Cherise Sinclair - The Dom’s Dungeon

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen. Old enough to know better.”

“You could have gone back…”

“I'd decided to. But…I was stupid, so stupid. I hadn't eaten in three days, and a guy bought me a burger. He said he had an extra room.” Alex's hands slid down to hold hers, enfolding them in warmth. “I walked into his apartment thinking everything was going to be all right.” The relief singing through her.Food. A place to stay. A friend. Then the slap, coming out of nowhere. “He was a pimp. He beat me.” A fist in the stomach. The shocking, horrible pain…

She tried to smile as she said lightly, “I tried to escape once or twice, but he didn't like that.” The beatings, over and over. Face pressed into the carpet, bleeding, crying.

Alex's hands tightened around hers, and she heard a low noise, almost like a growl, but when he spoke, his voice was even. Unemotional. “How did you escape?”

“Jim.” The memory caught her and pulled her upward. The sweetness of being cared for, of being loved. Why did they have to die? “Jim and Mary found me after a…client had expressed his displeasure, and Ajax had…” She licked her dry lips. “They took me in.” Clean. Bandaged. Fed. But she didn't trust them. She'd already unlocked the bedroom window. “Jim came in and put a puppy into my lap.” Wiggles and joy, soft and trusting. “I…I was caught.”

“How old were you then?”

“Just under sixteen. I had walked the streets about a year.”

“They kept you. Helped you get into college. And then you went back to Oak Hollow for Jim.”

Her gaze jumped up. “How'd you know that?”

His eyes crinkled, and then his gaze turned cold. “The point is that you should have been the one to tell me.”

She should have. Guilt seared through her so fast that her eyes teared. She looked down, away, anywhere but at his face. “I'm s-sorry. I should have told you about being a whore. That you'd be going to bed with a—”

“Dammit!” Hard hands gripped her shoulders, and Alex shook her once. “You're not a whore. And you should have told me because you share painful things with your Dom—and your lover. I thought you'd been raped, for God's sake.”

“Not rape. I gave it away for money,” she whispered, the shame like scalding water.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A hand against her cheek turned her face to his. “You were a teenager, which is another term for idiotic. You jumped from bad into worse, but that wasn't your fault. Hell, even if you took money for sex and had a good time doing it, that's not something I'd hold against you.” A crease appeared in his cheek. “I know too many women—and men—who've married for money, which is essentially the same thing, only with better living conditions.” He set her on his lap and wrapped her in his arms.

The sweetness of his embrace made more tears come. But she knew he didn't really mean it. A whore was a whore.

His little sub let him hold her, yet he could feel the stiffness of her body against his. She had heard his words, but her subconscious didn't accept them. Her self-loathing was so great that she didn't believe he could care.

But he knew the biggest missing pieces of her past now, and her behavior finally made sense. She'd been as abused as any little puppy or kitten he'd rescued. He could work with her on putting this into balance, but only if she stayed with him. “You know, when you ran from me,” he said gently, “when I arrived at home and you weren't there, it felt like you'd ripped my heart out.”

Her breathing paused.

“I love you, MacKensie. I would have told you before, but I knew it would scare you.” He stroked her silky hair. Such a stiff little body. “Normally at this point, a person might show how much they care by indulging in sex.”

He set her on her feet and caught the confused but accepting look in her eyes. She didn't believe he loved her, and although she would let him take her to bed because she needed him as badly as he needed her, she would spend the entire time grieving, convinced he'd leave. He unbuckled her glittery belt and tossed it aside. After unzipping her black dress, he pulled it down to pool around her ankles.

Then he yanked her, facedown, over his lap.

Mac hadn't even managed to regain her breath when his hand landed on her bare bottom. She yelped in shock, tried to get away, but her feet tangled in her dress, and Alex's merciless hand pushed her shoulders down.

Slam. “I love you, MacKensie, and I'm doing this because I love you.”

Slam. “I wouldn't do this if I didn't care, but you mean everything to me, and if this is what you need, then this is what you'll get.” He added in a mutter, “But we're damned well going to work on changing this association between caring and spanking.”

Slam. “I am very angry that you didn't trust me enough to tell me about your past.”

Slam. “I am very angry that you didn't trust me to still love you anyway.”

Slam. “I love you, little sub, and I'm doing this because I love you.” A pause. “MacKensie. Do I love you?”

Her head spun. He couldn't possibly love her. Not with her past. “I'm a whore.”

A growl. Slam, slam, slam. The pain burned through her, and tears streamed down her face. He rubbed his hand over her burning buttocks. “You were an abused little girl. If Hope said she'd been forced to be a prostitute at fifteen, would you hate her?”

“Of course not!”

“Then don't hate yourself.” He slapped her again. “I love you, idiot sub. Do you believe me?”

He'd turned his back on Cynthia. He could easily have done that to Mac, but he was here. He'd followed her and had no reason to do that unless he loved her. He'd let her bring a kitten home, bought her pizza, introduced her to his friends. And his mother. He'd come after her. He could have any woman in the world…but he was here. “I believe you,” she whispered.

“Good.” His hand came down, cracking across her skin three more times.

Her fingers clawed into the ugly carpet as she cried out, sobbing. “Why?”

“To make sure you didn't forget.” His hand didn't release her shoulders, and she tensed, waiting for the next blow. Instead his hand stroked over her back, across her stinging bottom, and into the crease between her buttocks and thighs. Light, feathery touches like a counterpoint to the burning of her skin.

“What are you doing?” She pushed up and had her shoulders shoved right back down. A light slap hit her upper thigh, making her hiss.

“Silence.” He bent and yanked her dress completely off her feet, then shoved her feet apart. Cool air struck her pussy, making her shiver. Feeling vulnerable, she tried to close her legs.

He slapped her thigh again. “Do not move, sub.”

God, that voice. Something inside her tightened, and she froze. He wouldn't…

A finger stroked down through her folds, finding her only slightly damp. “Did you know that some submissives find a good spanking to be exciting?”

“No way.”

That earned her a mild slap on her upper thigh. “I think it's time to work on making your spankings into something more fun for both of us.”

Her pussy was open, and now his fingers flickered over her labia, her clit, before returning to rub her tender bottom. The world shifted as arousal sparked to life inside her.

He pushed a finger into her, holding her shoulders down when she jerked. In and out; then, with a slick finger, he rubbed over her again. With each stroke, she could feel the nubbin engorge with blood. Her hips squirmed as he plunged his finger back in, pressing deep, then returned to her clit.

“You see,” he murmured, “when you're excited, your body has trouble telling the difference between pain and pleasure.” He slapped her butt lightly, and the pain stung, yet sizzled right to her groin. As his thumb slipped into her, he traced his fingers over her clit, then captured it between his knuckles, pressing, releasing, in a rhythm she couldn't escape.

Her vagina tightened around him, needing more. She was getting so close, and then he pulled out. She whimpered at the loss, at the frustration.

Slam. Slam. Slam.

Frak! Shocking, stinging pain, and yet it sent her right to the brink of release. So close. She panted, digging her fingers into the carpet.

Yet he didn't touch her. She moaned.

Then he pressed into her again, stroking that spot inside. “Come for me, MacKensie.” His fingers rubbed her clit firmly, and with his other hand, he slapped her bottom.

“Oooh, oo, oo, oo.” She bucked on him as he plunged his thumb in and out, as his fingers tapped her clit just enough that her orgasm wouldn't stop. His hard hand pressed her down again, pinning her to his knees as he drew every last spasm out of her.

When he finally picked her up off his knees and held her, rocked her, told her he loved her, that she was his wonderful sub, she cried. Oh God, she cried. Wrenching, gut-hurting sobs.

When she finished, she whispered, “I'm sorry.”

He huffed a laugh and lifted her chin with one finger. “Make it up to me,” he murmured.

She nodded and started to unbutton his shirt. He chuckled again. “No, little cat. It goes like this…” He looked into her eyes and stroked her cheek. “I love you, MacKensie.”

Her heart seemed to stop, then compress, then sink. She just stared at him.

A crease appeared in his cheek. “We'll try again. I love you, MacKensie.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for…