Excerpt:
Her nerves yammering as if she’d fallen into a gang war, Andrea sipped her Seven and Seven. “Stay there, Andrea,” Master Cullen had said after handing her the drink, and then he’d walked away.
His leaving had been such a relief. Dios mío, she hadn’t expected Antonio’s friend to completely overwhelm her. She shivered, remembering the feel of his hand in her hair, how he’d held her in place. That…control…had sent thrills through her like a downed power line. Totally what she wanted -- talk about instant domination -- so why did it terrify her at the same time?
Because he was too much. She’d expected the trainer to be…well, more commanding than the Doms in the club. Someone who’d give her a quiver inside -- not one who turned her willpower to goo.
She snorted. Antonio would probably call this “The Story of Rambolita and the Three Doms.” The Dom at the club didn’t have enough, this Dom here had too much -- way too much -- so maybe the next one would be just right? Well, the ritzy Shadowlands gave her the best chance at meeting Dom Just Right, so no matter how intimidating Master Cullen got and how much he wanted her to leave, she’d be the greatest trainee he’d ever had. Her shoulders straightened.
She took another sip, and the leather cuffs he’d put on her caught her eye. They felt soft inside, yet snug, like a man’s hands firmly wrapped around her wrists. A scary -- exciting -- feeling.
She was here. Doing what she’d dreamed about. Dios help me.
Pulling her gaze away from the cuffs, she took the time Master Cullen had given her and looked around. As intimidating inside as it appeared outside. She shook her head, remembering her first sight of the place. The massive three-story stone building with heavy oak doors and black wrought-iron trim had looked like a medieval castle dropped into the swampy Florida countryside.
Inside, the clubroom took up the entire bottom floor. The oblong bar of dark wood where she sat held ownership of the center of the room. A long table of munchies occupied one back corner and a small dance floor, the other. The light from wrought-iron sconces flickered over the equipment near the walls: St. Andrew’s crosses, spanking benches, sawhorses, and stockades. Each within a more brightly lit, roped-off area. Rich leather couches and chairs created sitting areas where people could watch the scenes or just talk.
Everything in the place shouted rich, rich, rich and made her feel like she might get dirt on something.
The thud of footsteps sounded in the silent bar, and Master Cullen appeared on the stairs in the far corner. As he crossed the room toward her, she studied him, and her fingers tightened on her glass. Some men moved like cats, some like soldiers, some like they’d never mastered walking, but she’d never seen his style before. Not in a man…
Last year when hiking in Colorado, she’d witnessed a mountain avalanche. Carrying everything away in its path, the avalanche hadn’t been graceful, but all that power had been stunningly beautiful.
She took a hefty swallow of her drink as he drew closer. In faded leathers and boots, he sure wasn’t a clotheshorse like Antonio, and he was sure a lot bigger. The brown leather pants clung to long legs, and his vest opened over a thickly muscled chest. His neck was corded, his arms solid. A gold band circled one darkly tanned biceps. His face… She frowned. All rough lines and craggy bones, he looked like a hard-edged Boromir from Lord of the Rings.
His mouth was set in a firm line. And didn’t that just figure she’d end up with Boromir? At least Aragorn had a sense of humor.
He stopped in front of her, and she looked up and even farther up, feeling like a tiny hobbit seeing a troll for the first time. No man had ever towered over her like this or made her feel so unsettled. Did short women feel like this? She started to stand -- never let them see you vulnerable -- and he set his hand on her shoulder, keeping her in place. Easily.
She swallowed against the heat that swept through her.
His eyes crinkled slightly as if he could see the effect he’d had on her. “Your papers said you’d been in a couple of the Tampa clubs before -- and we’ll discuss your experiences at a later time -- but I was curious. Did any of the subs mistake you for a Domme?”
Oh, did they ever. In one place, a man in a chain harness had dropped to his knees, saying “This one begs the honor of --” Andrea grimaced. Just because she stood a good five feet ten and had some -- okay, lots -- of muscle didn’t mean she was a femdom. It just meant she owned a cleaning agency and spent her days working hard. “They did. Um, yes, Sir.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“But --”
He held a finger up for silence, and a bit surprised at herself, she obeyed. Without asking, he unzipped her biker jacket and gave her a hard look when she squirmed. She wore only a bra beneath it.
“Little subs should never wear more clothing than Doms,” he said absently. His knuckles grazed the bare skin below her bra, and she jerked, earning another stern look.
He moved closer, gripping her nape, holding her still. His other hand removed the clips keeping her hair on top of her head. He tossed them on the bar. “You look and dress and act like the stereotype of a Domme.”
Her hair fell down, the uncontrollably curly strands brushing against her neck and shoulders. He finger-combed it out, leaving it messy. Tousled. “A trainee here must look like the very epitome of a submissive. You’re an example to the other subs in your attire and demeanor. In your obedience.”
Oh, great. She usually had trouble obeying -- well, maybe not with this Dom, but with others -- but she’d do it. “Yes, Sir.”
“Better. That sounds like a sub. Now let’s make you look like one.” He dropped some fabric into her hands. “Master Z keeps an assortment of play clothes in the private rooms upstairs. You’ll wear this tonight.”
Grasping her upper arms, he lifted her off the bar stool. “Change. And leave those kick-ass boots off.” Apparently he could smile after all, at least a bit. Sure didn’t help much.
She glanced around, spotted the restroom sign, and started in that direction.
“No, Andrea. Right here.”
In front of him? “Oh, Dios mío,” she whispered. Embarrassment swept through her, heating her face and neck. Glancing over, she realized he half expected her to refuse, and he wouldn’t particularly care if she did. Antonio had warned her the trainee boss had sworn up a blue streak at taking her on.
She shut her eyes and pulled in a breath. I knew I’d be asked to do stuff like this, so why is it so difficult? Difficult and yet…exciting.
She didn’t look at him as she struggled to get the jacket sleeves over her cuffs. Her biker jacket dropped to the floor, and she picked up what she hoped was a shirt. No such luck. He’d given her a black latex minidress, low cut with thin shoulder straps. Her pants wouldn’t work, and her bra would have to go too.
He leaned against the bar, his sea green eyes disconcertingly light in his tanned face, and crossed his arms over his chest. Waiting to see what she’d do, no doubt.
Would he kick her out if she turned her back to him? She couldn’t risk it. She bent and unzipped her boots, toed them off, then wiggled and peeled out of the latex pants, smelling the baby powder she’d used to get them on. As she draped them over a chair, sweat trickled down the hollow of her spine.
“The thong can stay,” he said.
She gritted her teeth and removed her bra. Chingalo, but she needed that bra. Her cantaloupe-sized breasts needed support.
Almost naked. Standing in the middle of a bar. And he sure was no gentleman since he hadn’t looked away. Why did this make her feel so terrified?
But she knew… The air moving over her naked skin felt far too much like…then. She could almost hear her shirt rip, feel the chain link fence cold against her back. Her schoolbooks had lain in the mud until the high school boys had kicked them out of the way. Carlos had grabbed her bared breast, and she’d punched his bony chin, crying as her fingers broke. Even as they backed off, the culeros had stared at her naked breasts, jeering, calling her a big, ugly puta. Puta.
Her spine stiffened. “You enjoying this?” she asked Carlos and his friends. “You want me to turn in a circle for you?”
“Excuse me?”
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