Oh God. She swallowed against a dry throat. “Yes, Sir.”
“Now let’s see where your threshold lies. Tell me when something actually hurts. Not fun pain but hurts, eh?”
She trembled, the fluttering working its way outward. Her skin felt hot, her insides cold.
Galen walked around her in a Dom’s inspection of his naked submissive. She stayed silent, feeling herself sink further into the happy state of no control.
He ran a finger down her arm, stroked over her shoulders, fondled her buttocks. Firm fingers, hard hand. “Very nice.”
Once in front of her, he cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. A smile played along his lips as he pinched one nipple and the other. The tugging sensation was wonderful. Her toes curled.
Then he increased the pressure to where it hurt.
A squeak escaped her.
He didn’t ease up. “Does that hurt, Sally?”
She nodded. Her eyes filled.
“Why don’t you say so?”
She stared at him. Admit that something hurt? She just didn’t. And how stupid is that? “It hurts,” she whispered.
“There you go.” He rubbed her nipples to reduce the sting. “Do you think the world will come to an end if you tell someone you hurt?”
“No.” But she felt odd. Tense. As if he’d…be crueler now that he knew.
“Physical and emotional?” His eyes narrowed, growing darker. Sterner. “Who used to hurt you, pet? Who made it so you didn’t want to admit to hurting?”
She couldn’t answer. Her brain ceased to function, as if someone had pulled her power plug and shut down the processor.
“Hell,” Galen said under his breath. He took her wrists, put them around her waist, and pulled her into his arms.
Shuddering, she sagged against him. Cold currents swirled through her like an insane whirlpool. But in his firm embrace, she knew she wouldn’t spiral out of control. He had her. As his body warmth poured into her, she gave a tiny sigh and laid her cheek against the solid wall of his chest.
“Vance?” Galen murmured. “Ideas?”
“You didn’t have siblings, pard,” Vance answered. “Sally, think back. Do you remember saying, ‘You can’t make me hurt.’” His voice was high. Young. Defiant.
Familiar.
“I-I said that to my brother.” Her voice came out high and hesitant. She’d never said it to her father—just thought it so many times.
“Go on.” Galen flattened his hands on her back, confining her against him.
She was silent.
A touch on her cheek broke her paralysis. She opened her eyes and found Vance beside her. “You didn’t want your brother to think he could hurt you?” His gaze was understanding. “Or make you cry, right?”
She nodded. “He made fun of me if I cried.” His taunts were somehow worse than the occasional pain, somehow making it clearer that her mother’s death had destroyed her family as well.
“What did he do to make you cry, sweetheart?” Vance’s hand was gentle on her face.
“He would push me sometimes. If I got in his way,” she whispered. Cold Iowa winter. Ice on the sidewalk. A narrow, shoveled path between the house and barn. Two could squeeze by—or one could be shoved out of the way.
“Did he hit you?” Galen’s voice was almost a growl.
“Not…really.” Not Tate. A slap on the back at the school as he pretended he’d been congratulating her for her test scores, but the spot had burned. “But…Tate just didn’t like me.”
“And your father?” Vance asked quietly.
She closed her eyes, unable to tolerate his keen gaze. Because… On the rare occasions that she talked too much or asked for something or complained, her father would slap her. Because he hated her. Hated her. She realized she was shaking and pushed at Galen. “Let me go!”
“Shhh,” Galen said. “We’re stopping now, baby girl.” He took a step back and sat on the couch, pulling her with him.
Even as he adjusted her position on his lap, she realized how careful he was being with her injuries. And she didn’t care. “Let me go,” she said again. “I don’t want to—”
“Settle, pet.” Even as he rubbed his chin on the top of her head, his steel-hard arm remained around her waist. “No more questions. You’ve worked hard enough for now.”
Settle. She wasn’t going to settle. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to remember things.
He was talking to Vance in a low voice, finishing with, “I set her off. I’ll hold her for a bit. Make us both feel better.”
A hand ruffled her hair, and somehow she recognized Vance’s touch. “I’ll be back in a while.”
His footsteps faded. Galen didn’t move, and his concern filtered through her cold shell, into the ice that filled her insides. Muscle by muscle, she slowly relaxed against him.
“That’s better,” he murmured. He snuggled her to him even more closely. “I’m sorry, Sally. It isn’t easy to face what has happened in the past. But whatever happens, I’ll be here to hold you afterward.” He kissed her temple gently. “Whether you want me to or not.”
Doms. Demon Doms. How could he be stern one minute and so comforting the next? She gave a little sigh and put her arm around his waist. Under her cheek, his heartbeat was as slow and measured as the Gregorian chants played in the Shadowlands, and each thud dissipated more of her memories.
He rubbed his chin over the top of her head, teasing her with the scent of his rich aftershave, and she remembered another occasion she’d been close enough to smell that hint of lavender—when she’d been tied to a table in the Shadowlands. He’d been touching her. His gaze intent on hers…as she came.
God, she’d never orgasmed like that before. Never felt so exposed as she did.
A shiver ran through her at the memory…and with a small jolt, she realized she was still naked. On his lap.
She traced her fingers over his crisp shirt…and the contoured muscles of his chest. God, he reminded her of an all-black leopard she’d seen—sleek and powerful. Every time Galen moved, she could feel his muscles ripple under the skin. She stroked up his chest, almost mesmerized by the valley between his pectorals, the dip at the hollow of his throat, how his deltoids transformed into rock-hard biceps. She pressed closer.
His arm around her tightened, and she felt the power of his eyes on her. The silence from him seemed to grow, taking on an almost palpable weight. “Give me a kiss, Sally.”
A kiss—a kiss with Galen? With his directive, she was suddenly aware of how her breasts were flattened on his chest and how his hand cupped her bottom. His hands were calloused…and she wanted those hands elsewhere. Covering her pussy. Pushing inside her. A kiss. When she curled one hand around his nape, his thick hair teased her fingers. She tipped her head up to press her mouth against his.
He took control immediately. Good God, the man could kiss. Deep and hot and panty wetting. Only she didn’t have on panties.
His tongue tangled with hers, pushed deep, retreated, lured hers into the play. When he sucked on her bottom lip, she felt the pull low in her core. He did nothing but enjoy her, choosing different angles, taking his time, going nowhere.
And where ice had reigned, a fire started to build. An urgency. She was naked; he should be too.
With one hand, she tried to unbutton his shirt. She’d reached the second one before he noticed.
He glanced down, a snort escaped him, and he muttered, “You’re definitely an imp.” After setting her on her feet—holding her until she found her balance—he rose. His voice louder than normal, he called, “Vance.”
Before she could move, he captured her wrists, putting her arms behind her back. The position arched her back—and pushed her breasts out. Holding her firmly, he kissed her again, even as he rubbed his chest against her breasts. The stiff material abraded her jutting nipples, making her pussy dampen.
Finished, he glanced over her shoulder. And smiled.
Vance’s big hand replaced Galen’s as he pressed against her from behind, warming her skin with his body. Reaching around, he flattened his free hand over her breast, sending need clawing through her in jagged patterns.
Galen took her face between his palms, tipping his hand to avoid her bruise, and took himself another kiss, a totally demanding one, while Vance held her for him, not letting her move.
God, God, God. The unyielding hands on her wrists, the plunder of her mouth—her insides liquefied like butter on a summer sidewalk.
Vance reached around to tease her nipples into rigid peaks.
Her knees simply buckled.
Laughing, Galen grabbed her waist and held her up until she could stand again. “You kiss like a wet dream,” he said. “Enjoy for a bit, Vance.”
Vance didn’t release her wrists; instead he fisted his free hand in her hair, pulling her head back and back until he had her arched far enough he could capture her lips.
Different was all she could think. Galen…took, demanded, plundered, but Vance was simply overwhelming, swamping her in sensation.
She was standing on one leg; the toes of her injured leg were barely touching the floor to help her balance.
“Now let’s see where your threshold lies. Tell me when something actually hurts. Not fun pain but hurts, eh?”
She trembled, the fluttering working its way outward. Her skin felt hot, her insides cold.
Galen walked around her in a Dom’s inspection of his naked submissive. She stayed silent, feeling herself sink further into the happy state of no control.
He ran a finger down her arm, stroked over her shoulders, fondled her buttocks. Firm fingers, hard hand. “Very nice.”
Once in front of her, he cupped her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. A smile played along his lips as he pinched one nipple and the other. The tugging sensation was wonderful. Her toes curled.
Then he increased the pressure to where it hurt.
A squeak escaped her.
He didn’t ease up. “Does that hurt, Sally?”
She nodded. Her eyes filled.
“Why don’t you say so?”
She stared at him. Admit that something hurt? She just didn’t. And how stupid is that? “It hurts,” she whispered.
“There you go.” He rubbed her nipples to reduce the sting. “Do you think the world will come to an end if you tell someone you hurt?”
“No.” But she felt odd. Tense. As if he’d…be crueler now that he knew.
“Physical and emotional?” His eyes narrowed, growing darker. Sterner. “Who used to hurt you, pet? Who made it so you didn’t want to admit to hurting?”
She couldn’t answer. Her brain ceased to function, as if someone had pulled her power plug and shut down the processor.
“Hell,” Galen said under his breath. He took her wrists, put them around her waist, and pulled her into his arms.
Shuddering, she sagged against him. Cold currents swirled through her like an insane whirlpool. But in his firm embrace, she knew she wouldn’t spiral out of control. He had her. As his body warmth poured into her, she gave a tiny sigh and laid her cheek against the solid wall of his chest.
“Vance?” Galen murmured. “Ideas?”
“You didn’t have siblings, pard,” Vance answered. “Sally, think back. Do you remember saying, ‘You can’t make me hurt.’” His voice was high. Young. Defiant.
Familiar.
“I-I said that to my brother.” Her voice came out high and hesitant. She’d never said it to her father—just thought it so many times.
“Go on.” Galen flattened his hands on her back, confining her against him.
She was silent.
A touch on her cheek broke her paralysis. She opened her eyes and found Vance beside her. “You didn’t want your brother to think he could hurt you?” His gaze was understanding. “Or make you cry, right?”
She nodded. “He made fun of me if I cried.” His taunts were somehow worse than the occasional pain, somehow making it clearer that her mother’s death had destroyed her family as well.
“What did he do to make you cry, sweetheart?” Vance’s hand was gentle on her face.
“He would push me sometimes. If I got in his way,” she whispered. Cold Iowa winter. Ice on the sidewalk. A narrow, shoveled path between the house and barn. Two could squeeze by—or one could be shoved out of the way.
“Did he hit you?” Galen’s voice was almost a growl.
“Not…really.” Not Tate. A slap on the back at the school as he pretended he’d been congratulating her for her test scores, but the spot had burned. “But…Tate just didn’t like me.”
“And your father?” Vance asked quietly.
She closed her eyes, unable to tolerate his keen gaze. Because… On the rare occasions that she talked too much or asked for something or complained, her father would slap her. Because he hated her. Hated her. She realized she was shaking and pushed at Galen. “Let me go!”
“Shhh,” Galen said. “We’re stopping now, baby girl.” He took a step back and sat on the couch, pulling her with him.
Even as he adjusted her position on his lap, she realized how careful he was being with her injuries. And she didn’t care. “Let me go,” she said again. “I don’t want to—”
“Settle, pet.” Even as he rubbed his chin on the top of her head, his steel-hard arm remained around her waist. “No more questions. You’ve worked hard enough for now.”
Settle. She wasn’t going to settle. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to remember things.
He was talking to Vance in a low voice, finishing with, “I set her off. I’ll hold her for a bit. Make us both feel better.”
A hand ruffled her hair, and somehow she recognized Vance’s touch. “I’ll be back in a while.”
His footsteps faded. Galen didn’t move, and his concern filtered through her cold shell, into the ice that filled her insides. Muscle by muscle, she slowly relaxed against him.
“That’s better,” he murmured. He snuggled her to him even more closely. “I’m sorry, Sally. It isn’t easy to face what has happened in the past. But whatever happens, I’ll be here to hold you afterward.” He kissed her temple gently. “Whether you want me to or not.”
Doms. Demon Doms. How could he be stern one minute and so comforting the next? She gave a little sigh and put her arm around his waist. Under her cheek, his heartbeat was as slow and measured as the Gregorian chants played in the Shadowlands, and each thud dissipated more of her memories.
He rubbed his chin over the top of her head, teasing her with the scent of his rich aftershave, and she remembered another occasion she’d been close enough to smell that hint of lavender—when she’d been tied to a table in the Shadowlands. He’d been touching her. His gaze intent on hers…as she came.
God, she’d never orgasmed like that before. Never felt so exposed as she did.
A shiver ran through her at the memory…and with a small jolt, she realized she was still naked. On his lap.
She traced her fingers over his crisp shirt…and the contoured muscles of his chest. God, he reminded her of an all-black leopard she’d seen—sleek and powerful. Every time Galen moved, she could feel his muscles ripple under the skin. She stroked up his chest, almost mesmerized by the valley between his pectorals, the dip at the hollow of his throat, how his deltoids transformed into rock-hard biceps. She pressed closer.
His arm around her tightened, and she felt the power of his eyes on her. The silence from him seemed to grow, taking on an almost palpable weight. “Give me a kiss, Sally.”
A kiss—a kiss with Galen? With his directive, she was suddenly aware of how her breasts were flattened on his chest and how his hand cupped her bottom. His hands were calloused…and she wanted those hands elsewhere. Covering her pussy. Pushing inside her. A kiss. When she curled one hand around his nape, his thick hair teased her fingers. She tipped her head up to press her mouth against his.
He took control immediately. Good God, the man could kiss. Deep and hot and panty wetting. Only she didn’t have on panties.
His tongue tangled with hers, pushed deep, retreated, lured hers into the play. When he sucked on her bottom lip, she felt the pull low in her core. He did nothing but enjoy her, choosing different angles, taking his time, going nowhere.
And where ice had reigned, a fire started to build. An urgency. She was naked; he should be too.
With one hand, she tried to unbutton his shirt. She’d reached the second one before he noticed.
He glanced down, a snort escaped him, and he muttered, “You’re definitely an imp.” After setting her on her feet—holding her until she found her balance—he rose. His voice louder than normal, he called, “Vance.”
Before she could move, he captured her wrists, putting her arms behind her back. The position arched her back—and pushed her breasts out. Holding her firmly, he kissed her again, even as he rubbed his chest against her breasts. The stiff material abraded her jutting nipples, making her pussy dampen.
Finished, he glanced over her shoulder. And smiled.
Vance’s big hand replaced Galen’s as he pressed against her from behind, warming her skin with his body. Reaching around, he flattened his free hand over her breast, sending need clawing through her in jagged patterns.
Galen took her face between his palms, tipping his hand to avoid her bruise, and took himself another kiss, a totally demanding one, while Vance held her for him, not letting her move.
God, God, God. The unyielding hands on her wrists, the plunder of her mouth—her insides liquefied like butter on a summer sidewalk.
Vance reached around to tease her nipples into rigid peaks.
Her knees simply buckled.
Laughing, Galen grabbed her waist and held her up until she could stand again. “You kiss like a wet dream,” he said. “Enjoy for a bit, Vance.”
Vance didn’t release her wrists; instead he fisted his free hand in her hair, pulling her head back and back until he had her arched far enough he could capture her lips.
Different was all she could think. Galen…took, demanded, plundered, but Vance was simply overwhelming, swamping her in sensation.
She was standing on one leg; the toes of her injured leg were barely touching the floor to help her balance.
