Cherise Sinclair - The Dom's Dungeon

“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.

Once downstairs, she set her suitcase in the foyer and headed for the family room.

“MacKensie.” Alex appeared in the door of the bathroom. Shirtless. Her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest. “Excellent timing. Come here, please.”

Coldness swept through her.

He waited.

She hesitated, then realized his face wasn't flushed with lust. She chanced a quick look lower; he wasn't hard. “Excuse me?” Be polite but stay out of reach . She straightened her spine and marched forward to stand in front of him. “What happened to the discussion in the family room?” With you fully dressed.

“Soon. First, I have a favor to ask of you.”

She hadn't been wrong about him after all. Here came the proposition. “What?”

He huffed a laugh. “Such a suspicious mind. Little vet, can you handle the sight of human blood?”

Not waiting for her answer, Alex led the way into the bathroom, letting the bloodstained bandage on his back speak for itself. After a second, she followed him in.

As he handed her the first-aid kit he'd brought from the dungeon, his eyes narrowed. That blank look, like a human whiteboard wiped of emotion, had returned the minute she'd seen his bare chest. She definitely had a problem. Noting a sub's responses was as automatic as breathing to a Dom, and her reaction to being punished—and to him—had been equivocal. Her quite understandable fury had also included an unmistakable need to submit. But the blank look, like the one she wore now, hadn't appeared until he'd asked about why she'd run from a Dom. He angled himself so he could watch her face in the wall mirror as she worked.