The flogger struck again, and HurtMe screamed.

Lindsey cringed. She could never, ever take that kind of pain. Leave, stupid. Leave.

Her legs wouldn’t move, as if clamps held her feet to the floor. She had to watch. To see the way deVries moved from side to side, striking new areas, easing the blows, changing floggers.

HurtMe slid into subspace; deVries drew him back out. Steadily, the sadist worked the scene into an inevitable climax.

Lindsey’s heart thudded in time to the rising and falling of deVries’s arm. Watching the expressions on his face—the enjoyment, the power, the cruelty—she felt the wetness between her legs increase. The air itself thickened and heated until each breath was a struggle.

After delivering the final blows, deVries removed the clamps on HurtMe’s balls and nipples. Even as the masochist moaned at the influx of blood, the sadist picked up a cane.

God, he wouldn’t. Lindsey couldn’t help crossing her arms over her breasts in sympathy.

With a light in his eyes, deVries smacked the cane over HurtMe’s abused nipples and testicles and finally his straining cock.

Giving a high-wrenching groan, HurtMe came, shaking so hard the cross itself moved, and Lindsey couldn’t tell if his orgasm was from pain or pleasure.

As HurtMe sagged on the cross, Lindsey realized deVries was standing several feet from the man, smiling faintly…but not touching. That seemed odd. When Lindsey came—every time she climaxed—deVries had crushed himself against her as if to let his body absorb every shake and quiver. She licked her dry lips and shifted her thoughts away.

Working methodically, deVries released the masochist and helped him sit on the floor with a blanket around his shoulders. Talking in a soft voice, he handed HurtMe a bottle of water and made sure he drank.

Lindsey frowned as she watched deVries clean the equipment and pack his bag while tending HurtMe with a firm kindness, much as her father had cared for a horse in labor.

HurtMe’s face showed open desire. Despite his hard-on, deVries showed nothing of the sort.

“Are you okay?” Rona asked. A Dark Haven staff member stood beside her.

“I’m confused,” Lindsey whispered.

“Not surprising.” Rona squeezed her shoulder. “Come on. Show’s over.”

“Right.” Her body still burned. Needing…needing something and someone it wasn’t going to receive.

“Lindsey,” Rona prompted, “Xavier sent MaryAnn down to get me. He wants me to check out a submissive who’s bleeding.”

“Go on. I’ll meet you in a bit.” As soon as I can get my body to move. As Rona hurried off after the staff member, Lindsey looked back at the scene.

Having helped HurtMe to his feet, deVries motioned for two of the masochist’s friends to approach.

HurtMe shook his head, set his palms on the sadist’s chest, and leaned forward to whisper.

Lindsey flinched, wanting to smack the masochist and rip his hands away.

No. Not mine. DeVries isn’t mine.

When deVries got a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding scowl, HurtMe lifted his hands, whining, “But, but Master. I want—”

“No, boy. That’s not going to happen.” As deVries turned his back, HurtMe’s friends escorted him away.

Stunned, Lindsey stared. What was that about?

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, deVries glanced over the dispersing audience.

Oh shit. Lindsey edged sideways to retreat.

Too late. His potent stare trapped her, held her in place. His regard traveled from her face down her body and back up. His eyes narrowed.

Then his lips curved…as if he’d won a prize.

Oh, that’s bad. Lindsey sucked in a breath and forced her feet to move. I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t do this again.

She dodged a Master attaching a harness to his pony-slave and had to stop for a submissive kneeling before her Mistress. Finally the way was clear.

A powerful hand closed on her shoulder. “Going somewhere, pet?”

He turned her, forcing her to face her most wonderful dream, most savage heartache. Heather-gray eyes bored right into her soul and twisted every aching emotion.

“I—I was just watching.” When she strove to ease away, his grip tightened. “I’m sorry if my presence bothered you.”

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Nope. Bothered you, though. I could feel the heat from over there. All excited are you?”

The blood rushed into her face with an almost audible whoosh. “I’m not—”

“Oh baby,” he murmured. “You are.” He slid his hand under her chin, tilting her head for a leisurely perusal. “Seems like watching me hurt someone arouses you.” His voice deepened and dug holes through the barriers she’d raised. “Yeah?”

Couldn’t run. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t lie. Not to him. Even the abject humiliation she felt didn’t prevent her nod.

His hand dropped, the gray in his eyes lightened to green, and the harsh lines bracketing his mouth smoothed into a smile. Hellfire, her heart could resist his irritation, his scowls—not his smiles. With merely his expression, he’d hobbled her like a horse prevented from straying, keeping her where she could be touched. Used.

When he took her hand, she instinctively struggled to pull away. He snorted. “Oh Tex, you know better than that.” With his eyes holding the heat of the previous scene, he wrapped her hair around his fist. “Come with me.”

“No,” she whispered. He kept moving. “Damn you!” She dug in her heels. “Stop.”

To her surprise, he did. Still controlling her hair, he put his other hand on her cheek, and the juxtaposition of control and tenderness wrenched her heart. “Let’s talk. A few minutes. Can you give me that?”

Why did she long to offer him anything he asked for? Knowing her agreement would only lead to more pain, she still nodded.

“Thank you, pet, for the trust.” He touched his mouth to hers—a gentle graze of lips.

To her horror, he steered her into a theme room and closed the door before releasing her.

Lordy, the harem room. She’d looked in a few times, yet never entered. Breathing in the heady fragrance of sandalwood, she turned in a circle. Over her head, dark blue silk draperies angled from the center point of the ceiling to high on the walls and dropped straight down to give the illusion of an opulent tent. A wrought iron screen attached to one wall held ready-to-use wrist and ankle cuffs. “How about we talk upstairs instead?” Where the atmosphere didn’t whisper decadence.

Although his lips twitched, his gaze stayed serious. He took a seat on an ornately carved wooden bench and pulled her between his outstretched legs, holding her hands in his. “You saw the scene with HurtMe?”

She nodded.

“I know you don’t like that level of pain, Lindsey, but, when you watched, what were you thinking?”

“I—” She looked away, trying to think.

“Look at me.” When she met his intense gaze, he said, “Now tell me. All of it. I won’t be angry, but I need to know, pet.”

“I was glad it wasn’t me under your flogger.” She started with the easy answer.

His gaze never left her face as he nodded. And waited.

“Um. I was a little”— a lot—“jealous he and you could share that.”

“All right. Go on.”

“I was…” She didn’t want to confess more. Her throat dried, making the words stick and jumble.

Silence.

“It…it was hot. What you did.”

One side of his mouth tilted up.

Did he think she was silly? Stupid? Anger slid into the unhappiness welling inside her. “You walked away from him. Shouldn’t you be with him now? To finish…” Maybe even to fuck him. The thought made her throat close.

A vertical crease appeared on his forehead. She remembered how she would trace her finger up the tiny valley between his brows.

“Finish what?” he asked. “The scene was over. He doesn’t require much aftercare; he got what he needed.”

“But he wants more. And HurtMe said you were…” She flushed. Aw heck, she’d known. HurtMe hadn’t told her the truth. Or—even worse—he had told her his truth. Maybe that was why she’d been confused—because he actually thought he and deVries had something going on. Regrettably deVries didn’t have a clue.

“What…exactly…did HurtMe say?” His eyes hardened.

Oh spit. “He thought you used me to make him jealous.”

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” The expression on deVries’s face went from blank to comprehension to irritation.

She wet her lips and spoke carefully. Time for really, really clear speech. “You’re not—weren’t—in a relationship with HurtMe?”

DeVries snorted. “I don’t do guys.” He let her hands go, catching her hips before she could retreat. “If I wanted to fuck men, I would, babe. My dick prefers women.”

“You had an erection during your scene.”

He dug his fingers into her buttocks, pulling her closer. “I’m a sadist, and dishing out pain makes me hard.” He shook his head. “When I was younger, I tried reaming a guy or two. Doesn’t do it for me.”

“But…”

With one big hand curved around her thigh, he used the other to unzip her latex shirt. A hum of enjoyment came from him. “I like breasts,” he murmured, taking one in his hand, weighing it, stroking his thumb over her nipple, sending random flares lighting up her body. “I like cunt. The way you smell. The softness. The sound of a woman’s voice when she gets off.”

He wasn’t upset. Not trying to prove something. Just stating the facts with an undeniable conviction. This was deVries. He knew himself. Knew what he liked.

“I think you should talk with HurtMe.” No matter how much he’d added to her upset, normally the masochist was a nice guy. Perhaps confused. “I know emotions can get muddled when two people scene together and make such a connection. He believes there’s more between you than there is.”