Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

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After a long, cheerful supper, Linda’s children gave her warm hugs and followed Nicole out to the cars. Back to their lives.

As Linda strummed Sam’s guitar, her eyes welled with tears…again. The possibility of losing her babies had shaken her more than she’d ever want to admit. Bless Sam.

At her smothered sob, he glanced up and, seeing her tears, shook his head in reproof. But he didn’t speak, just continued braiding leather in an intricate pattern around a whipstock. His very silence wove a spell of peace in the room.

And as she watched the sureness of his lean fingers, she felt a flush of heat from her toes to her fingers. She remembered all too well those hard hands on her body. Wanted his hands on her again. Honestly, she was turning into a nympho.

At my age. How funny—both of them had adult children. She smiled and switched to fingerpicking an old ballad. Sam had a lovely daughter. Intelligent, friendly, and quirky with outrageous opinions on everything, ranging from Tampa politics to earthworms. Sam had merely listened with laughter in his eyes. He never said anything openly affectionate to his girl, nothing like the “I love you’s” that she and her children had exchanged, but now and then, he’d wrap an arm around the girl’s waist and give her a squeeze or ruffle her spiky black hair. The love was there.

Nicole’s comment about not wanting to know about her father’s sex life had been…interesting. Then again, Sam had said he didn’t bring women home. Not that he ever explained any more about that. Or anything. She frowned down at the strings of the guitar. Was that reticence who Sam was, or was there another reason? Sometimes, it would be so much easier to talk things over if she really knew him.

When he met her eyes, she realized she’d been staring at him. He gave her a half smile. “Let me put this away, and we can watch a show if you want.”

“Okay.”

After nudging Conn over so he could rise, Sam walked out of the room.

Linda returned the guitar to its rack and curled into a corner of the couch, trying to muster up her courage. With no fire in the fireplace, the room seemed to have chilled. She considered pulling out her basketry. Her fingers needed something to do.

Big hands closed around hers. “What’s bothering you, girl?” Seated on the oversize leather ottoman, Sam studied her face.

She cleared her throat. “About today.”

He waited.

Darn him, it would help if he prompted her or something. “I-I appreciate what you did. To get my children back. I guess I won’t kill you for interfering.”

His lips quirked. “Guess I can sleep easy tonight.”

Hitting him now would be unwise. “About the shower. I wanted to…” There was no easy way to talk about this. How did other submissives manage?

His eyes grew intense. “Just spit it out.”

“I’m submissive.”

“Yes.”

“But I can’t be that way except…”

“Do it now, slut.”

“Present yourself to the buyer, slut.”

She bit her lip as nausea roiled inside her.

He made a noise in the back of his throat, then plucked her from the couch and sat with her in his lap.

“Sam!”

His left arm curved around her shoulders, holding her against his chest. With his right hand, he tilted her head up, brushing his thumb over her chin. “See if you can talk easier like this,” he said.

She curled her fingers around his forearm. He’d derailed her thoughts. “I can’t figure it out.”

“Figure what out, baby?”

She stared into his eyes. Sometimes, the pale blue of his eyes had a darker rim. “The…they kept us under control. All the time. And now, now, I can’t let you do that. Because of them. I need to know—to agree to—”

“To give up your power,” he suggested softly.

“Yes. And when you yanked me into the shower, I…” She dredged up all the honesty she could find, opening herself. “I liked it. I did. But it scared me too, because if you tell me to do some slavey thing, something I really don’t want to do, I’m not sure I’d refuse. I sometimes don’t know if I obey you because they…conditioned…me or because I want to.”

“Go on.”

Her throat tightened with frustration. She couldn’t explain because she didn’t really understand it herself. “I just want limits on when…when you order me around.” Her breathing hitched.

“Shhh.” He tucked her head against his shoulder, letting her get herself back under control. Not driving her to expose more, to bare her soul.

Her breathing steadied.

“Between a Dom and sub, most things are negotiable.” He pushed her hair out of her face. “I have certain requirements. I want to be in control when it comes to sex.” He considered and added, “I like demanding sex when I want it, but I can give in there.”

She raised her head. “You didn’t exactly back off earlier.”

“No.” He traced his finger down her jaw. “That was my next point. Making you kneel or strip or do menial labor? Not interested. But if it comes to your well-being, I’m not flexible.” His square jaw hardened. “This afternoon, I wasn’t about to let you fret yourself sick.”

Oh. Her gaze traced down the strong line of his neck to his right shoulder. The shirtsleeve covered the rocklike bulge of his biceps and was rolled up over his thick forearm. He had the strength to enforce anything he wanted. Like he had this afternoon.

But she hadn’t felt dirty when he’d dragged her into the shower, maybe because he’d said why he was forcing her to cooperate. “If you figure to worry until they show, think again.” It hadn’t been an arbitrary act. “Maybe that will work,” she whispered. “If there’s a reason. More than you just want to…to…”

“Flaunt my control over you?” he finished in a dry voice.

“Yes.” She looked up with butterflies in her stomach. He didn’t look upset, just thoughtful.

“Then we’ll limit power exchanges to this: I control everything dealing with sex…or pain. You always have a safe word. Timing is negotiable unless I step in for your safety or health.”

Really? She felt as if she’d been braced against a hard wind that had just disappeared, leaving her falling forward. Looking him in the eyes, she agreed. “Yes.” In a lower voice, she added, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He traced his finger around her mouth. “I should warn you, though. I’ll find other methods to get my way.”

She stiffened. “Like?”

“Like it’s your turn to pick the movie. But if it has a romance in it, I’m going to play with the pussy whip as well as spank your ass.”

Oh heavens. She couldn’t keep from squirming at the memory of that whip. She wanted—didn’t want—wanted that intense torment again. And the most sadistic part was now she couldn’t decide whether to pick a romance or not.

From the evil glint in his ice-colored eyes, he’d deliberately left her with that dilemma.

On Saturday, Linda, trying to remember everyone’s names, brought up the rear of the women piling out of the bachelorette party limousine. She’d already met Andrea, Jessica, Kim, Gabi, and Beth. Kari was the submissive of another Shadowlands Master. Sally, Uzuri, Rainie, and Dara were trainees—submissives who didn’t have a Dom but wanted to learn more about the lifestyle.

None of the women were her age, but the common interest of BDSM had bridged the gap. A couple of glasses of champagne hadn’t hurt the bonding either.

She’d decided the women were all crazy. On the ride over, they’d told stories of what not to do to a Dom and other mistakes they’d made. Like the night a tired Uzuri had downed two coffees before a scene. After the poor Dom spent ages on the bondage and suspension, she’d had to beg for a bathroom break. Or Gabi, who’d gotten mad at Marcus and used his favorite canes as fireplace kindling.

Just the idea of doing that with one of Sam’s toys was…appalling. Oh, she might enjoy the look on his face for all of a few seconds, but then…the wrath of God would come crashing down on her.

Why did that sound so tempting?

Linda followed the group into the nightclub. Rather than the Shadowland’s medieval atmosphere, this place’s decor was grungy harshness. Concrete floor, black brick walls, red-hued paintings. Metal everywhere, from bar stools to aluminum siding behind the bar to twisted metal railings leading to the second floor. “Interesting,” Linda said. “Jessica likes this kind of place?”

“No. We’re here because the club advertised it has BDSM equipment.” Gabi hooked an arm with hers.

“You brought Shadowlands submissives to a different club?”

Gabi grinned. “We couldn’t exactly get falling down drunk in Z’s club, now could we?”

“Good point.” In fact, doing anything wild and crazy under Master Z’s nose would be sheer insanity. “Are we dressed up like Dommes to keep from getting hit on as submissives?”

Beth heard the comment and turned. “Nah. We just wanted to give Jessica one last chance to switch to the dominant side.” Beth unzipped the biker jacket she wore, revealing a black bustier and black vinyl pants. “Besides, Dommes have the coolest clothes.”

Linda grinned. “True.” She wore all black as well. Her skinny black jeans almost disappeared under the impact of high vinyl boots and her skintight, long-sleeved latex shirt. She’d unzipped the front low enough that most guys wouldn’t see past the cleavage.

“I used to wear clothes like this, right up until my first night as a trainee.” Andrea tried to look pitiful—not easy for someone who reminded Linda of Wonder Woman. “Cullen was the trainer, and he said a sub couldn’t wear more clothes than the Dom. The cabrón made me strip right in the center of the club.”

“Ouch.” Linda frowned, recalling the giant bartender with his booming laugh. “And I thought he seemed so easygoing.”

“He is…right until he slides into Demon Dom mode.” Andrea grinned. “Don’t tell him, but I go all melty inside when he does.”

“I know the feeling,” Linda muttered. When Sam got that look in his eyes—the one that said she’d better do exactly what he ordered—her bones turned squishy. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.”

“Kim’s creating us a spot,” announced Sally. “Come on, Mistresses.” Although not that tall, the brunette wore such a red latex T-shirt that she stood out like Rudolph, the reindeer. They followed her through the crowd at the entrance, past the bar, along the side of the dance floor, and up some stairs.

When Linda looked around, she saw a balcony ran around the perimeter of the second floor. From there, people were watching the dancing and the randomly scattered short St. Andrew’s crosses, spanking benches, and stocks.

“Over here,” Kim called as she industriously shoved chairs, couches, and coffee tables into a disorganized cluster near the railing. “Ladies. Here’s our little bit of heaven for the evening.” She dropped into a chair by the railing.

The rest of the group happily spread out.

“Sit with me.” Jessica pulled Linda down next to her on a long couch, then nodded to her left. “Look at them. Aren’t they a study in contrasts?”

Linda had to laugh. Dara had a pale complexion with blonde, spiky hair and wore black leathers. Next to her was Uzuri, with black skin, braided hair, and a dark red catsuit. Obviously hearing the comment, Uzuri grinned over her shoulder. “We’re going to find us a boy and beat his white ass for a while.”

Sprawled in an armchair, Rainie snickered. “I don’t know about Dara, but Mistress U, I bet you’ve never been on the handle side of a flogger.”

“Maybe not.” Uzuri’s beaded hair clattered as she tossed her head. “But we look so fine he won’t notice anything else.” She knocked her fist against Dara’s.

Giggling, Jessica rose. “Thank you all! This is just great and so much more fun that what I thought it would be.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started, Mistress Jessica,” Gabi said. “Rainie, did you bring your stuff?”

“You bet.” Rainie grinned. A big woman, she’d refused to try to squirm her way into latex or leather pants, but wore a fluorescent blue vinyl dress, fingerless gloves with small spikes on the back, and a coiled whip on her studded belt. A vine tattoo ran from her shoulder to disappear between her breasts. “The chauffeur agreed he’d haul it up here for us. That’s what Sally’s watching for.”

Stuff? Linda wondered.

Jessica’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t. Here, in a public place?”