Afterward maybe she'd do some shopping for next Friday. She could get something sexy. And, oh, Dios, how did a person go about shaving private parts?
That master of the trainees was awfully demanding. Her lips curved. And she loved it. The way his voice would drop when he… Her gaze caught on the knitting basket under the chair. If Papa would have hated the girly hobby, what would he think about the Shadowlands?
Her skin seemed to chill. He'd had taught her to stand up for herself, to knock down anyone who tried to push her around. And here she was, almost begging someone to dominate her. Papa would hate her for this.
She lifted her chin. He'd taken enough from her life. He wouldn't take this too.
* * *
Andrea managed to get one step into the room when the noise of the Shadowlands burst over her like a vat of hot oil, scalding in its intensity. Screams, cries of climax, shouted commands. Deep, throbbing music mingled with slapping sounds and moans. Just past the crowded dance floor, a female Domme used an oversize paddle on a man chained to a St. Andrew's cross.
The muscles in Andrea's butt tightened as she remembered how Master Cullen had walloped her with one. Why did people say that it felt erotic? It had hurt.
Well, first things first. She needed to check in with the boss. Maybe he wouldn't punish her for her lateness. She eyed the paddle-wielder. Surely Master Cullen wouldn't do that again. Considering the news had reported the massive pile-up on the Parkway, and anyone coming from the Tampa area would arrive late, he'd probably cut her a break.
Inhaling a breath for courage, she noticed how the scent of sweat and leather, pain and sex overwhelmed the fainter fragrances of cologne and perfumes. Shaking her head—Antonio was right; I should have picked an easier kink—she headed for the huge circular bar in the center of the room.
The roped-off scene areas were busy already: a tall, thin woman spanking a hefty man tied to a sawhorse, a man in a stockade being caned, a Dom holding a candle over his sub's naked body.
Andrea winced at the last one even as she stopped to watch. She'd never had hot wax dripped on her girlie bits. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? From the sweat beading on the sub's face and her rapid breathing, she'd climax soon—apparently, for her, hot wax was good. Maybe I'll get a chance to find out.
But would she trust someone that far?
The crowd had all migrated away from the bar, leaving only a few people chatting, some drinking alone. Andrea smiled at the sight of a white-haired man in a black suit feeding pineapple slices to an elderly woman in a shiny blue collar. The couple must be at least seventy years old.
Master Cullen's deep laugh rang out, and Andrea felt her spirits lift. People around him always had a good time. Why couldn't she be so relaxed and gregarious?
She waited at the part of the bar the servers used and watched him talk with a Domme, giving her advice on discipline. Ay caray, he was big, but so perfectly proportioned and muscled, a person wouldn't notice until Señor stood next to someone else. His darkly tanned arms were only a few shades lighter than his brown leather vest. His incredibly broad shoulders made his butt look small. Of course the way the leather pants fit over—
He turned then, and although she looked up quickly, he'd obviously seen the direction of her gaze. He smiled, and the impact of his penetrating stare pushed her back a step.
“About time.” He ducked out from behind the bar. After resting a hip on a bar stool, he checked out her attire, then made a circling motion with his finger for her to spin in place.
The rest of the people at the bar turned to watch, and her cheeks flared with heat. She might have models' height, but she sure didn't have their slenderness. And she'd tried hard to wear something Señor would like which meant skimpy clothing. She'd chosen a black latex top like a running bra, and matching shorts that rode low on her hips and stopped just past her butt cheeks. If she bent over, well, he could see that—
“Bend over,” he said.
“What?” She took a step back.
The smile disappeared. “Wrong answer, sub. I'd thought to be nice, but… No matter. I'll enjoy this more, as will everyone else.” He paused long enough for all the blood to rush out of her head. “Drop the shorts. I want to see if you obeyed my instructions from last week.”
Mierda. No friendliness showed in his face now, just a Dom's utter self-confidence and authority.
She didn't hesitate even though her fingers trembled as she unzipped the shorts. She wiggled them down. And exposed her newly shaven pussy.
He didn't say anything for a very, very long minute, letting the people at the bar look their fill. “Good job,” he said. “Zip on up.”
Her breath released in a relieved sigh, and she hastened to pull her shorts up. A minute ago, they'd felt way too skimpy; now they seemed wonderfully covering.
He waited until she'd finished, then said, “You'll be handling the buffet-side area with Heather, and will have the end of the night free again. Before you start though, Master Z wants to speak to you.” Cullen pointed. “He's over by the stockade.”
Master Z? She bit her lip and rubbed her suddenly clammy hands on her thighs. He planned to kick her out, didn't he? But she didn't want to leave. She'd learned so much about herself and the thought of never coming here again…never seeing her Señor… “Did I do something wrong, Master Cullen? Is he… Do I have to quit?”
His dark green eyes softened. He rose and set his big hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “No, sweetie, he's not going to ask you to quit. This is just a talk. Master Z checks in with all the members off and on, especially the trainees. He considers you under his care and protection.”
The rush of relief made her head spin. But Master Z? “Not your care? Señor?”
Cullen's eyes crinkled, and he bent his head until his lips paused only a breath away from hers. “Mine too, Andrea,” he whispered, and then kissed her, long and slow and deep. Her knees sagged, and he had to pull her against him to hold her up. Everything about him was massive and hard, from his iron arms around her waist to the erection pressing against her stomach.
When he released her, she could only stare at him. Christos, but no one had ever kissed her like that before. The floor rocked like she was a small boat swamped by a killer wave.
He tapped her cheek with a finger. “Master Z, little sub. Go talk.”
As he walked away, she tried to push the buzzing out of her brain and think clearly, but arousal still fizzed through her veins. Want more kisses, her body said. She hauled in a breath, then another. Master Z. By the stockade. She walked that direction, relieved she was barefoot. The way her legs wobbled, high heels would have killed her.
The Shadowlands owner occupied a couch as he watched the nearby scene where a woman had her head and hands locked down in the stockade. Her gray-haired Domme tossed the woman's skirt up and lifted a thin stick with something flattened at the end. What an interesting-looking cane.
Master Z must have noticed her frown. “It's called a crop.” He rose to his feet, a sleek and smoothly groomed man, the direct opposite of Master Cullen who always had the disheveled appearance of someone who'd recently beat the stuffing out of someone. And yet, as with Señor, power radiated from Master Z like a furnace on a cold day.
“Please have a seat.” He joined her on the couch, totally at ease. One arm rested across the back cushion as he turned toward her, and his face in the shadowy light looked lean and dangerous. He didn't scare her, but he really, really made her nervous.
“Relax,” he murmured. “I've already had my quota of pretty subs for breakfast.” His smile lightened his dark eyes and made him…almost…human. “You had two days of being a trainee, then a week to think. You returned.” He paused.
She nodded.
“So, little one, did you enjoy being disciplined? Tied to the St. Andrew's cross? Your body made available to someone you'd just met?”
She licked her lips, feeling her face redden. “I…” Her chin came up. If she wanted to do it, then she should acknowledge that. “Yes, Sir. I did.”
“Brave girl.” He studied her. “And when Master Marcus roused you, did you want more?”
Dios, she could still remember the way she'd felt, how her whole body had craved his touch. His hands on her had seemed wrong somehow, and yet, if he'd continued much longer, he'd have had her begging. “Yes, Sir.”
“Well, then.” He picked up her wrist, one finger rubbing her cuff. “Are you ready for a green ribbon?”
The question blindsided her. Although now that she examined the conversation, she saw he'd planned to arrive at this question all along. To this. Basically, did she want sex included as part of her training? “It could be anyone in the club? I don't have any say over it?”
“You always have a safe word, kitten.” His eyes were gray, she remembered. Dark gray, not black. “But any Master here can take you. Anyone else has to ask Master Cullen for permission. Only Master Cullen or I can give you to someone who isn't a Master.”
Any Master could have sex with me. She hadn't even met them all yet. But the ones she'd met were truly dominant. Unlike the Doms at the downtown clubs, she hadn't considered arguing with either Master Marcus or Master Dan. And she wanted that domination.
But to go further? Put on a green ribbon?