Cherise Sinclair - The Dom’s Dungeon

Still holding her by one arm, he cupped her cheek, using his thumb to brush away her tears. “Almost over, pet,” he murmured, then stepped back. “Kneel and apologize.” His voice had turned cold, eradicating for a frozen moment even the thought of arguing.

But kneel? Did he think he lived in some feudal century or—her mind flashed to the BDSM clubs she'd visited and the submissives at their master's feet. Frak, she'd not only found the Dom's dungeon, but she'd found the Dom to go with it.

Still…if this guy thought she'd kneel, he could think again. She gave him a scathing look and headed for the door. Could she arrest him for hitting her? Probably not, considering she'd broken—

“MacKensie.”

She glanced back.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you leave, I'll report this through legal routes. If you stay, perhaps we can discuss alternatives.”

What kind of alternatives would a man demand? Oh she knew exactly what, and a cold hand squeezed her chest. She wouldn't be a whore again. Never. But stalling couldn't hurt. Maybe his anger would cool a little. “What alternatives?”

He pointed at the floor in front of him. “Apologize.”

Fine. She started back across the room and almost groaned when the room blurred. No food since breakfast, too long in the Jacuzzi, and this… Her legs buckled as she tried to kneel, and she landed painfully on her knees. She gritted her teeth against the pain.

He bent over and lifted her face. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

She nodded, confused. Beat me and then make sure I didn't hurt my knees? Was the man bipolar?

After caressing her cheek, he stood. And waited.

Damn him. She forced the words out, the taste of the apology bitter in her mouth. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have opened a locked door.” She stopped.

“'Please forgive me, Sir,'” he prompted.

Oh honestly. Her hands tightened into fists. If she thumped him in the balls, she could run and… And what? Escape onto the street bare-ass naked? Assuming her legs even held her up, because right now that wasn't looking likely; she could feel fine tremors sweeping through her. “Please forgive me, S-sir.” Her voice broke at the last word.

“Very nice.” He paused. “You have my forgiveness.”

Relief swept through her so powerfully that she shuddered. Now if he'd just let her leave.

He walked across the room—maybe she should make a dash for it?—and returned. A warm, incredibly soft blanket wrapped around her.

She pulled it closer and pushed to her feet—too quickly. Cold sweat broke out on her skin, and a hum filled her ears. She took a step and squinted, hoping to see a chair. Sit. Must sit. Not faint. Her legs gave out.

He scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. Shifting her in his arms, he winced and said under his breath, “Damned knife,” then pulled her against his chest. Carrying her. No one had ever carried her. Ever. Even when she'd been little. Her foster mother hadn't believed in coddling children.

She didn't even feel unsafe being held so high. His chest was solid muscle, his arms like iron bars under her shoulders and legs; the world probably would end before this man dropped her. He walked over to a chair she hadn't noticed in the corner of the room and sat down.

When her weight landed on his thighs, her butt burned, and she jumped. What in heaven's name was she doing? “Let go of me.” As she pushed against his chest, the blanket dropped away from her, baring her breasts. Dammit.

“I'll let you go when I know you can walk across the room without passing out.” His arm tightened, keeping her in place. When his hand rose, she forced herself not to cringe. Her fingers curled into claws to rip him apart if he tried to grope her.

He huffed a laugh. “Quite the little cat.” His hand slowly lowered to stroke her hair with a disconcertingly gentle touch. “Gently, pet. Take a minute to get your bearings. Then you can get dressed. And we'll talk.”

Oh, she heard a definite threat in that last phrase. But as the warmth from the blanket and his body sank into her, her muscles melted as if the trembling had used up all her energy.

He leaned back in the chair, settling her more comfortably. “Tell me. Has anyone ever spanked you before?”

“No.” Her cheek rested against the softness of his shirt. She could hear the even thud of his heart under her ear; her pulse still raced twice as fast. “Never.” And it would never happen again. Yet the memory of his hand holding her in place, the feeling of being overpowered, made her feel weird. Lost.

“Have you been around BDSM before?”

She tried to push away, and he eliminated her struggle to move before it hardly began. She glared at him.

“No, you're not getting up yet,” he said. “I want to see some color in your face first.”

Her teeth ground together, but she wasn't totally stupid. The little flickers of blackness at the edge of her vision and the numbness around her lips and fingers said he was probably right. She'd pass right out before she got to the door, and wouldn't that be the perfect end to this disaster? She pulled the blanket tighter and prepared to wait him out.

His scent surrounded her, a rich blend of exotic cologne and masculine fragrance that blended with the scent of leather. His voice deepened. “MacKensie, have you been around BDSM before?”

“I went into a club three times.”

“Ah.” Alex felt an odd satisfaction at her answer, almost as much as he felt holding her in his arms. One visit to a club, maybe two, he could attribute to curiosity. A third time? Probably she'd discovered a need that BDSM satisfied…or might satisfy.

He shifted her so he could see her face better. She was a sweet armful, curved in all the right places. Her big brown eyes were darker than Butler's but could hold the same pleading look, one that pulled at his heart and a Dom's need to make things right. Everyone had hidden places and dark secrets, but this little vet's eyes held something shadowy and sad. “What did you do when you were there?”

“Nothing.”

That didn't seem right. She had a prettiness and a vivid energy that would definitely attract a dominant. “Didn't any of the Doms come over and meet you?”

A slight nod and her shoulders moved in a shrug.

“Then you were the one to tell them no. Why?”

Eyes going cold and blank, she stiffened and tried to get off his lap again. His questions had obviously probed into something painful, and she retreated rather than attack. Why? What in her past could shut this spitfire's emotions down? He felt a tug inside himself, a need to help.

“I'm fine now. I need to go pack,” she said, still pushing at his chest.

Her color had mostly returned, and the tremors shaking her body had diminished. He had no reason to hold her further. He grasped her around the waist and set her on her feet, enjoying the flash of her rose-tipped breasts before she recovered the blanket. But he shoved his normal male reaction back down. This interlude with MacKensie had been about discipline and then aftercare. Sex shouldn't and didn't enter into it.

He glanced at his watch, then her. “You have ten minutes to change. Then I will meet with you in the family room for our discussion.”

Her brown eyes kindled delightfully, but after a cautious look at his face, she simply nodded and headed across the room. Quickly.

Butler sat just outside the door, whining as MacKensie picked up her clothing. And although shaken, and her ass undoubtedly hurting like hell, the woman stopped to pet Butler on her way past.

Alex frowned. He'd thought to simply kick her out of his house and notify Exchanges that she'd broken into a locked room. But now… He rubbed his jaw. She didn't quite add up. The way she'd flared up at him indicated a feisty personality, and her instinctive responses to command indicated a penchant for submission, but although pleasing, the combination wasn't that uncommon.

No, that underlying vulnerability that she'd so quickly hidden drew him. And when she petted Butler, he could see a pure sweetness under her defenses.

He'd see what came of the discussion, but she'd roused his protectiveness. Discipline and punishment could be a two-way street. She'd been taken under a master's will, but in turn, he'd received her submission, and with that, a bond between them had been created.

Just what I need, another submissive.

Panting from her dash up the stairs, MacKensie entered her bedroom and locked the door behind her. Not that there was much point since the guy probably had a key to every room in the house.

The bastard.

In the bathroom, she tossed her clothing into the bathtub. It landed with a wet splat.

She glanced in the mirror and rolled her eyes at the vision of beauty: face dead white, hair in tangles, tear streaks. Then again, she should look at the bright side; if she'd worn makeup, her mascara would have been all over her cheeks.

The bastard.

Speaking of which. She dropped the blanket and turned to check her backside. Fiery red handprints marked the white skin of her bottom. Her teeth ground together as another wave of shame ran through her.

He had no right to do that…

She touched her butt carefully, hissing a little at the sting. To her surprise, she saw he'd left no welts or bruises, and she realized he hadn't been totally brutal. His grip had been firm enough to hold her and had eased when she stopped struggling. No, he'd administered a carefully controlled spanking, and somehow that made him scarier than an out-and-out brute.

Didn't matter. She wasn't staying, and she didn't have time to wallow in self-pity. After rinsing the sweat and tear streaks off her face, she dragged on a T-shirt and jeans, then repacked her suitcase.

I am so out of here. And then what? Mac closed her eyes as worries piled higher and higher like thunderclouds before a storm. Worries that all started with the letter m for money.

Obviously she should have sold the house Jim had left her before coming here. She huffed a laugh. Face it. She'd been too insecure to put all her eggs in the Seattle basket; she hadn't wanted to give up the house until she knew she had a job.

But her lack of confidence had screwed her up now. She had no money, dammit. After paying funeral expenses, she'd barely managed to scrounge up enough money for the airfare and car rental.

She couldn't—wouldn't—ever regret helping Jim before he died. Nothing would ever repay what he and Mary had done for her; what were money and time? Her eyes burned with tears. What she wouldn't do to have them back again.

But they'd packed up and moved to heaven, leaving her all alone…and really, really broke. She'd thought she'd gotten such a lucky break to get to stay in this house while she looked for a job. Before leaving Iowa, she'd lined up interviews with vet clinics for the next two weeks, but now she had nowhere to stay and no money for a hotel room. Maybe she could sleep in her car? But since she didn't own a cell phone, she'd used the phone here as her contact number.

She'd so looked forward to moving to Seattle and starting a new life where no one knew her. A life surrounded by animals that gave back every bit of the affection they received. Being a veterinarian was the best job in the world…if she could find a position.

Fontaine had said he'd discuss alternatives to the legal route. What did he mean by that? If she sneaked out, would he really report her? Would he try to keep her from getting a job? She eyed the antique furniture, the leaded glass panes in the window, the Oriental carpet. Money. And money meant power. He could probably keep her from getting any job in the area with just a word.

Maybe she could go somewhere else? Only that might prove difficult. She closed her eyes, thinking of the hours she'd put in researching the clinics here, applying for jobs, sending out résumés, and setting up interviews. She could do all that again…if she had a phone, her computer and printer, and time. To try to accomplish all that from the back of a car, with no food or phone or money?

Desolation hit, sucking her down into the depths, and then she fought back out. Blinking back tears, she put her chin up and firmed her mouth. “No retreat; no surrender.” She'd manage, dammit; she always had. Picking up her suitcase, she glanced around the room and saw no trace of her presence.