Hurt Me So Good (10 page)

She swayed slightly but didn’t press closer or fall against him. “I can take whatever you give me, Master.”

“Despite the generosity of your name, you’ve got this all wrong, Gift. You’re not
taking
anything.” He brought the crop down slightly harder, but if she enjoyed pain as much as she said, this was nothing but teasing for her. “You’re going to
give
me everything.”

Staring up into his eyes, she whispered fervently, “Take everything I’ve got, Master.”

“Cut,” Mal called out. “Whew, V, I was right about you two. I’m surprised you haven’t melted the cameras yet.”

Staring down into Shiloh’s eyes, he fought for control. Her crisp, fresh scent of sage filled his nose, so much better than the cloyingly sweet powder scent that Kimberly wore. Shiloh’s eyes were dilated and dark with arousal. Her breathing came in soft, frantic pants. Sweat dampened her upper lip, and it was all he could do not to lick and bite that lip as he’d done last night.

He dropped a hand to her waist to steady her, but stepped back out of her space. She took a deep breath and smiled tremulously, but she hadn’t gone as deep as their first scene.

Because I gave her a sharper blow this morning.

God help him, she might really be a full-blown masochist, the rare breed of submissive who relished all the punishment a top could dish out. The kind of sub he could injure dreadfully and not realize it until later.

Shame pulsed in him, as dark and raw as the need to lay her down across his bed and use his crop on her until they both came. He buried that need, chaining away the beast that snarled and clawed, ravenous for her pain, her cries and the unmistakable sound of leather striking her lush body.

He turned away and slapped the CEO mask back onto his face. Another lock, another barrier to hide the wretched lust blazing inside him. “That’s a wrap for taping today, but I want our editors burning the midnight oil and ready to show me the first cut for the premiere at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Taping begins at nine.”

Shiloh moved to exit with the rest of the crew, but he caught her arm and smiled as softly as he could manage, drawing her back to stand beside him. “Mal, can you join us for dinner? I’d like to talk through what the next episode will entail.”

“For Léon’s masterpieces, absolutely.” Mal couldn’t hide the incredulity flashing in her eyes. “I was going to be alone for dinner tonight anyway.”

He knew his friend must be busting at the seams with questions. Sure, he hated the idea of company during his first semi-date with Shiloh off the set. However, he needed someone present to make sure he didn’t do something unforgivable, both for her sake and the show’s. If he damaged her too badly to continue taping, or frightened her so badly she quit, then VCONN’s season would truly end up in the shitter.

He leaned down and brushed his mouth against her ear. “Are you free?”

“I already told you,” she said in an even, flat voice. “For you, I’m free.”

He regretted the disappointment flattening her mouth and dulling the fire in her eyes. Tightening his fingers on her arm, he tried to put some of that molten heat back into her gaze. “Then consider yourself claimed.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do I get to spend the night?”

A rush of lust hammered him to the ground and threatened to tear down every single control he’d managed to lock into place. “No,” he growled out. “I’ll drive you home.”

Why did it sound like he was trying to convince himself?

Chapter Nine

Standing outside the penthouse entry, Shiloh thought really hard about turning around and heading back downstairs. Yesterday, Léon had directed her back down one level to the fitness area, so she hadn’t glimpsed much of Victor’s home. From the expensive, tasteful décor of VCONN Tower, she could only assume his private apartment would be as sumptuous as the man himself.

And here I am dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

He wanted to see storyboards for tomorrow’s taping, so she hadn’t had time to run home and change into something less comfortable and sexier to tempt the Master. Why bother if they were going to have company and then he was going to drive her straight home? It wouldn’t matter that she was exhausted, less than fresh and gritty-eyed from long hours at work.

Within seconds of ringing the doorbell, Léon welcomed her inside. “Come in, Ms. Holmes, welcome. It’s so good to see you again.”

After meeting him, she’d known her original assumption that he might have a sexual relationship with Victor was highly unlikely. Trim and wiry with a wide, easy smile, Léon might be gay, but he gave off a very obvious Dominant vibe to anyone used to paying attention. Nothing menacing like Victor, but Léon was definitely a man who would be in control of the relationship. “Thank you, Léon. Is Mr. Connagher home?”

“He’s waiting for you with Ms. Kannes. Right this way.”

The two biggest executives of the company were waiting for her. Not the Master and the Mistress. Nervous, she followed Léon down the hallway, running every detail of the show through her mind. However, the room where they waited was relaxed and comfortable. Victor lounged on red silk cushions at a low Japanese-style teak table with Mal across from him. The wine bottle had been open long enough for Mal to have a little extra smoke in her voice, while Victor…

Eyes blazing like molten sapphires, he reached up to lay claim to her arm and drew her down to sit beside him. “Thank you, Léon. Give us a half hour before serving. She needs to catch us up on what tomorrow holds.”

With a knowing wink, the young man bowed and shut the door.

“What’s your pleasure, red or white? Or Léon can bring you something from the bar.”

Her pleasure would be red, all red, her ass on fire. Somehow she managed to say, “Whatever you’re having,” around the tightness in her throat.

A muscle ticked in Victor’s cheek as though he’d heard her thoughts. He poured her a glass from the open bottle and then leaned back and dropped his arm around her.

His heat and scent enveloped her. He’d showered and changed, so unfair, and he smelled like soap and cotton hot from the dryer. Dressed in loose black drawstring pants and a matching tunic, he could almost be wearing pajamas. The Master almost managed to be as relaxed as he’d been after her massage last night.

“So are you heading down to Texas A&M for the big game this year?” Mal asked.

Casually, he rubbed the pads of his fingers over Shiloh’s bare arm. “I doubt it. Mama’s heading north for Thanksgiving this year with her mother, Miss Belle, to meet my little brother’s new girlfriend. She’s already nagging me to come with her.” He brushed his mouth against her cheek and she could barely keep back the sigh that threatened to escape. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“My mom remarried and lives in California. She always invites me, and I always refuse to go.”

Mal swirled her glass. “Family issues, or simply the long travel time?” Shiloh hesitated, and the other woman smiled apologetically. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get too personal. Although Mama despises my choice in men and V bitches and moans about how much his Mama nags him to get married and churn out those grandbabies, we’re both very close to our mothers. It saddens me when my friends are having family issues.”

She might have only really known these two for a few days, but the demands of running the show and its intense subject matter made Shiloh feel like they had the beginnings of friendship. Real friendship—the kind where people talked about old hurts that shadowed the soul. “My Dad passed away about fifteen years ago and he left a huge void in Mom’s life. She’d never lived on her own. She had no idea what their finances were like, how to pay bills, how much life insurance he had. Luckily Dad had seen to everything for her, but she just couldn’t bear to be alone. She needed a man to take care of things for her, and for her to cook and coddle.

“Randall fits the bill and he’s a nice enough guy. He has a huge extended family and she adores them all. I went out a few years ago and I didn’t know anybody. I felt really uncomfortable, and ever since…” Shiloh’s throat suddenly closed off. Horrified, she realized she’d almost told them her darkest secret, the thing she was most ashamed of.

The sadist in Victor perked up, hungry for pain and embarrassment, even if he hadn’t caused it. He shifted beside her and tilted her face up to his with his right hand. He didn’t have to order her to tell the rest; she couldn’t refuse the intensity burning in his eyes.

“The mentor I mentioned was actually one of Mom’s friends before she remarried. They’d had coffee a few times, but he was more interested in me.” She forced out a laugh, trying to blow off the guilt churning in her stomach. She’d never forget the look on her mother’s face when she’d stopped over unexpectedly and caught her daughter bent over her friend’s lap while he used his belt on her ass. “Needless to say, Mom’s never been real comfortable when I’m around Randall, just in case I have designs on him too. She’d rather come see me. At least that would give us the chance to do things just the two of us. If she ever comes.”

Eyes softening, Victor pulled her closer so she nestled into his side. “Do you talk often?”

She pressed her face against his chest, breathed his scent, and some of the pain that had been lodged in her heart all these years fluttered away, disappearing as though he’d truly devoured that old shame. “Oh, every month or so, sure. We’re not feuding or anything.”

“Sometimes I wish Mama would get remarried and move a few hours—days—away,” Victor said with a rueful laugh. “Maybe our mothers can all move out to California and leave us in peace. A phone call a month would be nice, wouldn’t it? At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about her watching our show this season.”

“At least she’s not threatening to disown you for dating outside your race.” Mal reached across the table and clinked her glass with Victor’s. “Besides, your Mama might like to see her baby boy stepping out in style with a crop in his hand. Maybe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“First my little brother and now you.” He shuddered. “Why don’t you show us those storyboards, Shiloh. I think I need the distraction.” Automatically sliding into presentation mode, she started to stand, but he said quickly, “Nothing formal. Just tell us what you’re thinking about for tomorrow’s session.”

She leaned back to retrieve the storyboards she’d propped against the wall. “In the morning, we’ll be taping interviews, covering the basic preferences questionnaire and going over medical history and blood work. Meanwhile, you three Dominants can be preparing for the first challenge.”

She propped the first storyboard on the table, angling it so both Victor and Mal could see it. “This first challenge will deal with the basics of bondage. Each of you will have a small cubicle set up where you can array bondage equipment that you prefer to use. Anything from simple clothesline to exotic custom-made chain jewelry—whatever you’d like to see and you think will make an impact on the show. Each one should be slightly different and unique according to the Master or Mistress’s taste.”

Mal made a disgusted sound. “So Patrick is going to drag out all his pony crap. Those fake tails give me the creeps.”

Shiloh agreed wholeheartedly. “There are several possibilities for the challenge itself. You could tell us to fetch the cheapest at-home bondage equipment, or the most dangerous equipment for beginners. For the final stage, you should instruct us to find the one type of bond that you specifically wished to use. Of course, we could not easily know what that was unless you give deliberate cues.”

“Or we could be very devious and not give any clues at all,” Mal drawled. “I like it. Then we can reward—and punish—at will.”

“Exactly. You each will play with your contestants and choose one to eliminate. Who goes is up to you.”

Victor’s fingers had stilled on her arm. She felt his muscles tensing along her side, his arm tightening across her shoulders. Unaware of his growing tension, Mal continued to expound on the many ways she’d punish her contestants.

While the most important person at the table remained ominously silent.

Léon’s food was as delicious as usual, sending Mal into joyous bliss. Victor thought that Shiloh enjoyed her food, but she didn’t say much. She was too keyed in to his emotions.

He ached to have a long, open talk with her. He wanted to know her preferences, but more importantly, he needed to make sure she wasn’t suppressing her own needs in deference to his. If she’d developed the first challenge with him in mind, then she’d be sorely disappointed.

“Well, the food was as fabulous as ever, but I’d best be getting on home.” Mal swallowed the last bite and sighed happily. “I want to be back before Andy.”

Victor took Shiloh’s hand and helped her up from the table. She smiled her thanks but said nothing. Her reticence tightened his gut. He couldn’t bear to lose her so quickly. “Where’s he at tonight?”

“Guys’ night out,” Mal replied. “He meets his old college buddies once a week for poker and beer.”

“Isn’t he too old for that shit?”

Mal laughed. “Which is why he does it, so I can punish him for making me wait.”

He walked them toward the front door, but Shiloh saw the guest restroom in the hallway. “Excuse me a moment.”

“See you tomorrow, Shiloh. I can’t wait for another day of fun on tape!”

At the door, Mal leaned against the wall instead of grabbing her bag. Inwardly, he groaned. She wanted to talk. Great.

“I like her, V. She’s perfect for you.”

“I like her too.” He tried to keep the intensity out of his voice, but his friend knew him too well. “Let’s see how long I can go before scaring her away.”

“You’re not giving her enough credit. She’s made of sterner stuff than Kimberly. She’s not going to fold on you.”

He dropped his gaze to his hands, so big and calloused, made to punish. “I know.”

“You’re worried about hurting her.”

She paused, waiting for his response. Deliberately, he kept his gaze away from hers and let his silence say it all.

“Don’t you feel how much she wants you to do exactly that?”