Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

Her gaze fell on a man by a St. Andrew’s cross. Tall. Thin. He was packing up his toy bag after using a cane on a younger woman who’d quickly wimped out. But he hadn’t tried to dominate the woman. As he picked up his bag, he met Linda’s gaze and nodded politely.

She continued to stare at him, and he tilted his head, reassessing her.

Raoul’s hand covered hers. “Are you sure, chiquita? Edward is a sadist but not a Dominant. Sam might be—”

“Not Sam.” When his eyebrows rose, she winced at her bluntness. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize for being honest.” His gaze stayed on her face. “Continue.”

“Just…I don’t want a Dom. Or Sam.”

His jaw tightened. “Did Sam do something that—”

“ No . No, it’s nothing. I just like making my own choices.” To escape more questions, she kissed his cheek in a hasty apology, then went to meet the sadist halfway.

AS SAM CLEANED the equipment and kept an eye on Dara, he half listened to the sounds from the adjacent scene. Holt was using a cane on a submissive, pushing her boundaries and heightening her arousal. From the noise the brunette was making, the Dom was doing an excellent job.

After putting the cleaning supplies in the stand, Sam went down on one knee beside Dara. With a blanket around her shoulders, the Goth trainee had eaten her chocolate bites and was sipping the sports drink he’d given her.

“How you doing?” Sam asked, running his knuckles over her cheek.

“I’m good.” Her eyes were clear, skin warm, speech coherent. He’d learned Dara didn’t want much aftercare, didn’t want to be held. She liked moving around and enjoying the buzz. She grinned at him. “That was really fun, Master Sam. Thank you.”

“All right then.” He stood and helped her to her feet. After giving him a quick hug, she trotted off toward the restrooms—undoubtedly to admire the stripes he’d put on her thighs and ass.

Feeling a tad deprived, he headed to the bar. What was the world coming to when a Dom enjoyed aftercare more than the submissive?

“Hey, Davies.”

Sam looked around.

Special Agent Vance Buchanan and his partner, Galen Kouros, were sitting at the bar.

Sam leaned an elbow on the bar and greeted the linebacker-sized agent, “Buchanan,” then nodded at the lean, dark one. “Kouros.” They were both in jeans and white button-up shirts. “Here on Fed business?”

“Not this time,” Kouros said. “Our transfer to Tampa came through, so we’re talking to Z about membership here.”

“You’ll be welcome.” Sam had seen them play a time or two. Although it wasn’t common for two Doms to link up permanently, they’d made topping together into an art. And Kouros had some serious skill with mind-fucking games. “Is the Harvest Association belly-up?” Although the Feds had netted the bastards who’d kidnapped Linda and Kim, the slave-trafficking association’s reach extended across the entire United States.

“Not quite. The northeast is still going strong.” Buchanan scowled. “We think that area has some highly placed contacts.”

“Bad news.”

“A bad crime.” Over the past months, the lines in Kouros’s face had deepened.

The Harvest Association dealt in human trafficking with a twist. They kidnapped intelligent middle- and upper-class submissives, ones already in the lifestyle, and sold them to wealthy buyers who wanted trained slaves or—even worse—toys to be broken. Linda and Kim had been slaves. Other Shadowlands submissives had been targeted. Like Z’s Jessica and a mouthy trainee named Sally.

Sally was cute as a button. He spotted her, hands on hips, apparently giving a newer Dom a lesson in something. Sam chuckled. Although he preferred to scene with masochists, he’d topped the little brunette a few times. She took a bit of work, but then she would surrender beautifully.

All of the Shadowlands Masters worked with the trainees, filling their needs, instructing and evaluating. The goal was to get them matched with suitable Doms, but Sally was too damn smart and independent for her own good. She needed a powerful Dom, and so far Z hadn’t found one who would meet her needs.

Buchanan’s gaze followed Sam’s, and the FBI agent nudged his partner, pointing out the trainee. The girl loved role-play games and today had dressed as a biker chick…probably hoping for someone to take on the cop role. “Want to give her a treat?” Buchanan asked.

Kouros smiled slowly before shaking his head. “Members have more privileges than guests,” he reminded Buchanan. “We’ll wait.”

“Yo.” Wearing his brown “I’m a Dom and don’t need black to prove it” leathers, Cullen looked up from drawing a beer for someone. “You agents plotting something?”

“Not tonight,” Buchanan said.

After giving the Feds’ glasses a bartender’s assessment, Cullen grinned at Sam. “’Bout time you graced us with your presence, buddy. What can I get you?”

Sam considered. Did he want something? Was he finished for the night? His arm was tired; his need to make a woman cry was satisfied. He didn’t want to do a more intense scene—hadn’t wanted to in months. Damn the redhead . “How about a beer?”

“How about not?” Cullen leaned a big arm on the bar top. “Raoul’s here with Kim and a friend of hers. An older redhead. Would she be the Linda I’ve heard rumors about?”

His Linda? Sam straightened. “Where?”

“She’s doing a scene with Edward.” Cullen jerked his chin toward the right.

Sam spotted her easily. Dark red hair. White skin. Despite her mask, she was easily recognizable—at least to a Dom who’d run his hands all over her beautifully curved body. What the hell was she doing? A hard-core sadist, Edward had a good technique with a single-tail, but… “He’s no Dom, and she’s submissive.”

“Yeah? She told Raoul she didn’t want a Dom—or you.”

The words sliced through his flesh like a fillet knife. “Then why the hell did you point her out?”

“All her fire at just hearing your name? You got unresolved business there, buddy.”

Not any revelation, at least on Sam’s side. But she wasn’t going to let him close enough to do anything about it.

Cullen was laughing.

“What’s so goddamned funny?”

“Check out the scene.” Cullen nodded to the cross. “That’s one frustrated subbie.”

Sam looked again. Linda’s back was to the room as Edward used a cane on her jeans-covered ass. Gorgeous body. Maybe not to the fools who wanted their women young and tight and bland. No, Linda’s body was past prime. Soft. The highlighted streaks in her hair were probably there to cover up the gray. He remembered she had fine wrinkles beside her mouth, on her neck. And he wanted her with every cell in his body.

With a grunt of annoyance, he shut his dick down and studied her. Cullen’s comment held truth. She was flinching from the blows. Not welcoming them. In the way a woman might be unable to have an orgasm, the sweet masochist wasn’t hitting the place that would let her ride the pain. Why? Sam watched awhile longer, and his jaw tightened. “She doesn’t trust him enough to go with it. And he’s not dominant enough to break through to her.”

“That’s my take.”

Sam saw Z approaching the scene. The owner of the Shadowlands rarely interrupted a session…unless he felt the play was harmful to the submissive. And that scene certainly wasn’t doing Linda any favors.

Sam pushed away from the bar and strode over to intercept him.

Z gave him a level look. “Samuel.”

He didn’t need to hear Z state what he already knew. “No, she doesn’t want to see me. But I’m the one she needs right now.”