Cherise Sinclair - If only

Vance slid his fingers in and out. “Odd. Her pussy lie detector says she’s lying.”

Sally stared at him. “You can’t—can’t tell anything like that.”

“The technique isn’t one we’re allowed to research.” Vance smiled. “But it works fine.”

He couldn’t possibly tell if she lied. “Let me go.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Galen played with her breasts. The center of his palm was more calloused than Vance’s. Because of the cane?

She realized her not inconsiderable weight rested on his legs. “Let me up.” When he lifted his eyebrows, she lowered her voice. “I’ll hurt your leg.”

His hand stopped moving for a moment, and then he shook his head. “No, you won’t. The damage is already done—you’re not going to make it worse.” He smiled and touched her cheek. “I’m glad to know you care.”

“I don’t.” Angry she’d been so stupid, she tried to push his hand away. Shoving an eight-foot Wookiee would be easier.

“Haven’t you ever wanted a Dom at home to worry about you?” Vance asked. “To spank you for not carrying your cell phone? To push you to try harder? To force you to share what’s bothering you?”

Yes. At one time. Back when she was naive. Now, she really didn’t. “No.”

“Z did a piss-poor job of training you. I had a wife who lied constantly, and I have a low tolerance for it,” Vance said with disgust. “What part of honesty don’t you understand?”

Her chin came up. “I honestly don’t want to answer your questions.”

“No isn’t the answer we’re looking for.” Galen pinched her nipple, a short, painful reprimand.

She winced.

“You’re obviously comfortable with physical intimacy.” Galen ran his hand over her, proving his point. “Why are you so guarded with your thoughts?”

“I feel left out and worried if you don’t tell me what you feel,” Vance said, apparently trying to demonstrate how to share.

“I like you, Sally,” Galen said softly. “We’ve been watching you. Have wanted to play with you for quite a while. But we worry you. Why?”

“Don’t give yourself airs,” Sally snapped. “I’m not worried.”

“Lie,” Vance said softly. When his thumb brushed over her clit, she couldn’t help squirming.

“I talked to the other Masters about scenes they’ve done with you,” Galen said. “They’ve realized that, although you submitted physically, they’d never pushed past your emotional defenses. Never reached your feelings. Normally, that’s not a concern since deeper emotions are best explored by a long-term Dom.”

“Exactly. You’re not that, are you?” she muttered. How dare they talk to Cullen and Nolan and Dan and Raoul? The thought of them discussing her was…humiliating. Terrifying.

“No, we’re not.” Galen pushed her hair off her forehead, then laid his hand along her cheek to stop her from averting her face. “However, you have a problem other subs don’t. You’re not honest or even revealing a hint of your emotions. That’s disturbing, pet.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” she said. “Yeah, maybe I don’t meltdown after a scene like a PMSing teen without a prom date, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me. I enjoy playing. What more—”

“Enjoy playing?” Galen pinned her with those dark eyes again. “Then last week, why didn’t you tell Casey you weren’t getting anywhere?”

The question was an unexpected bull’s-eye. She stiffened.

“We’re not going to judge you, sweetheart,” Vance said. He sounded so…concerned. “Just tell us why.”

“I don’t know.” She blinked away the dampness in her eyes, her stomach twisting uneasily. What was wrong with her? “I just couldn’t.”

“All right, pet,” Galen said, his deep voice soothing. “Maybe you can make some guesses?”

Neither of them was going to back off.

Why had she let Casey continue? Usually, if a scene wasn’t working out, she’d annoy the Dom enough to end it early. But that evening… “I was just too tired to fight, I guess.”

Galen’s eyes narrowed. “To fight? Why would telling a Dom you weren’t into a scene have to be a battle?”

Her mouth opened. Closed.

“You never do tell them if a session isn’t working, do you?” Vance asked. “Instead you prod until the Dom gets annoyed and lets you go.”

Her cheeks felt too hot.

“Why, Sally?” Galen hadn’t moved, and yet she felt as if he was in her face. “We’re here to listen to what you have to say.”

His statement flattened her with its weight, compressing her chest and lungs. She couldn’t do anything right. Couldn’t even be a good submissive after so long. She began to fight Galen’s hold, and when he didn’t release her, she glared at him. “Red. Red, red, red. Let me go now.”

Galen lifted his hands. Vance moved back.

Sally jumped to her feet and snatched up her clothing.

Before she could run, Galen gripped her arm. “You safeworded, so I’m letting you go, but pet, the problem you have won’t disappear. Talk with someone about this. Master Z, if no one else.”

Never. “Just stay away from me. I don’t like you.” She glared at Vance. “Or you. Is that honest enough for you?” Wrenching her arm from Galen’s grasp, she fled.

Sally used her thumbs to tap in the phone number to the Shadowlands, winced, and frowned at her hand. Every nail was bitten down to the quick…and now a bit past. Ugh.

Sitting in the shade near the University of Central Florida’s reflecting pond, she tried to let the noise of the fountain calm her. Didn’t work. Even the stupid stubby St. Augustine grass annoyed her. In kindergarten, she and her best friend would roll down the tiny playground hill. But silky-soft northern grasses didn’t like Florida. No one would roll on this crap.

She used her index finger on the small cell-phone screen. Got to admit, short nails made it easier to type. But she really should stop chewing on herself. She’d thought she’d gotten past the nervous habit in college. Did they still sell that nasty stuff you could put on your nails?

“Sally, I’ve been worried about you.” The voice on the other end was deep, rich, and powerful.

Damn caller ID and double damn the call hadn’t gone to voice mail. Sally rolled her eyes. And didn’t that make this a typical Monday? In a totally crappy month. In fact, the entire season had sucked the big one. “Master Z, I appreciate you letting me return to the trainees, but it’s not working out with my schedule. I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m quitting. Again.” Forever.

The pause seemed far too long. “Would you trust me enough to meet me so we can discuss this? I’d consider it a favor.”

Oh, sneaky, guilt-inducing question. If she said no, the implication was that she didn’t trust him. “No need.” She forced a light tone past her clogged-up throat. “I’m finishing up my semester and am overloaded right now. Afterward, I’ll probably move out of state to wherever I find a job. This is as good a time as any to quit.”

“Little one, did Galen and Vance—”

“No. My decision has nothing to do with them.” God, how many people could she lie to? She blinked back tears, already missing everyone. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me over the years, Sir. Give Jessica a hug for me.” It took all her determination to push the red Disconnect button.

After staring at the blank screen for a minute, she turned the phone completely off. Just in case.

He knew she was quitting because of the Feds. Would he give the men a rough time? Master Z was very protective of the submissives—especially the trainees.

A breeze ruffled her hair. Wind was wonderfully soothing in a muggy climate…until it was disturbed, turned into a hurricane, and flattened everything in its path. Much like Master Z.

She shook her head. She’d bet Galen had a ferocious temper as well. And he and Vance hadn’t done anything terribly wrong. They’d only asked her some questions.

Hard questions.

Chin on her knee, she wrapped her arms around her legs. She not only didn’t know the answers, but the idea of sharing her emotions creeped her out.

She’d never talked to Frank about her feelings. Like her father, he didn’t want to know.

She scowled. So they wanted her to blurt out every thought? How boring. Wouldn’t that take all the fun out of a scene?

Her brows drew together. Would it, though? Other submissives talked to their Doms about their impressions—even if not during the scene, at least afterward. But—Sally wrinkled her brow—why hadn’t she told a Dom something like, I prefer finger fucking to be gentle at first. In aftercare, she’d snuggle, not talk, even if the Doms wanted to discuss the scene. And most of them had.

She frowned. Frank never asked. He’d never done much aftercare for that matter. He might’ve talked the talk, but he sure hadn’t walked the walk.

The Feds had him beat there. They’d been affectionate. Caring. Acting as if they liked who she was…aside from her reluctance to spill her guts. What was their problem anyway? Guys weren’t supposed to like that emotional baring stuff…which was probably why no other Doms had gotten upset. But the Feds had been all over her evasions like white on rice.

Sheesh.

Well, she couldn’t deal with this now. She had a couple of final papers to hand in, graduation practice, and résumés to send out.

Job hunting to do. She hadn’t lied to Master Z about relocating away from Tampa.

She’d planned on trying to find a job in the area. Leaving might be smarter. The BDSM community was small enough that the local Doms would learn she’d faked orgasms. Or she’d run into Frank. How awkward would that be?