbed over her again. With each stroke, she could feel the nubbin engorge with blood. Her hips squirmed as he plunged his finger back in, pressing deep, then returned to her clit.