Cherise Sinclair - The Dom’s Dungeon

“Nothing.”

The frown deepened and so did his voice. “Do not lie to me, pet.”

How could she tell him? Just the thought of that man grabbing her in the hallway… Suddenly she couldn't bear being touched at all. She shoved Alex's hand away and stepped back.

She was surprised that he let her, and even more surprised when he stayed out of her space.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he said softly. His gaze burned across her face before he handed her Butler's leash. “Watch over him for a minute, and then I'll take you home.”

He headed for one of the organizers of the event, leaving her with Butler. She stared after Alex until she heard a whine, and a cold nose touched her fingers.

She sank down, her gown ruffling around her feet. “Butler,” she whispered. “I'm glad you're here.”

His tail wagged, and he pushed his muzzle against her stomach, his warmth more comforting than any heating blanket. Animals never turned on her. Never judged her. Never tried to use her.

Feet stopped beside Butler. Dress shoes, black slacks.

Oh please. No. Mac froze, her fingers tightening on the leash. She looked up into Alex's intense blue gaze, and relief weakened her legs until she clutched at Butler for support.

Alex held out his hand and waited, not trying to grab her, just offering support.

Alex. This is Alex. She took his hand.

Once they reached home, Alex watched MacKensie remove Butler's costume with fingers that trembled so badly, she could barely unbutton the collar and tie.

When finished, she gave Alex a flickering glance before averting her eyes. “I'm going to bed. All this socializing exhausted me.” Her lips tried to curve and failed. “Thank you for taking me.” Her progress up the stairs looked like an escape.

Butler obviously thought so also, and he whined long and low.

Alex ran a hand down the dog's head. “Not just yet, guy. Let's give her a little time, and then we'll see what we can do.”

After a shower, Alex put on a robe, then waited an hour before he tapped at MacKensie's door. She might want to be alone, but he had no intention of permitting that. Not after seeing the look in her face: fear, not exhaustion.

When she didn't answer, he walked in. The French doors to the balcony stood open, letting in the moist night air scented with the fragrance of sweet autumn clematis climbing the trellis below. A slow rain had begun sometime earlier.

Her back to the room, MacKensie leaned against the railing.

Alex gave the bed a glance. Still made; she hadn't tried to rest. She had looked extremely jumpy earlier, so he spoke from the center of the room to give her warning of his presence. “MacKensie.”

She gasped and spun, her instinctive step back stopped by the railing. Damn good thing it was there.

First terror, then recognition. Her muscles eased slightly, and her hands opened, indicating a slight reduction of her nervousness. Not enough. Not nearly enough. His sub was afraid, and that knowledge brought every Dom instinct in his nature to the fore. He walked to the balcony door and stopped. “Come here,” he said softly.

Her chin came up slightly, delighting him. “I don't want company now,” she said stiffly. “I'm not going to…play.”

“I didn't ask you to play. Come here. Now.”

Mac felt the cold wrought-iron railing against her hip, preventing any retreat. The soft light from the bedroom lamp outlined Alex's body, leaving his face in shadow and limiting her ability to read his expression or eyes.

She had only his voice. She tightened her fingers around the railing as if that would tighten her resolve, but her defiance withered like an old, unwatered vine, falling dead at her feet. Her knuckles creaked as she opened her fingers and took a step toward him. Another.

He held out his hand but didn't come closer. The way he loomed in the doorway set something trembling in her stomach. He'd push her down, shove his—

“Little sub,” he said, his voice deep and gentle, smoothing over the sharp edges of her past. “Are you mixing me up with someone else in your mind?”

So many, many others. Her voice couldn't escape through the constriction in her throat.

His hand closed over hers, warm against her cold. He pulled her closer. “Say my name.”

She swallowed. “Alex.”

Warm approval washed over her. “Very nice. And what does a sub call her master?”

Master? When had he—

“MacKensie?”

“Sir. I call you 'Sir.'”

“Excellent.”

He pulled her into the room, toward the bed, and her feet dragged. An exasperated sound escaped him. “MacKensie, I don't make a habit of bedding women who are terrified. Or freezing. Stand right there.”

Without waiting to see if she complied, he fetched her robe from the bathroom and tossed it on the bed. “Hold still.” Efficiently, ruthlessly, he stripped off her gown. As he peeled off her panties, she realized they were wet from the rain. Everything was wet, and she shivered as the air hit her bare skin. “Easy, pet,” he murmured and, to her relief, bundled her into the long terry-cloth robe, belting it around her with impersonal hands. He hadn't even tried to cop a feel.

“Alex?”

His thumb brushed her cheek. “That's right, little cat. Come with me now.” Putting an arm around her, he guided her to the stairs, down and out onto the back patio. Back into the drizzling rain. Next to the Jacuzzi, he stopped. “Don't move,” he said again, then uncovered the top. Steam billowed out, the warmth fleeting in the cold night air.

Alex tossed his robe onto a hook on the wall, then added hers, pushing her hands away when she tried to stop him. A chill ran through her. He was naked; she was naked.

“Get in, pet,” he ordered, holding out his hand to help her down the steps into the Jacuzzi. Her legs moved like cold blocks of concrete. She gasped when the heat seared her cold skin, and turned to climb back out. He stepped behind her, preventing that move.

“It's too hot.”

“You're too cold.” He took her hands, then sat down on the seats built into the sides. “Give it a minute.”

She stood stiffly in the center of the water, jumping when the jets came on, battering against her. Slowly, slowly, as her body adjusted, her shivers diminished and died.

Alex didn't speak, just held her hands and waited, watching her quietly. The dim glow from inside the house carved hollows under his eyes and cheeks, providing just enough light to catch an occasional blue glint in his eyes.

“Good,” he said, just as she realized the water temperature no longer burned. “Sit.”

“I'm not a dog.” She tried to pull her hands away, as useless an action as a Chihuahua trying to win against a Great Dane. Giving in, she let him pull her down beside him. His hands closed on her waist to move her where the bubbling flow of water would massage her back and the knots in her shoulders.

She waited for him to touch her intimately, to grab her breasts. Minutes passed. And then, with a sigh, she leaned back and let the water soothe her.

Sitting next to her, Alex did the same. He had one long arm laid along the rim behind her head. Soon his fingers started to unravel the French braid in her hair. When her hair billowed loose, he grasped her shoulders, ignoring her start and attempt to withdraw, and turned her so her back was to him.

And then he massaged the rest of the knots out of her shoulders and her neck. When he didn't try anything more intimate, she relaxed again, letting him touch her. Muscles she didn't know were tight complained and then went limp.

“That's better,” he said finally and simply set her back in her place so she could lean against the side.

Toenails clicked on the patio, barely audible over the shushing sound of the jets as Butler crossed to the Jacuzzi. He licked her cheek once, accepted a kiss on his nose in return, and then padded back inside the door and out of the rain.

Animals gave simple acceptance and caring, but men always took advantage. Her thoughts stumbled as if hitting a rut in the road. Jim hadn't. And Alex hadn't. She'd been so cold and alone, and he'd taken care of her. MacKensie's eyes burned with tears, and she blinked furiously.

Instinctively she stood. She needed to find somewhere to hide—to cry.

“My sub doesn't cry alone,” Alex said softly. “She cries in my arms.” He pulled her onto his lap and against his chest.

She couldn't… But his embrace was unyielding, and she couldn't hold it in. A sob welled up from deep inside. It hurt and tore through her throat like the man's appearance had torn through her dreams. Another sob followed and another. Why, God? I only wanted to have a new life. To be free from the past. But life isn't fair—never, never fair.

She cried until her throat was raw and her eyes swollen. When she finished, she lay limp against Alex's chest, listening to his slow heartbeat as he stroked her hair. He'd never said a word.

After a minute, he handed her a napkin from the side of the tub. She wiped her tears away and blew her nose.

Grasping her chin, he tilted her face one way, then the other, examining her. “Better. Now tell me what happened at the dance.”

She shook her head.

“Something from your past?”

Her mouth tightened over the words that strained to come out.

He sighed, but his eyes never left her face. “MacKensie, unless you tortured small fuzzy animals or children, I can forgive you. Tell me.”

The thought of seeing disgust on his face pierced her insides with ice. To have him look at her like the people in Oak Hollow had—like that man just had—she wouldn't survive that. “I will never, ever tell you,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Don't ask me again.”